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Posts Tagged ‘Fatherhood’

I consider myself somewhat of a manly man. I like to do physical things.  Admittedly, I am not the best at fixing things.  But give me a chance to hike, fish and hunt, and I am right there.  I have gutted my fair share of fish and deer and various birds and smaller game.  Like most outdoors men, I have had a chance to push the limits of my own endurance and then take pride in retelling the experience.

There is, however, one thing that cowers me into a namby-pamby girly-man. It is the site of my own flesh-and-blood’s flesh and blood.  The experience of being at the birth of my two sons was not inspiration for me.  It was traumatic.  The birthing instructor was a bold-faced liar when she cheerily told my wife and me, “Blood?  No!  There’s almost no blood involved in child birth.”  Yeah, right.  My wife screaming in pain and the sight of blood sent me into a shock that rendered me mute and useless to my poor wife.  Good thing her best friend was there.  She took over.

When our two daughters were born at home with a mid-wife, it was mutually decided that my wife would be better off with close friends and family at her side than her husband. And so it came to pass.  I do not think I missed anything by not being there to “play catcher”.  I enjoyed my newborn daughters shortly after their loudly proclaimed and bloody arrival.  They were handed to me clean and pretty as all newly born little girls should arrive into the world, not wrinkly and bloody like my two boys arrived (which, come to think of it, may be a proper portent of things to come).

Our oldest daughter arrived into the world with a sweet tooth. As soon as she learned to totter on her own two feet, she could easily be called to one’s side with the sound of unwrapping candy and gum.  Her acute hearing for such sounds was a marvel to everyone.  At the sound of any wrapper crinkling, she would come running.

Unfortunately, for the grandmotherly types in our little church at the time, her cuteness and irresistible personality caused them all to disgorge their purses of any gum or candy they had available every Sunday. So, my daughter would return home from church each Sunday looking like she had just gone trick-or-treating on Halloween.  For her, every Sunday was Halloween.  Church was not a place to find God as much as it was a place to find candy.  After she went to bed at night, we would find candy and gum wrappers under her bed and pillow as well as leftover uneaten pieces tightly gripped in her tiny fists as she slept.

This, sadly, did her no favors as she developed really bad cavities in her baby teeth by the time she was three. Several were serious enough to threaten the budding permanent teeth behind them.  Thus, we were advised by our regular dentist to take her to see a pediatric dentist to have the cavities taken care of as soon as possible.  We made an appointment with one in Gig Harbor, Washington.

I was still a young father then and had not yet learned my physical and psychological limits to familial pain and blood-letting. So, I offered to take my daughter to the dentist.  I figured it would be a good father-daughter bonding time as we had an hour-and-a-half drive to the dentist and back again.  I loaded her into our little red Subaru wagon and off we went.

After a long drive of noticing the passing scenery, singing to the “oldies but goodies” on the radio and chattering away upon childhood topics, we arrived at a beautiful brand new building. The pediatric dentist’s office was located on the second floor of the building, which had a large, airy open atrium with a glass ceiling and tiled floor with a coffee barista right in the middle of it.  As we walked into the main doors, the smell of fresh coffee hung in the air along with the sound of an espresso machine working overtime to satisfy the thirsty and drowsy morning customers.

I decided against the elevator, so we walked up the double stair-flight to the second floor. Soon, we were standing in front of the dentist’s office door.  I looked down at my daughter with her blonde golden curls and bright blue eyes.  She looked up at me and smiled her big, wide toothy smile full of confidence.  I smiled back and opened the door.

The large room we entered was made for children. Bright colors, big toys, cartoon pictures on the walls and balloons decorated the room.  There were children playing and parents looking on, smiling, and talking in whispers to other parents.  Needless to say, I was impressed.  What a great place to bring your very young child to have dentistry work done.

I took my daughter’s hand and we made our way over to the registration counter. After acknowledging our names and appointment, I was handed a clip board with a cord’s worth of firewood for paperwork.  I have never liked filling out paper work.  But I found a seat with my daughter and started on the hundred’s of questions.  Every page needed the same information at the top: name, address, phone number, social security numbers, emergency contact and their numbers and the VIN number of the first car you owned.

