Played a little Minecraft and am now writing this blog… all before 10 am even.
This is our second snow day in the last two weeks. February has been rough with the snow and the temperatures. Today we should get to 0 degrees.
The house is warm. The coffee good. Everyone is chilling in their own way. One daughter is playing Little Nightmares, another is writing (and texting friends I believe), and my youngest is jamming out to Taylor Swift in her room.
But a part of me wonders what other households are like at this moment. We had our first snow last week. Every day I start each class with a fun question. So naturally I asked how everyone’s snow day was. Guess what the number one response was.
Boring!
Yes, by a long shot. Boring.
Now, there were other answers, like productive, sleep, and snow. But it disheartened me to hear so many students say ‘boring’.
One of my goals as a dad and husband is to make home the best place for my family. For me HOME is more than a place, it is a feeling, it is warmth and safety. It is dinner together, blueberry muffins on Sunday, laughter and good times… especially on a snow day.
This house is now the place I have lived the longest. And it has only been 14 years. The next longest time I lived in one place was grad school – four years.
Growing up, home was an ever changing place. And the hardest part, an ever changing feeling. Too many times those feelings were not good.
Now, my children have said that they were bored. Of course I said they could read a book, write a letter, or draw a picture. But I am proud of the home we have. A snow day is an unexpected chance to laugh, snack too much, but most importantly, to just be family.
The first blog post using blueberry muffins was in 2008. The latest was in August 2024 (Smashed Blueberries). The original blog post that started this unplanned symbol can be read in my book, Blueberry Muffins and Other Thoughts. The following older post is the third time I used our Sunday morning routine of blueberry muffins to discuss life. This post was originally posted in 2009.
“Blueberry Muffins III”
It was 6:07 a.m. Sunday morning. My little girl had another rough night; we had not had a good night’s rest in two weeks. My oldest son was already up. I could hear the TV upstairs. He never sleeps in.
I quickly changed my little girl’s diaper, breathing in and out. I was frustrated, I was depressed, this was not starting out well. On Friday I learned that I was not chosen for a job I thought I had interviewed well for. It was just another low in a year that has been challenging to say the least. My confidence has been shaken this year. My spirit bruised. Climbing up the stairs, I tried to keep the lid on my emotions.
As I asked my son to hold his sister so I could get the coffee going, I noticed that he was watching a family movie. It was a DVD of the Christmas break when he was 3 and his brother was 1. It was our first Christmas in our present house.
“Could you make the muffins, dad? I want to watch this.”
“Yea, I can, if you feed your sister.”
“OK.”
I made the bottle, got coffee brewing, and the muffins in the oven as the movie played in the background.
“Dad, it’s the ‘Whoa’ game.”
My second son had a crazy game when he was 1. He would simply drop on his butt and say “Whoa!” He would do this forever.
I sat down in a chair and watched. The whole movie was just about being home during break. Film of us singing, dancing, and just having fun. I was amazed to see how things had changed. We were watching the movie on a flat screen TV, but in the movie, you could see our little 12” combo VHS/TV we had on a little cabinet in the living room. We have a bigger dining table now, and the couches are different too. Plus, we have three girls in our family now. I marveled on how life has progressed in six years.
Then my mind wandered to my professional life. The frustrations, the almost moments, the confusion of not knowing why things have worked out they way they have. What to do next? However, as the DVD continued to play, I started to think about tomorrow, about what I see in the future. It was family. It was the start of our summer trip to Lincoln and Omaha. It is going to games, or school plays. Teaching them how to drive. Sitting under the summer skies trying to get them to see the constellations.
I love teaching, I love coaching. However, my family is my why. I do not know where my professional path will lead. I am still stinging from the disappointments of this year. But, I know that at the end of the day my family will always be my joy.
END NOTE: As I was reading the Sunday paper I was holding my little girl on my shoulder and she let out a crazy like cough. Suddenly a slimy warm sensation ran down my arm. She had regurgitated her milk with the congestion that has been bothering her. A little grossed out, I smiled.
Dadlife… it is amazing to look back at these moments knowing how my children have grown. But also how the lessons from these moments still hold true… Original post is from April 2010.
