Christmas is often described as a busy time. Society and those of us living in it have made it busy. As a holiday, a season, and a schedule - Christmas is not simple. But, I argue, it should be. It can be. It once was. Categorically, this is the simplest way to review how my family has survived the countdown.
MIRACLE
My wife and I participated in "The Jesus Prayer", an educational and devotional night at Our Mother of Sorrows church. I enjoyed it immensely. I embraced silent reflection and prayer.
MAYHEM
Directly after "The Jesus Prayer", we picked up our children from my parents' home. I embraced noise and resistance. My oldest daughter has a no socks or shoes policy in the Subaru. It is a misguided policy for all seasons.
MUSIC
During a cleanup of the basement, a Christmas tradition, I stumbled upon my old CD collection. My oldest daughter enjoyed jamming the disks into the Bose and hearing the songs of my yesteryear. Crazy Train was a hit and highly appropriate.
MAYHEM
My mother-in-law has a key to my home. She entered recently to drop off groceries. We were not there. When she saw the kitchen floor, she suspected foul play, possibly a home invasion. Plates and refrigerator magnets were scattered everywhere. She was seconds away from calling 9-1-1 to report a burglary. She called her daughter instead. Her daughter reported that the vandal was our 2-year-old.
MUSIC
Greg and Rebecca Sparks, Pittsburgh residents with a Johnstown connection, were the main act in the Finding Christmas concert. Held in the Our Mother of Sorrows concert hall /gym /lunchroom, my wife and I once again had a few hours of togetherness without our bundles of joy. There was some reflecting and a lot of rocking out to Christmas-inspired tunes. Forever Endeavor, a talented ensemble of local musicians, led the charge and set the stage for the Sparks. It was an inspiring night of music. The Sparks finished with a sing-a-long spectacular that almost brought down the beams in the concert hall /gym /lunchroom / picture day photography studio / church hall for coffee and doughnuts.
Thank you, to all the musicians. It was one more memory in a building that has housed so many memories in my childhood /adulthood /fatherhood.
MIRACLE
On the Sunday before Christmas Eve, our family of four went to 11 o'clock mass. As the lone male representative and driver, I devised a nap time strategy. Leaving church, I instructed my wife and youngest daughter to seek shelter at home. I was going to drive until the oldest daughter fell asleep. My wife listened and I dropped her off. My youngest daughter was too young and innocent to disagree with my demands. My oldest daughter was not given a clear message in regard to this plan. I used parental trickery.
With half of our team unloaded from the car, I fielded questions from my Subaru Scholar. She fell asleep before we got to Richland.
MAYHEM
As I drove aimlessly, I stumbled upon an aim. On a Sunday, December afternoon, I was seated in an empty theater, ill-prepared for a May rainstorm. I did not think the Lake View Visitor Center, a part of the Johnstown Flood National Memorial, would be opened. It sure was. A wonderful, elderly woman told me the next movie started in five minutes.
I ran to the car, grabbed my snoozing child, and took my seat. The rain drops began to echo around me. No other conscious being was in the theater. My immediate Dad thought was a theater would be dark and there would be somewhere to sit. I did not think about the movie title, "Black Friday" and the 30-minutes of devastation I was about to put my counting sheep daughter through.
The movie is intense. It starts and ends in a graveyard. It was much more Halloween than Christmas. There were loud booms, cries for help, crashing trees, and one silent, silly Dad.
MIRACLE
She slept for the entire movie. She never moved. It was amazing. I was a little sweaty when the credits rolled. One, from the 30+ pounds I wore as a vest during the film. Two, from the flood and the thought of my 2-year-old waking up to a horrific Mother Nature.
MIRACLE
When she awoke from her nap, she was excited to be in a museum. I did not have to explain much. She immediately scanned the room and found buttons to push. She survived the flood and was ready to explore. On our drive home, we went through the town of St. Michael's. I saw firetrucks coming toward me - more lights and more sounds. My immediate thought was another tragedy.
But, the trucks were going really slow. And, by golly, there was a man waving from the firetruck rooftop. And, Jiminy Christmas, that man is Santa!?!?