I returned the filled-out paper work to the kind lady at the counter and took my seat to wait. It was only a few minutes before a nurse called my daughter’s name and my name.  We were escorted into a small dentist’s work room with the same childhood decor that we saw in the waiting room.  I thought to my self that it would be fun to work in such a bright and cheery place.  Such surroundings couldn’t help but bring out the innocent child in all of us.

Soon, the doctor arrived. She was a very beautiful young doctor, well dressed in a bright yellow colored pant suit that accentuated her red hair.  She looked like she was dressed to go to a professional presentation for pediatric dentists, not about to delve into the mouth of my daughter or any other child’s mouth for that matter.  Her demeanor and look reflected a person who had it all together with her prefect hair, make-up and clothes.

She smiled sweetly to my daughter, knelt before her and engaged her in a friendly conversation. Soon, she easily maneuvered my daughter up on to the dentist’s chair and was looking in her mouth.  I thought to myself, “This lady is good!

I felt myself relax and more willing to place my daughter into her care. Shortly, she turned to me and explained to me what she was going to do.  Then she invited, “Mr. Almberg, you are more than welcome to wait in the waiting room or go downstairs and get a cup of coffee.  We will be about an hour.”  I thanked her and shook her hand, turned to my daughter with a reassuring smile and kissed her on the forehead, which was returned with that big toothy smile.

Confidently, I left the room, walked through the waiting room and headed to the atrium to the coffee stand. As I made my way down the stairs to the first floor, I crowed to myself how easy all of this was going.  The warm fragrance of coffee caught my attention and I was soon focused on getting some caffeine in my favorite latte flavor.  It had already been a long day.  The appointment was made for early morning so we had been on the road since 6:30 am.

I paid for my coffee and found one of the overstuffed leather couches located near by. I selected one that was situated with the sun coming through the window upon it.  I picked up several magazines lying around on various tables and finally settled upon an old dog-eared PEOPLE magazine.  I planned on relaxing and enjoying a few moments of solitude before the long ride back home.

Only into the second page of the first article in the PEOPLE magazine, I heard a faint scream come from a far away room.  “Wow,” I thought to myself.   “That must be what the Spanish Inquisition must have sounded like.  Poor person.  I wonder where that is coming from…who that is?”  There was another scream, but this one more discernible.

Suddenly, a sick feeling came over my stomach as if my latte had been served up with sour milk. I recognized the voice in that scream.  There was no mistaking it as another scream echoed through the atrium.  It was most certainly my daughter.  I looked around at the people scattered around the room.  They all looked at one another and then it seemed as if they looked at me with an accusing stair, “How could you!!?”  I stuck my nose deeper into the magazine trying to find some anonymity.

I tried to enjoy my latte but, with every piercing cry, it was becoming more difficult.  I had given up on attempting to read any magazine articles after the first fifteen minutes went by on the clock.  Fortunately, the screams grew more and more less frequent.  However, this only tended to add to the tension.  The silence in between led to an anticipation of when the next one would come.  Just about the time that I thought it would never come after all, there would come another crying echo throughout the building’s chambers.

Pink Wild Flower, Summer 2009

Pink Wild Flower, Summer 2009 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

Finally, I could not stand the suspense any more.  I drained my now cold latte and headed up the stairs to the dentist’s office.  After a half-an-hour, I was starting to think that they perhaps needed my help.  I did not consider what that help could possibly be, but I had to find out any way.  I entered the office, only to enter another universe.

As I came through the door, the same calmness that had greeted me the first time was still there.  The room had not changed decor, children were happily playing and parents were mildly watching and chatting with one another.  “Don’t they know that my daughter is being tortured in there?” I wondered.  I went to the front desk.

Yes, I am Ron Almberg.  My daughter is being worked on right now and I am wondering if she is all right.”

The polite lady behind the counter smiled at me and said, “Let me check for you.  I’ll be right back.”  Then she disappeared around a corner.  I could imagine her going down the hall and into the little torture room that they were keeping my daughter in.  I waited impatiently for some news.

