productivity and mirth

Holden has availed himself to raking with me lately. I've been doing little chunks at random, just a bag or two, considering Holden only lasts for about that amount of time. It's a good way for me to pull him away from his siblings and mommy for a bit, give him hang time with daddy, and put his hands to work. He is interested in drawing attention to the few straggling leaves I missed, vigorously scraping them into a pile just the right size for him to fit in his grasp. 

As his daddy, it's important for me to remember it's not always about efficiency with household chores, but to walk the balance between productivity and mirth, to produce an orderly atmosphere, but one your children want to exist in with you. 

Lately, I've been meditating daily, something I just started doing this February. As I breathe in, I'll often meditate on the words "Lord, help me to have fun" and as I breathe out, "and to not be uptight."

bosom enemies

I've been reading Little Women and it's made me tear up maybe three times and I'm only on page 70 or so.

I can relate a lot to Jo. In the chapter where she's talking about how angry she gets. Her mom, Marmee, teaches her not to pay such attention to her Apollyon, her "bosom enemies", described as “those special, little (well, some might not call them so little) faults that are uniquely our own and shape who we are.” That if she does, it will ruin her day and possibly her life.

After Amy burned Joe's book of fairy tales she’d written and spent years perfecting, Jo turns her anger into somewhat of a murderous weapon against Amy. Louisa May Alcott mentions that Jo’s anger makes her a little bit happy but mostly miserable simultaneously as she gets a twisted satisfaction from making Amy feel sorry and “pay for it”. The way Alcott puts it, makes me think of the ancient Buddha quote: "Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die."

It made me tear up when Jo lets Amy fall through the ice while ice-skating, afterward imagining Amy had died and what burden would be carried. Sometimes my actions and words can be poisonous to those around me and to myself. This used to immobilize me. I couldn't think about anything else other than the one thought I did not want to think about. I don't hate myself as much anymore as I used to. Having three kids, I don't really have time for self-deprecation and shaming the whole Will Rucker when I catch myself yelling at my kids and feeling small ~ I pretty quickly have to ask for forgiveness, be sweet again, and move on without dwelling on any reasons for what happened and why.

Kids are quick to forgive. They don't hold grudges like adults do, for they often don't see the layers to anger like adults do, picking things apart and focusing on the faults, the things that weren't right.

bob’s son

I'm enjoying this new R.A.P. Ferreira album, "bob's son." Rory Ferreira had an uncommon idea with the roll-out. Some artist created a virtual reality cafe that is password-protected and you have to figure out how to get into the cafe through Reddit and Twitter. Once the code is cracked, you enter the cafe and feel your way around, perusing artwork on the walls and learning (as much as you can by way of vague visuals) about the poet Bob Kaufman, who the album is inspired by, and whom I had never heard of, I don't think. Rory mirrors his writing process and lifestyle with that of Kaufman’s, pulling his isms and quotables onto a blank canvas and expanding upon them with his own thoughts.

Hearing each song from various nooks in the cafe was momentous.  A smell was in the air, weed or coffee or incense, reminding me of my middle school friend, Tony Beuerlein’s, Nag Champa ~ an incense he would often burn on the floor of his Suburban.  Some smells plant themselves in your amygdala, and at least for me, come up often when associating one thing with another.

I imagine Rory being in a similar cafe to the one in the virtual reality one I find myself in, and I presume he's smoking a blunt? After all, there is a container of sativa cannabis called "Lamb’s Breath 8th" sitting on a table next to a chess board. If you click on it, you're taken to an online shop where you can order some.

Rory has a way with words, bending a word and turning it in on itself and over itself and almost making it mean something else entirely. He repeats a line if he really likes it, and the line becomes more meaningful and jumps out of the song at you as it's repeated. I appreciate this; when a good line becomes somewhat of a mantra.

I struggle so much with this thought ~ what is my voice? I'm trying to get over that. Currently, I'm trying to just simply keep talking and writing, and maybe I won't be self-aware about it in such an obnoxious way. To not be so critical. Why criticize my own way of thinking? It isn't healthy. I'm trying to not think whether or not it's a good thought or a bad thought, but that it's a thought and I think that counts for something.

red sky

This morning, as Holden had just woken, we sat on the couch in our living room to watch Sunny Bunnies on the iPad. I skimmed music articles on my phone, feeling groggy. I opened up our shutter, as I could see the roaring sky bleed through the cracks and it made me feel life was entering in to pick us up.

A few minutes later, Darcy walked in and I said to her, “Look at that sky, so purple and pink.”

A moment passed and the color turned to blue and much brighter. “Now the sky is blue,” I said for both kids to hear.

Donning a goofy grin, Holden added, “Later, it'll be red.”