I will share this moment with my daughter for all my days. My daughter and I were in shock and awe. I turned the Subaru around, following that firetruck like a bloodhound. I pulled into the fire station, scooped my elf, and ran toward Santa. As the jolly, fat man was making his way into the station, he heard the footsteps of a running father.
Once we got face-to-face with Santa, neither Dad nor daughter knew what to do. She just kept saying, "THIS IS CRAZY!" She initially did not ask Santa for anything. She just wanted to know why he was on a firetruck and not a sleigh. It was a beautiful, Christmas moment.
Santa told her that she was a good girl and that he would be coming soon. He gave her a Reese's peanut butter cup. Again, more Halloween than Christmas, but she wasn't turning down chocolate.
MAYHEM
Our Dad-daughter day ended with a Sheetz hot dog and that peanut butter cup. I let her sit shotgun in a parked vehicle to enjoy the dog and chocolate. We did a "cheers" to our adventure. I with a Squirt. She with a Little Mermaid juice. She ate the whole dog and wished to give the bun "to the birds". She ate the peanut butter cup, leaving nothing for the birds. It was a lovely lunch.
And then she refused to get back in her car seat. There I was, in a crowded Sheetz parking lot, attempting to lasso a chocolate-faced lunatic. It is the most wonderful time of the year.
I hope this Christmas brings you a lot of miracles. I hope music inspires and you can survive the mayhem.
To put it simply - celebrate with the ones you love.
Sunday, December 24, 2017
Monday, December 11, 2017
Alive and Swell
Our family of four is adventuring through Advent. There is a certain chaos to the Christmas season, especially when you have one rebellious elf (oldest child, 2, rebelling her way to 3 )and gingerbread daughter (youngest, 9 months, jolly). This past December weekend was a gauntlet of tidings and joy, tired parents and jibber jabber. Hop on the sleigh, and maintain your sanity.
Mastering Mass
No matter the time or the church, mass with young children becomes a public showcase of parental skills. You have to react to impulsive, unpredictable decisions. Last weekend, my two-year-old treated a baptism like a press conference. From her reporting seat, she exclaimed, "What is he doing!?!", referring to the priest and the holy sacrament. The priest turned and answered my daughter, via microphone, respecting her curiosity and the velocity of her voice.
This weekend we attended the 4 o'clock mass at Our Mother of Sorrows. We brought my mother as a reinforcement. We sat in one row, but occupied space in the row behind us and in front of us with an arsenal of clothing, gear, toys, bags, and a car seat. My oldest daughter brought sunglasses into God's house, anticipating a miracle of radiance no one else could envision. She identifies the kneelers as balance beams. They are not for prayer. They are for performance.
After communion, I held on to my gingerbread daughter, who has not learned how to walk, but enjoyed climbing the stone wall and smiling at those who walked by. She looked toward the rafters, silently communicating that she was interested in making it to the top. Meanwhile, the elf was trying to squeeze her powerful body in between my arched back and the pew. She offered no reason why nor do I believe she had a true purpose.
When mass ended, we found the nearest potty. I was face-to-face with the eldest, sitting on her throne. She asked, "What do you want to talk about?" No baptism or bathroom is without a question.
Living the Nativity
The Conemaugh Township Ministries hosted a Live Nativity at Greenhouse Park on Saturday. Directly after that potty chat, I led the brigade to Bethlehem. As young parents, ambition carries you to a Live Nativity. Then, you carry your offspring and question your ambition. It is a beautifully, complex game of cat and mouse.
Bringing the Nativity to life takes a lot of work and dedication. This is immediately visible upon entering the Bethlehem they have created. I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. When I realized this ancient town had a tour guide, red flags shot out of my skull. Our party needed an accelerated tour. It was cold and our children were confused by what was going on.
When a six-year-old identified himself as a shepherd, our two-year-old had a mind blow. She kept calling out to him, "Shepherd." "Shepherd." "SHEPHERD!" "Excuse me, SHEPHERD!" This kid was an actor. He didn't break character and was not at all flustered by her hysteria. When we got to Baby Jesus, her mind went from The Bible to Old MacDonald. She saw the animals and it was immediately, E-I-E-I-O. When she broke out in song, the crowd chuckled. And on his farm, there was a manger.