“Communicate”
It was 1:10 in the morning and my 4-month-old daughter is antsy. I get up and find the pacifier. No go. She spits it out. I try again. She settles down. I creep back to my bed. Pull the blanket over me and feel the quiet darkness of sleep fill my mind.
“Augghrrr, Augghrrr, whaaaa,” she cries.
With a sigh only a frustrate parent knows, I head back to the crib. I try the pacifier again, but she is not settling down. OK, diaper? I set her down and get a clean diaper on her. Lay her down, repeat the bed, cover, darkness of sleep and she repeats her audible noise of discontent.
My wife groggily suggests a 4-ounce bottle. So, I head upstairs. I am actually waking up by this time. My wife feeds her, I fall back asleep.
In a blur of slumber and frustration, my daughter wakes me up. It is now 1:36. I go for the pacifier, again. We fall into a pacifier, spit it out, pacifier; spit it out routine with a few of those frustrated sighs thrown in for fun.
I pick her up. In the darkness, I can see her looking at me. Then her eyes close. For the next five minutes, I rock her in my arms. Victory. I lay her down, check the pacifier and head to my pillow.
1:52. My frustration level is now high. But I squash it. Let out a good 30-second sigh and head to the crib. Next trick is laying her on her belly. This time it works. With a last little sigh, from her, the night continues.
As a fall asleep, I think about how much easier it would be if she could only tell me what she wants, or what is bugging her. My mind wanders about that idea, about how many of life’s hardships are based on this premise. The ability to communicate. To communicate truthfully. To simply express what is bugging us. To tell the people around us what we need. Many times, we are afraid of what will happen if we do. What will the other person think? Does this make me look weak? Do I have the words to actually express what I am feeling?
I see the negative consequences of not communicating in the classroom and in life. I see people just continue to be “antsy” and live everyday in a constant agitated state, simply because they will not or cannot communicate what they need.
I hear my little girl sleeping soundly, I had figured out what she wanted. But, I cannot wait until she can tell me in her own words.
4:50 a.m. It is the alarm clock this time. I restrain from telling the clock what I feel this morning….
2024 has been a hard year, for a number of reasons. Which I will not elaborate on because Christmas letters are not supposed to be sad and depressing. They are truthful, but should bring some happiness to the readers. So, I will just say 2024 has been a hard year, and leave it at that.
A Christmas letter has a number of purposes. The first is to highlight important events from the past year.
And I know everyone wants to know what my Spotify Wrapped entailed. Prince was my number one artist, again. But thanks to my youngest daughter, Taylor Swift landed in second place! Plus, she had three songs make my top 100 for the year.
My number one song of 2024 was actually a surprise. It is “Satellite” by Harry Styles.
I do like this song… just didn’t know I played it so much. The rest of my top 10 was not surprising.
I spent a lot of time on the road attending different author events (I blogged about some of those events, A Poet Travels 1550 Miles). Those events really kept my spirit filled.
So did producing The Creative Moment podcast with my son. We have recorded 8 seasons so far. And have no plans on stopping anytime soon.
One of the most bitter sweet aspects of life is family. As a dad it is amazing to see each of my children grow and build their lives, but it is also a reminder that time is moving forward. Change happens. New hardships appear, but so do new joys and experiences. Being a dad is enduring the most joyful heartbreak everyday.
I will not complete my reading challenge this year. I try to read 60 books each year. I am projected (got three books I’m reading right now) to finish at 47 books. But that’s OK, I have read some cool books this year. Here are five of my favorite (in no particular order):
1. Nothing But Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw
2. What Happens in Nebraska by Cat Dixon
3. Impossible Knots by K.P. DeLaney (a guest on The Creative Moment)
4. Denison Avenue by Christina Wong
5. Dickens and Prince: A Particular Kind of Genius by Nick Hornby
And last a Christmas letter is meant to stay connected with family and friends, to share joy… and so I wish you a joyful holiday season!
And I’ll end this letter with my 100th song from my most played list:
Friday afternoon my youngest daughter and I played “How Close to the Ceiling Can You Throw the Ball?” A childhood classic!