This excited him. I knew he was talking about the sunset that evening and he felt clever he’d thought of something far in the future.

here’s to a year of writing more

I would like to consistently write more this year. My idea is to go on long runs and use my voice memo recorder and just talk out my thoughts while running, going back later to transcribe it, removing the intensifier words like "incredibly", "really", "so", "very". I'm hoping my talking will work in the way my running works, in that I tend to start out not really loving it, and not really wanting to be doing it, and then once I get into mile two I feel loose, in a rhythm, and actually enjoying myself. I'm hoping with my thoughts the same thing might happen ~ I'll start out not knowing what to say but then finding myself getting to a point where my words are just kind of flowing out of me as I start to remember what I’d been pondering that morning.

nobody likes you

I was sitting next to Knox on our couch this afternoon and said, "Knox, Bebe was telling me last night that she told you Holden kinda looks like you. And you said, 'No, he doesn't, because I'm the cutest.'"

Knox said, "Yep."

I asked, "Did you say that because mom and I often tell you that you're the cutest?"

Knox bluntly said, "Yep."

I said, "But Knox, you know we say the same thing to Darcy and Holden. You're all just as cute as the other. You really think you're cuter than Holden?"

Knox looked at Holden sitting in my lap and nodded his head.

I said, "What about me and mommy? Who is cuter?"

Knox yelled, "Mommy!"

I said, "Alright, well that's true. But what about me and Jack?"

Knox grinned."Jack." 

And then Knox got a smirk on his face and said, "Nobody likes you."

handsome grass

I was walking down to the "little library" at the end of our street today with K, D, and H. We passed by a yard with nicely-mowed lines in the grass and Knox asked, "Why do they have those in their yard?", referring to the lines.

I said, "To make it look pretty."

Knox responded, "No. It's handsome."

God doesn't want us to worship booties

I was putting Knox and Darcy to bed tonight, reading to them about David and Goliath. We finished the story, and I turned out the light. Lately, our routine is: both K and D pick a book and we read them both on the floor, then I turn off the light and we get in Darcy's bed on the bottom bunk, Knox lays on me while I pat him and sing a "me and Knox and Darcy" song, then Knox gets up in his top bunk, and I'll pat Darcy and then pat Knox.

After reading David and Goliath tonight, I went and turned off the light. I got in Darcy's bed and before Knox laid on me, he sat in front of me and looked at me and said, "God is the strongest god." (While reading, I had told them how Goliath needed a massive sword and shield, but David just needed his strong God.) And I replied, "Well, God is actually the only God." Knox sweetly said, "Oh, I didn't know that." And I said, "Yea. A lot of people in the world make up their own gods. And these gods aren't real. They're fake. And God tells us in the Bible that if we spend our lives worshipping other gods and not the one true God, we will not go to Heaven, and we will have spent our lives here on earth not actually walking with God." Knox said, "Oh." And I said, "There are tons of fake gods out there and so many different names for them. One is named Allah. One is Buddha." Darcy laughed and said, "That sounds like booty." And I laughed and said, "God doesn't want us to worship booties." And they thought that was hilarious and asked me to say it again. It's probably sacrilegious, but I said it several times. "God wants us to worship Him, not booties." And Knox said, "Can you sing a song about booties?"

pink doctor

Knox got a fever this afternoon and mommy made dinner while Darcy and I played and I held Holden. Holden is feeling much better after a few days of feeling very crummy, lots of snot, lots of discoloring around his eyes. He got his six month shots a few days ago and is getting teeth.

Darcy and I were sitting on the dining room floor pretending that I was being disciplined. Darcy told me I was not obeying and that I needed to sit in time-out (her time-out chair is in the dining room). So I sat in the chair and she closed the dining room door. I was holding Holden and he turned around and looked at me in the face, like, "Why are we facing a wall right now?" Darcy came back in fifteen seconds later and said, "Okay, you can't do that anymore. You need to listen and obey." And I said, "I'm so sorry. I really will try to be a better person and listen to my mommy and daddy. Can we pray now for God to clean my heart and wash away my sin?"

So we prayed and Darcy said, "Okay, you were bad again. I gotta leave you in time-out." And she went and closed the door again. We did this about four or five times. Each time she told me I was bad, I would act like I was crying hard and tell her, "I'm trying so hard to be good. I really am. I don't know why you're doing this to me." And she would just look at me and say, "Well, you need to sit here for a bit." And then she'd leave me alone. And the last time she came in, she said, "Okay, now you're not feeling well. Come down on the floor with me and I'll read you this book (The Gruffalo)." She began reading the book (just making up the story either based on memory or whatever pictures she saw): "Okay, here's the fox.. 'Hi. I am the fox.'"