At this point, my shoulders could not take much more; my elf was on my shelf for all of Bethlehem. Thank you, Conemaugh Township Ministries. We were in. We were out. It was great.
Dancing Dinner
The Crow's Nest is less than a mile from Greenhouse Park, and couldn't you imagine Bethlehem having a restaurant called The Crow's Nest?
I made a reservation before noon on Saturday. I did not request to be seated directly beside a 2-year-old's birthday party, but the Lord works in mysterious ways.
When in Bethlehem. Or Rome. Or Johnstown. Just feed us.
Our girls were well behaved and "sitting still" is a silly expectation I no longer even think about. A parent must learn how to enjoy a meal. It will never be the same enjoyment. Upon creating life, I had to recreate my vision of "enjoy your meal". When a waiter or waitress says that to me, I wonder if they understand the complexity of those three words.
After feeding my face and protecting my flock, my two-year-old was awarded a birthday party balloon. I'm not exactly sure how this occurred, but the balloon made it into the car. And at one point, while driving, it hit my head. And shortly after, my window rolled down, and the balloon went up, up, up into the sky, headed toward the moon. I'm not exactly sure how.
But I did it.
Counting Sheep
After church, after Bethlehem, after dinner, and after the balloon to the moon, we came home. Days start and end, come and go. Our girls are growing. My wife and I are trying. It is a team effort.
I love my team. I love my town. Be a shepherd to something good.
Mastering Mass
No matter the time or the church, mass with young children becomes a public showcase of parental skills. You have to react to impulsive, unpredictable decisions. Last weekend, my two-year-old treated a baptism like a press conference. From her reporting seat, she exclaimed, "What is he doing!?!", referring to the priest and the holy sacrament. The priest turned and answered my daughter, via microphone, respecting her curiosity and the velocity of her voice.
This weekend we attended the 4 o'clock mass at Our Mother of Sorrows. We brought my mother as a reinforcement. We sat in one row, but occupied space in the row behind us and in front of us with an arsenal of clothing, gear, toys, bags, and a car seat. My oldest daughter brought sunglasses into God's house, anticipating a miracle of radiance no one else could envision. She identifies the kneelers as balance beams. They are not for prayer. They are for performance.
After communion, I held on to my gingerbread daughter, who has not learned how to walk, but enjoyed climbing the stone wall and smiling at those who walked by. She looked toward the rafters, silently communicating that she was interested in making it to the top. Meanwhile, the elf was trying to squeeze her powerful body in between my arched back and the pew. She offered no reason why nor do I believe she had a true purpose.
When mass ended, we found the nearest potty. I was face-to-face with the eldest, sitting on her throne. She asked, "What do you want to talk about?" No baptism or bathroom is without a question.
Living the Nativity
The Conemaugh Township Ministries hosted a Live Nativity at Greenhouse Park on Saturday. Directly after that potty chat, I led the brigade to Bethlehem. As young parents, ambition carries you to a Live Nativity. Then, you carry your offspring and question your ambition. It is a beautifully, complex game of cat and mouse.
Bringing the Nativity to life takes a lot of work and dedication. This is immediately visible upon entering the Bethlehem they have created. I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. When I realized this ancient town had a tour guide, red flags shot out of my skull. Our party needed an accelerated tour. It was cold and our children were confused by what was going on.
When a six-year-old identified himself as a shepherd, our two-year-old had a mind blow. She kept calling out to him, "Shepherd." "Shepherd." "SHEPHERD!" "Excuse me, SHEPHERD!" This kid was an actor. He didn't break character and was not at all flustered by her hysteria. When we got to Baby Jesus, her mind went from The Bible to Old MacDonald. She saw the animals and it was immediately, E-I-E-I-O. When she broke out in song, the crowd chuckled. And on his farm, there was a manger.
At this point, my shoulders could not take much more; my elf was on my shelf for all of Bethlehem. Thank you, Conemaugh Township Ministries. We were in. We were out. It was great.
Dancing Dinner
The Crow's Nest is less than a mile from Greenhouse Park, and couldn't you imagine Bethlehem having a restaurant called The Crow's Nest?
