Breaking the Fast

Zeke: 2 waffles with butter & syrup- stacked and cut into 8 triangles, 1 cup of water (no ice), 2 pills, 1 purple kid vitamin
Eli: 1 bowl Sugar Frosted Flakes in 2% milk (aka blue milk) and a small spoon, 1 cup of 2% milk, 1 orange kid vitamin
Selah: 2 waffles with syrup (no butter)- stacked and cut into 8 triangles, 1 cup of whole milk (aka red milk) with a pink straw, 1 red kid vitamin
Titus: 1 bowl Tootie Frooties in whole milk and a large spoon served in a yellow plastic bowl on top of a napkin, 1 sippy cup of whole milk, 1/2 kid vitamin
Dad: 2 500mg Tylenol, 1 16oz tumbler of strong coffee


÷ 2-slot toaster + 1 whiney mouth + 6 grabby hands x EVERYDAY = Breakfast  


...Oh, and don't mess up or you might have to start all over.


Enjoy!

Photo by borja iza | argazkiak

My Daddy Can't Whip Your Daddy

I wrote a post for the Teacher-Dad blog.  It's about fear, fathering, and sports.

You can read it by following the link:
My Daddy Can't Whip Your Daddy

A Cheap, Plasticky Walmart Affair

I slammed the phone down. Hard. Not an angry kind of slam, but a scared "I don't want this thing in my hands" kind of slam.

I can still feel the smoothness of that dark green phone- one of those cheap, plasticky Walmart affairs. The coiled cord was the length of an orange industrial extension cable I'd see in my dad's garage.  It was permanently knotted in spots.  The buttons lit up a putrid yellow when you pressed them, and the whole thing felt like it would crumble if you squeezed it too hard.  Cruddy for sure, but, always remembered. It was on this phone that I finally got the courage to call Nell for the first time.

I'd had her number ingrained in my subconscious for a while now. 275–2288. My quivering 16-year-old hand attempted another dial. I made it to the first 8 this time before I flung the phone back down. Bah. Why was this so hard?

I knew she had watched the movie. Forrest Gump had just finished on TNT. I knew she had watched it. I knew.  I'd overheard her say something about that movie at school before. That was going to be my in for the call.  I'd thought up a hundred excuses to call her before, but I always psyched myself out of it.  But tonight was going to be different.  I'd made a deal with myself.  I had to call.  I just had to.

A big chug of Dr. Pepper.  Cheek slaps.  I'm doing it.  This was not going to be like all those other nights.  I am doing it.  Tonight.  Do or die.

Hand shaking, I eased up the clunky green phone.  Dial tone.  Deep breath.  2.  This is so stupid.  Why am I so nervous?  I see her at school every day.  I have classes with her.  I know her.  It's fine.  7.  What if her mom or dad picks up first?  Do I say who's calling or just ask for Nell?  5.  What if nobody answers?  What if they're not home?  2.  What if she doesn't know who I am?  What if I have to explain who I am?  2.  What if she didn't watch the movie after all?  8.  What if I just totally freeze?  She is so breathtakingly beautiful.  What if I can't remember what to say?  The last digit.  Uncharted waters.  What if...  8.

Ringing.
Ringing.
"Hello?" 
"Uh.  Hi.  Is, is this Nell?"
"Yes."
"Oh, hey.  It's, uh, Justin- from school.  So, did you watch Forrest Gump tonight..."

[Photo courtesy of Oldphoneworks.com]

Mag Wheels and Jordache Cool

I can't believe I still remember my ck6000.  What kind of pretentious name for a bike is that?  It was a previously owned (we just said "used" back then) gift from my dad he picked up from who knows where.

It was a BMX beast.  I can still see the rust on the welds between the crossbeam and the handlebars.  It had these awful faded yellow mag wheels.  MAG wheels.  That was cool back then.  Jordache cool.
 
Those mag wheels were heavy too.  That whole bike was ridiculously heavy.  Mine had a black replacement vinyl seat with the diamond etched cross pattern that would always get all sweaty.  

It was the first bike I learned to do tricks on.  I'd go all the way out to the beginning of our farm's gravel drive way.  My chubby fourth -grade legs would pump as hard as I could go.  When I was just past my dad's workshop, I would slam my right foot down to brake and let my left leg slide out on the ground while that big ol' ck6000 would come whipping out from under me in the most bad boy powerslide I could do.  I probably practiced that move for two hours straight when I first learned how.

That was when a bike meant something.  Not only was it freedom and travel, it was status.  Curb jumps were requisite.  Not a bike.  My bike.  It was hideous.  I loved it.

Somebody stole that bike right out of my front yard a few years later.  I was crushed.  That bike was a boyhood love.  It took me to many a sleepover and countless trips to the video store to re-rent Final Fantasy for the seventh time in a row.  I hope it's still out there... somewhere.

[Photo courtesy of BMXmuseum]

The Thing With Feathers

Criminal Minds is a seriously good show.  I got into it last summer and have been watching reruns every time they are on.  And boy are they on.  A lot.  I think it's the new Law & Order, which I'm convinced is on every hour without fail on some channel.

Tonight I watched a new (to me) episode called Mosley Lane.  It was one of those gut -wrenching episodes that makes you want to go lock your doors, hug your kids, and then go check the locks on the doors.

This episode made me think about Zeke.  One of the abducted children dies protecting a little girl who had also been kidnapped.  Zeke is such a special little guy.  He is so strong and brave- so much more than I was at his age.  He is not afraid to get out there and try something.  I think he would be the kind of kid who would have died to protect an innocent girl.

My special little guy is definitely not that little anymore.  But, he'll always be special.  I'm so thankful for the person is becoming.  

The show ended with a great quote by Emily Dickinson.  Here is the poem it comes from:

Hope is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.