We finished the book and she asked me to lay down on the stacked-chairs in the corner of the room. Jokingly, I said, "So you want me to plank on these chairs." Andrea laughed from the kitchen. And I said, "Okay, well I'll have to put my baby down on the floor." Darcy looked at me like "yep". So I put Holden down on the ground and began planking on the stacked-chairs. Darcy went to get some pretend-medicine. As she was walking away, I yelled, "But doctor, what happens if my baby cries? Can I get down off these chairs and get him?" And Darcy said, "No, you can't." And I responded, "What kind of a doctor are you?!" And Darcy looked at me with a grin and said, "Pink." And I broke into laughter and said, "A pink doctor?" And she nodded her head "yes".

no more a dreamer

I remember a time when I didn't have a clue what I'd be when I'm older. What car I'd drive. What house I'd live in. Who I'd marry. I greatly miss that mysteriousness.

I have "acquired" all of those things and it leaves me feeling empty inside. It shouldn't though, of course. I keep feeling like there's nothing more. But there is. So much more.

I want to flick my mind. I want to turn off whatever part of my brain prohibits me from being a child with my children. I want to think like them and feel like them. But I am just annoyed at everything and everyone.

I am tired. I am no more a dreamer.

knox skipping nap time

Knox talks slower and has a little bit of a lisp
when he is skipping nap time.

Darcy, Holden, and mommy are all napping.
I go downstairs to grab something out of the fridge
and I hear Knox making pew-pew noises in the living room.

And I just feel like every time I talk to him during nap time,
he talks slow and his words come out with a little lisp.

_____

Just the other day, another case of Knox skipping nap time,
I was working in my office and I heard something.
I turned around and there was Knox with the little tent tunnel
enveloping his body, looking like a worm.

It cracked me up how he quietly came up the stairs
while Darcy was asleep, this big tent tunnel in hand,
and snuck up on me like that.

I just like that the thought crossed his mind to do that.

creative boy / mommies and daddies in jail

We were pretty desperate for Knox to get in to CLUE.
Stands for Creative Learning in a Unique Environment.
To get in, Knox had to go take a test with a lady
whose name is Mrs. Snow at Grahamwood Elementary
and sit in a class without windows.

Let's just say he lost it.

He had a bad meltdown and Andrea had to apologize to Mrs. Snow
who kindly let us reschedule for a different day.
When Andrea and Knox got back home,
we were pretty flustered and Andrea mentioned to Knox
that parents could go to jail if their children don't go to school.
I tried not to laugh.

I told Andrea I'd take him to his second appointment.
We bribed him with a Transformers toy
and told him you can have it after you take the test.
I also thought of literally every single word and action
I could put forth to make him feel more comfortable the second time.
I looked up Mrs. Snow's photo online to see if maybe
we could put it next to his bed so she becomes less of a stranger
(I couldn't find her photo).

And when I took him to the school for round two of test-taking,
I acted like I was uncomfortable and lost and
I asked Knox if he could show me where the room is
and introduce me to Mrs. Snow.
This all worked wonders.
He went in to the room like nothing
was going to stop him from getting that toy.

Well, he didn't pass the test, which is obviously not a big deal.
Knox is an average kid in an average family
and I honestly kind of appreciate that about us.
I especially appreciate that,
despite needing to work with him on his math
(he's four after all)
he scored the highest score possible in "creativity".
That's my boy.

_____

The other night, I was putting Knox to bed
and he asked me to sing him a "Me and Knoxy Song",
a song I sing to him and Darcy every night.
I just make up stuff to the melody of Old MacDonald
or Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer or Baby Beluga.
I asked, "What do you want me to sing the song about?"
And he pointed to the art above his bed that I made for him,
which has all of these cars on it.

He pointed to the cop car and said, "The police car."
And I started singing in the melody of Old MacDonald,
"Knox and daddy were on the street
when a cop car whizzed on by.
It was probly gonna get some bad guys
from committing bad crimes
with a burglary over here
and a speeding ticket there
burglary here
speeding ticket everywhere..."

and Knox stopped me mid-song and said,
"And they'll put mommies and daddies
in jail if their kids don't go to school."
And he looked at me very seriously.

way above the world so hike

Darcy sings Twinkle Twinkle
"..way above the world so hike.."
and I don't even know what else
to say about that. It's just so cute.

Knox has seen this episode of
Justin Time with the ninja
a dozen times and hasn't gotten sick of it.

reminding myself there's a spirit

I've been obnoxiously busy lately
not even time to microwave my coffee
and take pictures of the kids.

What have I been thinking about this morning?
Instead of reading scripture
and mulling over my character,

I'm going over the pricing structure for my business.
Cool.

I steal away to the front porch
with the weather-worn wicker chairs
to listen to some Amen Dunes
and remind myself I have a spirit
and that I am a person.

I'm serious about you.

It's nearly impossible to write about you.
You told me the same thing earlier.
It's mostly because we've told each other
once or twice a year for seven years
as many thoughts as we could.