I made a reservation before noon on Saturday. I did not request to be seated directly beside a 2-year-old's birthday party, but the Lord works in mysterious ways.
When in Bethlehem. Or Rome. Or Johnstown. Just feed us.
Our girls were well behaved and "sitting still" is a silly expectation I no longer even think about. A parent must learn how to enjoy a meal. It will never be the same enjoyment. Upon creating life, I had to recreate my vision of "enjoy your meal". When a waiter or waitress says that to me, I wonder if they understand the complexity of those three words.
After feeding my face and protecting my flock, my two-year-old was awarded a birthday party balloon. I'm not exactly sure how this occurred, but the balloon made it into the car. And at one point, while driving, it hit my head. And shortly after, my window rolled down, and the balloon went up, up, up into the sky, headed toward the moon. I'm not exactly sure how.
But I did it.
Counting Sheep
After church, after Bethlehem, after dinner, and after the balloon to the moon, we came home. Days start and end, come and go. Our girls are growing. My wife and I are trying. It is a team effort.
I love my team. I love my town. Be a shepherd to something good.
Sunday, December 3, 2017
Dad Exercise: Holiday Season
In the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I feel obligated to take advantage of sunlight and whatever warmth is available. With no sign of snow, it is time to go, go, go...
Stroller Dad - Forest
On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I led an adventure team into Stackhouse Park. One of the best investments my wife and I ever made was purchasing a dynamic and seemingly indestructible stroller. Our team was comprised of my youngest daughter, riding in the dream stroller pushed by yours truly; her mother, traveling by foot; mother's maid of honor, the maid of honor's sister, and the maid of honor's father - each of whom marched with a leashed canine. It was a sight to behold. Our eldest daughter did not behold this spectacle. She was in the cozy confines of my parents', fully invested in a nap.
We weaved through the park and each other. Dogs and Dads crisscrossed. My daughter was fascinated by the frolicking. I had to focus on obstacles - loose rocks, intersecting leashes, chatting women in our party, water hazards, and mud. We conquered 2 to 3 miles of terrain. My daughter was asleep by the end and I was ready for a nap.
Stroller Dad - Residential
The thermometer reached 50+ degrees on the final Tuesday of November. Venturing from my parents' abode in Westmont, my youngest and I were once again stroller partners. The wife and wisest child were to meet us at the newly renovated Engh Field. 50+ Johnstown dwellers took advantage of a new playground and unseasonable sun.
While the walk was a workout, my Engh playground experience was a combo of cardio and strength training. My 2-year-old burst out of the Subaru and hit the ground running. When supervising your daughter at a playground, there is a mine field.to navigate - reckless boys, less than savvy swingers, the dreaded wet slide, and a multitude of hot spots for falling. I did a lot of pivoting and spotting. At one point, I was at the jungle gym's summit, pleading with my daughter to make a decision. A boy was about to trample me or push me down the ladder. He looked bewildered. He said nothing, but his eyes said, "What is the grown man doing this far up?"
My daughter eventually got herself out of that precarious position. I can't remember how, but we found safe harbor. Engh Field is a great new playground. If December Dads are lucky, we will be back at Engh and we will go home without any injuries.
Yoga Dad
Yoga is a humbling, ancient practice. My experience is limited, but every now and then, I yoga. Riek's Country Store in Brownstown transforms into a Saturday morning sanctuary for the exercise. For the first session of December, I accompanied my wife to begin the weekend. What was great about this yoga experience was my Dad Island, an isolated spot for me to be my best yoga-self. While a room full of women prepared for the class, I laid on my mat in the country store's kitchen. I was invisible to the instructor and everyone else. I had to rely solely on my ears and follow instruction. And at times, I followed my heart, and just laid there. Perfectly content on Dad Island, surrounded by kitchen aromas.
When I got home, I ate pancakes.
Running Dad
On Sunday, our family went to Sunnehanna Country Club for a holiday brunch. It was a food and family gauntlet. Surrounded by children, I carbo loaded. Taking full advantage of brunch is a parental obligation. Leave no Eggs Benedict behind. By the time Santa arrived, I was ready to curl up and dream of dancing sugar plums, even though I have no idea what a dancing sugar plum would look like or what that even is.