Finally, after only a few moments, she returned and said, “The doctor said that they have had some difficulty with your daughter but everything is going fine right now.  She said she should be done in about 15 or 20 minutes.”

OK,” I timidly returned.  “I’ll just wait over there.”  And pointed to a chair in the waiting room.

I took my seat. However, moving into the waiting room only made things worse for me.  Not only was the noise level louder, but one could hear the sounds of dentist tools doing their worst.  My hands grew clammy and I started to shake.

Just about the time I thought that I could not take any more, all of the noise stopped. After several more minutes passed by, the door to the way to the dungeon opened and out stepped my daughter.  Her mouth was stuffed with a few pieces of cotton, her hair mussed up, her eyes almost swollen shut from crying so hard.  Later, we discover that she had broken blood vessels in her face from screaming so hard.

I looked up at the doctor as she came through the door behind my daughter. She was the polar opposite of the picture of perfection that I had seen earlier that morning.  Her dress suit’s blouse was askew, her fair fell out in several places and the make-up on her face was worn and blotched like she had just come from someone’s funeral.  She smiled a crooked but victorious tired looking smile.

As you probably heard,” she began.  “We had some difficulty getting your daughter to settle down so that we could do the work on her.  We finally had to put her in what we call a “papoose”.  I was able to treat all the real bad cavities; however, we just were not able to get to the lesser ones.  I would recommend just monitoring them.  As long as they don’t get any worse, she will be fine until they fall out when her permanent teeth come in.”

Thank you, doctor,” I replied.

Without further comment she turned and disappeared behind the door.  “She looks terrible,” I thought.  “I wonder if she’ll take the rest of the day off.

I picked up my daughter with her swollen and Novicained face. We returned to the car for a long ride home.  I had planned on stopping in Silverdale for a treat, but she immediately fell asleep in the car and did not awake until we got home.  Then I laid down and slept the rest of the day.

The next Sunday, an announcement was put in the church bulletin and made from the pulpit.  “Please do not feed the Almberg’s daughter anymore candy of any kind!  She had to have cavities filled in her baby teeth this last week.  Anyone found doing so will be excommunicated and shunned.  May the Lord have mercy upon your soul.  The Almberg’s thank you for your help.  The pediatric dentists of America thank you.”

Except for one little church grandma lady who turned to sugar-free gum, we had no more trouble with church candy coming home.  Thanks to the pediatric dentist who saved her teeth, our daughter, to this day has a wonderful toothy smile.  But you will always find a piece of gum stuck in it.

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

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It is one of the duties of every dad to teach their sons how to shop for their mothers for special occasions. Someday, they will be taking time to shop for their wives.  It will not due to have an uninformed son blame his father for showing up on such occasions with gifts of hardware or household items as many urban legends go about men.  No, it requires patient instruction and modeling on the part of every father.  This is why I took our oldest son, who was about 14 at the time, with me shopping for a Valentines gift for his mother.

I have always tried to include variety and creativity in my gift shopping for my wife. Over the years I had learned that a steady supply of items from Bath and Body Works was not satisfactory.  Gifts cards were considered impersonal and jewelry was not always a choice due to finances since buying cheap jewelry proved to communicate an opposite message.  The usual candies and flowers are considered “everyday items” and not for “special occasions.”  So, as you can see, the whole shopping mission for special occasions could prove challenging.

This particular year I decided to look for some pretty negligee items, which I had not purchased for my wife in some time. We were home schooling our oldest son.  So, for an opportunity to take a break, I asked if he wanted to come along.

Hey, I’m going Valentines Day shopping for your mom.  You want to come and help me pick something out for her?

Without thinking about it, my son, seeing an opportunity to get away from school work, jumped at the chance.  “Sure!

We arrived at our local mall and I headed to a couple of stores to compare prices and items. It was then that my son began to grow suspicious.

What are you looking for, dad?” my intuitive and inquisitive Middle School son asked me.

Oh, I don’t rightly know yet”, I avoided.  In truth, I was not really sure just what I was looking for at the time.  I just had a general sense of shopping direction.

Finally, we came a cross a wonderful sale of items at Macy’s in the mall. None of the other stores were even close in price and since Macy’s is always considered a high-end store, I figured I could not go wrong.  I immediately dove into the women’s personal wear.