But I figured out what it really is.
Why it's so hard to navigate
my feelings for you.

It's like trying to describe why you love
something that dug in to your bones
and seemingly redirected
the flow of your blood.

Isn't it easy to describe a thing you hate?
There are movies I hate. And I could
go on and on why I hated them.
But when I see a movie that gets me

it's just so hard for me
to even get started talking.
Why it hit me and made my thoughts
so big, they almost evaporated
like when you try to think of
how God has always been
and how the universe expands.

It's hard to write about something I love.
I want to make sure I get it just right
because it really is just like so.

One thing I can say is this. We may not
be the most youthful couple making out
in the park and staying up until
the butt crack of dawn just
talking like we used to.

But I can say that I am very serious
about you and all of this.
And as you know
far too well,

I get very very very serious
about the things I love.

You kissed her cheek back.

Knox fell off his bike
and a tiny cut from the sidewalk
gave him a band-aid on two fingers
one on each hand.

I was in the middle of my head,
work following me from my office
while I filled the coffee mug
and tried to make things work.

This is always precisely the moment
when I find out you're hurt.
It's only barely even a scratch
but you haven't had many scratches.

I'm so glad you have Darcy.
You began telling me how much it hurt.
She stood right in front of you.
Looked you dead in the eyes and said,
"I'm so sorry, Knox."

She practically whispered it.
So soft and heart-shatteringly cute.
She said it with a two-year old's version
of what genuine looks like to them.

She hugged you
and gently kissed your cheek.

You hugged her back
and you gently kissed her cheek back.

The bond of a brother and his little sister.

Hide There a Bit

I set high standards
for myself to not achieve
and it cripples me.

Once a month or two
I appear evil to you,
Knox and Darcy too.

Why does my voice raise?
My emotions escalate
in an argument?

There is the hallway.
I'll take it to the bedroom
and hide there a bit.

Because I'm a Boy

I didn't have any work last Friday and so Andrea took a subbing job at an elementary school in Collierville, leaving me with the kids all day.

I ran an errand to Aldi with K & D. While in the store, I was looking everywhere for this cinnamon hard candy Andrea had gotten recently. At one point, I said to myself, "Man, where is this cinnamon candy? I can't find it anywhere!"

Knox looked up at me from the grocery cart and said very matter-of-factly, "Oh, mom didn't get that at Aldi. She actually got it at Dollar Tree."

I said, "Knox! How in the world do you remember that?"

He just shrugged with a little smile.

Later we got in line and I realized I forgot what K & D call "fizzy drink". It's the cheap version of La Croix. I think it's called La Víe. So I said," Oh shoot, I forgot to get the fizzy drink. Wait a second, I didn't see any. Nevermind. They must be out."

Then Knox said, "No. I saw it. They have some."

Sure enough, I stepped out of line to see if they had it. And yep. There it was.

I was enamored with him. I bent over to him and said, "Knox, how? How do you notice these things!?"

Knox had a very curious look on his face and said, "I don't know! Cos I'm a boy; and girls are good at buying things."

I laughed pretty hard and said, "There is a lot of truth in that."

Firedog

When straying from writing about my wife or kids

I’m instantly cognizant of something.

These are my muses I’m leaving 

for a second, of course,

but for territory off the beaten path.

Adam

is no stranger for sure, fundamentally my brother

Yet he doesn’t inhabit my space these days

my routine day to day.

We meet at Ghost River

and my bubble trails off

the routine of clocking in and out

washing my children while singing Baby Beluga

pouring the wine and sitting down

with Friday Night Lights

and I think “Oh yea. You!”

I don’t even have to remember you

for best friends are like family.

By default, their name comes to mind

every time you think over your story.

And just like Sammy

my childhood dog for twelve years

whose scent is practically engrained in my nostrils,

the warmth of your presence

rushes back

the memories of your apartment porch

catty corner Firedog

the Corner Market on 13th

intoxicate my spirit.

Dorcy

Knox is slow with how he enters the room, almost tripping over the bottle

that rests along the bottom of the wall, some chocolate milk still left.

Darcy slung it off the couch this morning, wanting her sleep sack off.

I hope Darcy didn't wake him.

He walks to her, “Hey Dorcy” 
looks to me and grins, says “Dorcy” again.

I smirk at him, “Dorcy?”

Knox loses it
takes a full minute to stop laughing.

Knox

you’ve become so whimsical.

I’ve enjoyed seeing you come into your own individual self 
that only Knox Rucker can inhabit.

Yesterday, we were up there on the barstools

you were drinking some of my “fizzy drink”

it popped on your tongue and you looked at me with a smile.

And I had this moment, one I’ve been experiencing a lot lately

I felt myself become you

almost like I felt your aura wrap around me

and teeter me into your world

with your free and mammoth imagination 

coating me.