Have I ever mentioned that I like airplanes?
I'm so proud - my first youtube post......
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Common Ground
Grant and Stanley don't always get along with each other. Go figure.
Sometimes they get along just fine (usually when they're plunked on the couch watching Spongebob) but other times...well...not so good. What typically happens is that Stan wants to play with his buddies and Grant can't leave them alone, and I'm usually trying to step in between them before too much blood is spilled. Boys will be boys but I try to intervene once someone picks up a weapon which happens more often than not.
But over the last couple days we've found some common ground. Our old flower garden. Or as I like to call it, our worm hunting grounds.
Last fall we had a small storage shed built where our old garden was. We took down the fencing and where we used to have our wildfowers is some open area where the boys can dig. It started on Monday afternoon with Grant and I, and yesterday afternoon Stan jumped into the fray. I use the big shovel to dig into some of the harder terra firma while the 2 boys use hand spades to do the detail work.
So far neither handspade has been used in anger.
I think it's good dirty fun. They get along and work together, get out in the fresh air and away from the TV. And me, I get free bait and a little sanity.
Sometimes they get along just fine (usually when they're plunked on the couch watching Spongebob) but other times...well...not so good. What typically happens is that Stan wants to play with his buddies and Grant can't leave them alone, and I'm usually trying to step in between them before too much blood is spilled. Boys will be boys but I try to intervene once someone picks up a weapon which happens more often than not.
But over the last couple days we've found some common ground. Our old flower garden. Or as I like to call it, our worm hunting grounds.
Last fall we had a small storage shed built where our old garden was. We took down the fencing and where we used to have our wildfowers is some open area where the boys can dig. It started on Monday afternoon with Grant and I, and yesterday afternoon Stan jumped into the fray. I use the big shovel to dig into some of the harder terra firma while the 2 boys use hand spades to do the detail work.
So far neither handspade has been used in anger.
I think it's good dirty fun. They get along and work together, get out in the fresh air and away from the TV. And me, I get free bait and a little sanity.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
A Quiet Walk
Life is busy, that's a given. Like most, I don't take the time to stop and smell the roses and I really should. I think all of us should. Like most, my days are hurried and harried and you never seem to be able to catch up.
Running, Running, Running.
Always.
And it sucks.
My morning drive up Pilot Knob Road in Eagan is fairly mundane, the usual crawl up north through the suburban stop lights sipping the usual coffee, and flipping through the usual morning talk radio. Both the coffee and conversation bland at best. Normally I'm focused ahead of me, watching for brake lights and the occasional Canadian Goose. But something caught my eye this morning.
On the sidewalk along Pilot Knob was an elderly couple walking up the sidewalk. Hand in Hand.
There was quiet there. Peace. Dignity.
It wasn't quite a DeBeers diamond commercial, but I found it poignant nevertheless. Through all the hustle and daily business there walked partners in life seemingly oblivious to the daily chaos surrounding them.
Hopefully one day I'll have that peace.
Running, Running, Running.
Always.
And it sucks.
My morning drive up Pilot Knob Road in Eagan is fairly mundane, the usual crawl up north through the suburban stop lights sipping the usual coffee, and flipping through the usual morning talk radio. Both the coffee and conversation bland at best. Normally I'm focused ahead of me, watching for brake lights and the occasional Canadian Goose. But something caught my eye this morning.
On the sidewalk along Pilot Knob was an elderly couple walking up the sidewalk. Hand in Hand.
There was quiet there. Peace. Dignity.
It wasn't quite a DeBeers diamond commercial, but I found it poignant nevertheless. Through all the hustle and daily business there walked partners in life seemingly oblivious to the daily chaos surrounding them.
Hopefully one day I'll have that peace.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
One day in the Rosemount Post Office....
Our 3 year old, Grant, can be a handful. A handful as in a hand-grenade with the pin pulled, or a handful as in you can’t get enough of your hands on him because you just want to squeeze him to pieces. Kids are like that. Some moments we might want to sell him to the circus but you take a breath and he’ll have a glint in his eye and you can start laughing until tears come from yours.
On April 17th he decided to be a hand grenade.
Well maybe that’s not entirely fair. On that Monday, Brenda had taken him on some errands, nothing big, and nothing too strenuous. But at the Rosemount Post Office he started to get whiny. Not that I blame him, I mean seriously, how much fun can you have at a post office as an adult let alone as a 3 year old?
It’s a Monday, and it’s also Tax Day so there are a few people there. No biggie. She brings him in and goes to our P.O box, meanwhile, Grant is complaining that he wants to go home. No full-on meltdown, no snot-flying, tear-drenching epic tantrum. He’s whining a bit but hey, we’ve seen worse. Brenda continues to do her thing, managing his volume and getting her stuff done.
“BE QUIET!” a voice booms out. But it’s not my wife’s voice. She turns to look and there is some middle-aged lady glaring over at Grant. Stunned, Brenda takes him by the hand and into the line to mail something. Grant continues to whine, same volume, but there’s not anything Brenda can really do about it.
“SHUT-UP!” the voice comes again from behind the line. “Is she talking to him?” asks another woman behind my wife in line. “I guess so….” She answers in shocked anger. Brenda finishes her business, and without a word walks out of the Post Office with Grant in tow.
Now I’m a parent, so I have an ability to drown out most whining, but I can also see the other side, because I don’t enjoy hearing it either. But I tell you what, you have some balls telling a parents kid to shut up. I’ll give granny the benefit of a doubt, maybe she was just having a bad day. After all it was tax day so maybe she was pissed off that she had to mail her pull-tab money to the government. Who knows.
Good thing it was Brenda instead of me. I would’ve gone postal.
On April 17th he decided to be a hand grenade.
Well maybe that’s not entirely fair. On that Monday, Brenda had taken him on some errands, nothing big, and nothing too strenuous. But at the Rosemount Post Office he started to get whiny. Not that I blame him, I mean seriously, how much fun can you have at a post office as an adult let alone as a 3 year old?
It’s a Monday, and it’s also Tax Day so there are a few people there. No biggie. She brings him in and goes to our P.O box, meanwhile, Grant is complaining that he wants to go home. No full-on meltdown, no snot-flying, tear-drenching epic tantrum. He’s whining a bit but hey, we’ve seen worse. Brenda continues to do her thing, managing his volume and getting her stuff done.
“BE QUIET!” a voice booms out. But it’s not my wife’s voice. She turns to look and there is some middle-aged lady glaring over at Grant. Stunned, Brenda takes him by the hand and into the line to mail something. Grant continues to whine, same volume, but there’s not anything Brenda can really do about it.
“SHUT-UP!” the voice comes again from behind the line. “Is she talking to him?” asks another woman behind my wife in line. “I guess so….” She answers in shocked anger. Brenda finishes her business, and without a word walks out of the Post Office with Grant in tow.
Now I’m a parent, so I have an ability to drown out most whining, but I can also see the other side, because I don’t enjoy hearing it either. But I tell you what, you have some balls telling a parents kid to shut up. I’ll give granny the benefit of a doubt, maybe she was just having a bad day. After all it was tax day so maybe she was pissed off that she had to mail her pull-tab money to the government. Who knows.
Good thing it was Brenda instead of me. I would’ve gone postal.
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