My son stopped in the store aisle at the edge of this particular shopping section and stared at me wide-eyed.

Dad!  What are you doing?!” he cautiously asked.  Alarmed to see his own father boldly going where no Middle School boy dared to tread.  “I’m not going in there!” he loudly whispered.

Oh, come on.  You’re shopping for you’re mother for Pete’s sake.  No one’s going to think you’re some kind of weirdo.  Besides, you’re with your father and it’s a Valentines Day sale so everyone’s going to naturally assume we are shopping for my wife and your mother.  Now, come on,” I goaded him but relished in his unsettled nervousness.

I looked around. The store was practically empty since it was just before noon on a week day.  Besides a couple of checkers, there were only one or two other ladies at the other end of the store.  One of the checkers was an older, grandmotherly looking lady who was seemed to be watching us with some amusement.  I smiled and nodded her way.  She smiled back at me.

I started looking and sorting through a few frilly night gowns and picked out a couple. I looked over at my son who was still standing nervously in the aisle looking away in the opposite direction.  I had the distinct feeling he wanted to disown me at that moment.

Hey,” I called over to him.  “I need your help.  Come hold a couple of these for me.”

He looked horrified.  “What!?!” he protested.  “No!

Aw, come on!” I countered.  “I need you to help me.  This is why I invited you to come along…so you could help me.”

Dad,” he objected, “if I had known that this was what you were going to be shopping for I would have stayed home to do school work!

What!?  And miss an opportunity to help me do something special for your mom for Valentines Day?”  This was turning out to be more fun than I had expected.  He really was afraid of see-through garments!  Of course, I knew this and would have been just as horrified at his age.  Passing the bra or panty section of the local K-Mart store was enough to turn me red then.

Well, the sooner you help me the sooner we can get out of here and get home,” I offered.  “Now, get over here and hold these.  And don’t let them drag on the floor.

Obediently, my son wound his way through garment racks and scantily dressed mannequins until he reached me. I held out the night gowns I had picked out to him.  He gingerly took them as if they were breakable items.  Then he quickly glanced around the store.  I don’t know who he was afraid of seeing.  It was not like as if any of his friends would be venturing into this department.  That is, of course, unless they had fathers like me.  Then it was pretty much ‘anything goes.’

I moved on to another rack but my son stood rooted to the spot I left him.

What are you doing?” I asked.  “Follow me.

He shuffled over behind me and followed, gently holding the garments at arms length in front of him.

Don’t let those touch the floor,” I said loudly enough for the checkers to hear.  I looked at him.  He smiled at me because he suddenly got that I was having fun at his expense.

I can’t believe you’d drag me away from my schoolwork to shop for ladies items with you,” he protested.  “This is just wrong.”

Hey,” I bantered back to him.  “I didn’t twist your arm and make you come.  You volunteered on your own.  It’s not my fault that you didn’t ask what we going to shopping for.”

Canadian Geese Goslings, June 2008

Canadian Geese Goslings, June 2008 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

As we wandered in and around the clothes racks, I came upon a table with a variety of ladies lacy underwear. I suddenly arrived at a fun idea.  I picked out several, one at a time, and handed them to my son who took them with his other hand.  Now he was draped with ladies intimate apparel.  Nightgowns held up on hangers in one hand.  Panties gripped in the other hand.  A face of growing dismay glowing red in between.

You’re doing a great job!” I offered in encouragement.  “I think we have what we need.”  There was a look of relief that came across my son’s face.

We approached the check-out counter.  “I am going to buy these,” I said, pointing to the panties.  “Not those,” I indicated by pointing to the nightgowns.  The kindly elderly woman nodded and smiled.

But my son objected, “What?!  Why did I carry those around?” he asked.

Well, because I liked them at first.  Plus, it was fun watching you carry them around.”

The grandmotherly checker snickered.

My son was old enough by now to be on to me and he smiled a sort of wry smile knowing that he had been caught up in one of his dad’s games.  “Oh, I get it,” he replied.  “You better not tell anyone about this – ever!