My oldest daughter and I napped hard when we got home. Just like her when she got to Engh Field, I took off running after my nap. I entered Stackhouse, tore through Crystal Trail, and dashed into Westmont like Dasher. Passing the Inclined Plane, I counted my blessings and how many plates I had for brunch. Descending into Brownstown, I was ready to get back to my girls.
I reentered the home, took a shower, and watched Little Mermaid for my cool down.
As Christmas draws near, find happiness and humor in the little things. Be good to your family and I hope Mother Nature continues to be good to us.
Let it sun. Let it sun. Let it sun.
Stroller Dad - Forest
On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I led an adventure team into Stackhouse Park. One of the best investments my wife and I ever made was purchasing a dynamic and seemingly indestructible stroller. Our team was comprised of my youngest daughter, riding in the dream stroller pushed by yours truly; her mother, traveling by foot; mother's maid of honor, the maid of honor's sister, and the maid of honor's father - each of whom marched with a leashed canine. It was a sight to behold. Our eldest daughter did not behold this spectacle. She was in the cozy confines of my parents', fully invested in a nap.
We weaved through the park and each other. Dogs and Dads crisscrossed. My daughter was fascinated by the frolicking. I had to focus on obstacles - loose rocks, intersecting leashes, chatting women in our party, water hazards, and mud. We conquered 2 to 3 miles of terrain. My daughter was asleep by the end and I was ready for a nap.
Stroller Dad - Residential
The thermometer reached 50+ degrees on the final Tuesday of November. Venturing from my parents' abode in Westmont, my youngest and I were once again stroller partners. The wife and wisest child were to meet us at the newly renovated Engh Field. 50+ Johnstown dwellers took advantage of a new playground and unseasonable sun.
While the walk was a workout, my Engh playground experience was a combo of cardio and strength training. My 2-year-old burst out of the Subaru and hit the ground running. When supervising your daughter at a playground, there is a mine field.to navigate - reckless boys, less than savvy swingers, the dreaded wet slide, and a multitude of hot spots for falling. I did a lot of pivoting and spotting. At one point, I was at the jungle gym's summit, pleading with my daughter to make a decision. A boy was about to trample me or push me down the ladder. He looked bewildered. He said nothing, but his eyes said, "What is the grown man doing this far up?"
My daughter eventually got herself out of that precarious position. I can't remember how, but we found safe harbor. Engh Field is a great new playground. If December Dads are lucky, we will be back at Engh and we will go home without any injuries.
Yoga Dad
Yoga is a humbling, ancient practice. My experience is limited, but every now and then, I yoga. Riek's Country Store in Brownstown transforms into a Saturday morning sanctuary for the exercise. For the first session of December, I accompanied my wife to begin the weekend. What was great about this yoga experience was my Dad Island, an isolated spot for me to be my best yoga-self. While a room full of women prepared for the class, I laid on my mat in the country store's kitchen. I was invisible to the instructor and everyone else. I had to rely solely on my ears and follow instruction. And at times, I followed my heart, and just laid there. Perfectly content on Dad Island, surrounded by kitchen aromas.
When I got home, I ate pancakes.
Running Dad
On Sunday, our family went to Sunnehanna Country Club for a holiday brunch. It was a food and family gauntlet. Surrounded by children, I carbo loaded. Taking full advantage of brunch is a parental obligation. Leave no Eggs Benedict behind. By the time Santa arrived, I was ready to curl up and dream of dancing sugar plums, even though I have no idea what a dancing sugar plum would look like or what that even is.
My oldest daughter and I napped hard when we got home. Just like her when she got to Engh Field, I took off running after my nap. I entered Stackhouse, tore through Crystal Trail, and dashed into Westmont like Dasher. Passing the Inclined Plane, I counted my blessings and how many plates I had for brunch. Descending into Brownstown, I was ready to get back to my girls.
I reentered the home, took a shower, and watched Little Mermaid for my cool down.
As Christmas draws near, find happiness and humor in the little things. Be good to your family and I hope Mother Nature continues to be good to us.
Let it sun. Let it sun. Let it sun.
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