Sure,” I offered.  “Fat chance of that,‘ I thought to myself.  “This experience is going to have some fun mileage on it.”

Later, we bought a cute little flowery box, rolled and tucked the pretty underthings for his mom into the box. Then we went to a flower shop and asked the florist to deliver the flowers with the box to my wife where she worked – at a local elementary school.  Later, I learned that she received the flowers and special box at her lunch break and to the delight of fellow-teachers in the teachers lounge opened the box with its contents for all to see.

And that,” my dearest son, “is how you shop for the woman you love and show her how much you love her.

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

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One of the joys of being a father is the utter delight of embarrassing your children – intentionally. Most parents, particularly of teenagers, are already aware that their mere existence is a complete humiliation to their pre-adult progeny.  So, I figure, since I am already on the top of the list of “The Most Uncool People in the World,” why not go the distance with it and have some fun?

This, of course, does not ingratiate me to my children. It may contribute to the cost of their therapy after they leave home.  But I figure they will be on their own insurance by then anyway so, since it will not cost me anything by way of insurance co-pays, why not have fun at their expense?  (Albeit sometime in the future.)  If anything, it will lend to me in my old age a few moments in which I will be able to sit in a lounge chair, recall a favorite memory of such times, and chuckle to myself, “Heh, heh, heh.”

On one particular occasion, I was with a couple of my children in a local K-Mart store shopping for the regular household items that requires one to make a special shopping trip to such a store. As we were wondering around looking for whatever particular item we needed, a wonderful opportunity presented itself for me to have fun with my kids.   Not one to miss an opportunity for a family bonding moment, I pounced upon the fatherly inspired idea.

We had just passed, for the second time, the sporting goods section of the store. Thrown together in a caged basket was an assortment of men’s and boy’s sports-cup protectors.  They were being offered at a great discount price.  More importantly, they were loose and unpackaged.

Now, there are two types of people in this world. One type would look at the disorganized assortment of sports gear for male genitalia and think, “What a mess?  How disorganized and unsanitary!  Who in their right mind would put these out there like that and expect them to sell?”  On the other hand, they may sniff at such an unprofessional display of merchandise and yet see a bargain and pick up one or two.  After all, you never know when a child, sibling, or male friend may need one.

Then there are the other types of individuals: These types of people pass such a display and snicker.  They immediately see the mischief one could have with such loose and easily available items like these – especially like these.  These are probably the same individuals who in high school, and perhaps even college, arrived early to biology class so as to give the classroom’s skeleton model an interesting pose for fellow students and teacher as they arrived to class.  This type of humor is highly developed and approaches a level not reached by the aforementioned types of people.

I am not sure which camp I fall into – probably somewhere in-between. I will freely admit to the fact that having pre-teens and teenagers in my house now for a number of years has definitely figured into my evolution as a human being.  My children would argue that I have devolved; well, and perhaps my wife too.  I like to think of it as a higher level of unconsciousness; a near numbing psychological nirvana.

Burnt Cathedral, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, June 2008

Burnt Cathedral, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, June 2008 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

My muscles of self-restraint are not what they once were in my more conservative younger days. When we passed the sports aisle for the second or third time, I succumbed to my whimsical idea of humoring my children midway through a boring journey of looking for an average, unmemorable household item.  I grabbed one of those sports-cup protectors and placed it over my nose and mouth.  Then, doing my best James Earl Jones impression, aka “Darth Vader,” I turned to them and declared, “(Wehhhhh…Whoooooo….) Kids, I am your father!

The look from my children was a mixed reaction. One thought it was hilarious; one thought it was ridiculous; and one was frightened.  The frightened one looked as if she wanted to pinch herself and cry out, “No!!!  Wake up!  Wake up!”  As if she was in some type of nightmare and bad dream.  Clearly not all my children get their full compliment of genetic material from my side of the family.  It was a good thing their mother was not there.

Recalling this event time and again for my children continues to bring me joy. I am convinced that it is a formative moment in their upbringing.  Even now, they cannot remember what the household item we were shopping for that day was; but they all can vividly remember that event.  Never underestimate the power of an embarrassing moment.

While they may not appreciate it now, I just know that someday, when they have pre-teens or teenagers for themselves, they are really going to appreciate this very important life lesson. One day, they too could be walking down a sports aisle, see a loose, unpackaged sports-cup protector and ask their kids, “Hey!  You want to see something your grandfather taught me?

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

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Monday A.M.
Dearest: Sleep late.  Everything under control.  Lunches packed.  Kids off to school.  Menu for dinner planned.  Your lunch is on a tray in refrigerator: fruit cup, finger-sandwiches.  Thermos of hot tea by bedside.  See you around six.

Tuesday A.M.
Honey: Sorry about the egg rack in the refrigerator.  Hope you got back to sleep.  Did the kids tell you about the Coke I put in the Thermoses?  The school might call you on this.  Dinner may be a little late.  I’m doing your door-to-door canvass for Breast Cancer Research.  Your lunch is in refrigerator.  Hope you like leftover chili.

Wednesday A.M.
Dear Doris: Why in the name of all that is sane would you put soap powder in the flour canister!  If you have time, could you please come up with a likely spot for Chris’s missing shoes?  We’ve checked the clothes hamper, garage, back seat of the car and wood box.  Did you know the school has a ruling on bedroom slippers?  There’s some cold pizza for you on a napkin in the oven drawer.  Will be late tonight.  Driving eight Girl Scouts to tour a meatpacking house.

Thursday A.M.
Doris: Don’t panic over water in hallway.  It crested last night at 9 P.M.  Will finish laundry tonight.  Please pencil in answers to following:
1. How do you turn on the garbage disposal?
2. Why would that rotten kid leave his shoes in his boots?
3. How do you remove a Confederate flag inked on the palm of a small boy’s forehead?
4. What do you do with leftovers when they begin to snap at you when you open the refrigerator door?  I don’t know what you’re having for lunch!  Surprise me.

Friday A.M.
Hey: Don’t drink from pitcher by the sink.  Am trying to restore pink dress shirt to original white.  Take heart.  Tonight, the ironing will be folded, the house cleaned and the dinner on time.  I called your mother.

[author unknown]

Dog Guardians

Dog Guardians

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Following are answers given by elementary school-age children to the given questions:

Why did God make mothers?
1. She’s the only one who knows where the Scotch Tape is.
2. Think about it. It was the best way to get more people.
3. Mostly to clean the house.
4. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic, plus super powers, and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.

Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
1. We are related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people’s moms like me.

What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men’s bones. Then they mostly use string. I think.

What kind of little girl was your mom?
1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don’t know because I wasn’t there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

How did your mom meet your dad?
1. Mom was working in a store and dad was shoplifting.

What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer? Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that mom didn’t have her thinking cap on.

What makes a real woman?
1. It means you have to be really bossy without looking bossy.

Who’s the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn’t want to be boss, but she has to because Dad is such a goofball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than Dad.

What’s the difference between moms and dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home, and dads just work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power because that’s who you have to ask if you want to
sleep over at your friend’s.

What does your mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don’t have spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.

What’s the difference between moms and grandmas?
1. About 30 years.
2. You can always count on grandmothers for candy. Sometimes moms don’t even have bread on them.

Describe the world’s greatest mom?
1. She would be able to make broccoli taste like ice cream.
2. The greatest mom in the world wouldn’t make me kiss my fat aunts.
3. She’d always be smiling and keep her opinions to herself.

Is anything about your mom perfect?
1. Her teeth are perfect, but she bought them from the dentist.
2. Her casserole recipes. But we hate them.
3. Just her children.

What would it take to make your mom perfect?
1. On the inside she’s already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I’d dye it, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I’d get rid of that.
2. I’d make my mom smarter — then she would know my sister did it and not me.

(author unknown)

Never Having Kids

Never Having Kids

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They say dreams have meaning; whoever “they” are anyway. I do not remember most of my dreams.  As I have grown older it seems that my dreams repeat themselves.  At least, I seem to, in the middle of a dream, be aware that “I have dreamed this dream before.”  They also get more weird.  When I wake up, I have a very foggy impression that I had a weird dream again but for the life of me cannot remember any details.

Colin Almberg and Mt. Hood, July 2003

Colin Almberg and Mt. Hood, July 2003 ©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

It is much more fun with my youngest son, Colin, however. He has a habit of dreaming out loud.  Since I am the night owl in the family and do not have to get up early for any job, I am frequently up very late.  So, I often hear my son talking in his sleep.  Whatever he is dreaming about seems to be very lively.  Like one of his Gamecube games, they tend to be very interactive.

One particular night, as I passed his door as I was shutting down the house lights and getting ready to go to bed, I heard him loudly talking, almost yelling. Concerned, I peaked into his room.  He seemed to be upset about something and was mumbling loudly.

“Perhaps it is a nightmare,” I thought to myself.

Out of genuine parental concern, I attempted to gently wake him. Without touching him, I whispered forcefully, “Colin!  Colin, you all right?”  This seemed to do the trick as he sat up in bed startled.  But then I knew he still was not in the real world when he declared, “I’m going to build you a mansion!”

“What?” I answered, quickly realizing how stupid it was to attempt to talk to a middle-schooler caught in dreamland.

“I’m going to build you a mansion,” Colin said.

Suddenly, my parental concern turned into, “Oh.  This could be fun!”  So, changing gears, I decided to enter “the rabbit hole” with him.

“You are?” I asked him.

“Yup,” he reassured me rather groggily.  He flopped back down onto his bed.

Wondering if the fun was suddenly over, I prodded with a question.  “How big is it going to be?”

“Big!” came the sleepy but assertive reply.

“That’s cool!” I said.  “Can it be near the ocean with a view of the mountains?”

He sat up again as if to think.  He rubbed his eyes, “Sure.  But it can only have six bedrooms.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to not sound too disappointed.  “Well, I’m sure that will be plenty for visiting family and the grandkids for the weekend.”

He laid back down again.

Wondering if my fun was over, I prodded again by asking, “How soon do you think you can have that done?”

Suddenly, Colin rolled up on on his bed and put his feet on the floor.

“What?” he asked.

“How soon can you have that mansion done?” I repeated.

His head jerked up toward me with a surprised expression, “What are you talking about?”  There was still sleep in his voice but the dreamland wistfulness was certainly gone.

“The mansion you said you were going to build,” I told him.

He got up and started out of his room.

“You’re crazy,” he said.

“What?!” I protested.  “You were the one who offered!”

As he left his room, I asked, “Where are you going.”

“To the bathroom.”  And he disappeared behind the hall bathroom door.

I smiled.  Kids are so much fun.  They have such great dreams.  Here, at least, is one dream I am hoping he has that will come true someday.  That would be way-cool.  Sweet dreams, my youngest, son.  Sweet dreams.

©Weatherstone/Ron Almberg, Jr. (2010)

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Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and three kids each for six weeks.

Each kid will play two sports and take either music or dance classes.

There is no fast food.

Each man must take care of his three kids, keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of “pretend” bills with not enough money.

In addition, each man will have to budget money for groceries each week.

Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives and send cards out on time–no emailing.

Each man must also take each child to a doctor’s appointment, a dentist appointment, and a haircut appointment.

He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Urgent Care.

He must also make cookies or cupcakes for a social function.

Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside, and keeping it presentable at all times.

The men will have access to television only when the kids are asleep and all chores are done.

The men must shave their legs, wear makeup daily, adorn themselves with jewelry, wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, and keep fingernails polished and eyebrows groomed.

During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps and back aches and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties.

They must attend weekly school meetings and church and find time at least once each week to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting.

They will need to read a book to the kids each night and in the morning, feed them, dress them, brush their teeth, and comb their hair by 7:00 a.m.

A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: each child’s birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothing size, and doctor’s name. He also must know the child’s weight and length at birth, time of birth, and length of labor; and each child’s favorite color, middle name, favorite snack, favorite song, favorite drink, favorite toy, and biggest fear. He also will know what they
all want to be when they grow up.

The kids vote them off the island based on performance. The last man wins only if he still has enough energy to spend quality time with his spouse at a moment’s notice.

If the last man does win, he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years, eventually earning the right to be called Mother!

(author unknown)

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