As we dealt with errant throws and bad attempts at catching the ball when it ricocheted off the ceiling, we made up a crazy theory game, “Theory has it…”
“Theory has it you already missed the catch.”
“Theory has it that you are an elephant on another planet.”
“Theory has it you met Taylor Swift in elementary school.” (She’s a Swifty.)
The theory game got super silly, there were a few good throws at the ceiling, but we spent a lot of time getting up from the floor to retrieve the purple Pizza Ranch ball. There were no phones or screens (we would play Minecraft later). We wasted a lot of time that afternoon. Wasted time on us. Wasted time feeling joy.
On our podcast, The Creative Moment, my son introduced this saying. I don’t remember where he learned it from, and I paraphrased the quote, but we use the idea as motivation, as an idea to get through tough times, and to highlight a simple aspect of this life. There is a lot of living that happens in 365 days.
June was the anniversary of the death of my mom (you can read about that here: Meeting Death). There are so many ways that I am reminded of her, but there is simply still the void created by her passing. No text messages, or sending her photos of her grandkids. No visits planned (my parents would always visit us each summer).
And even though these last 365 days did not bring her back, life continued. Continued through rough days, suddenly being flooded with emotions, happy memories from a photograph.
I’ve written a few poems over the last year and published a collection of poetry, While Death Waits, that dealt with her passing. One of the most wonderful aspects of sharing the poems has been the connections and moments of honest human exchanges of stories. Every time I share some of the poetry based on the death of my mom, people have wanted to share their stories, their pain, the love they had for husbands, mothers, and siblings.
This past year has highlighted the most important aspect of each day; living is embracing the full range of emotions we may encounter at any moment. If you can keep your heart open and loving, even as heartbreaking moments happen, you will strengthen your spirit. You will know you have lived. Each day lived will add up to a year of life, and that adds up to a wonderful life lived…
This is an essay I wrote. It was not accepted for publication but I still wanted to share it.
“Meeting Death”
I finally met death in June of 2023.
OK, I didn’t meet death personally, but I knew he was outside my mother’s hospital room. I could feel him standing there, like a cowboy. Leaning against the wall, one leg up, bent with his foot against the wall. Hood draped over his head, hand casually holding his scythe, just waiting.
Over the years, Death has taken some important people from my life. My grandmother when I was in high school. A beloved principal I worked with for almost a decade. Maybe the most gut wrenching was the death of a former student. She was killed by a drunk driver who had a suspended license because of seven DUIs. It was her freshman year in college.
So I knew the heartache death brings to us, but I had never met him. Until my mother was admitted to the hospital, fighting colon cancer that had taken over almost every part of her body. I rushed 500 miles to see her. A trip I knew well because I had traveled that route home since April of 2023 every couple of weeks. Yes, you counted correctly, three months.
When my wife and I arrived at the hospital, I felt the difference in the air. The hallways seemed darker on the edges. As we hugged family members in the waiting room there was a silent moment when we broke the embrace. A lingering hand on the shoulder. A simple nod. Death had removed his name from our mind, but we knew…I knew Death was there.
So did my mom. I am still haunted by the way her eyes turned back time when we said good night. I saw her as a child afraid of the dark. She gripped my sister’s hand like a child crossing the street for the first time. Of course she said she would be fine alone. But her eyes pleaded for us not to go. The hospital was quiet. Visiting hours had ended, but the nurses didn’t rush us off. My wife and I had not checked into our hotel yet. My brother had taken my dad home so he could get some rest. My sister’s family was supposed to arrive soon. The nurses would be there if she needed anything.
I was torn. And to this day I feel like I should have stayed, even though Death did not visit her that night. At the time I didn’t think he would, I didn’t feel him waiting in the hallway, and that influenced my decision to leave and get checked into our hotel.
The next morning the sun was shining bright as I walked into my mom’s room. But it only created dark shadows in the corners. I caught my breath as I thought I saw the blade of Death’s scythe catch a ray of the sun, but it was only the metal part of my mom’s IV. I spent most of the day by mom’s side. Holding her hand, talking to her when she was awake.
I am a poet. And poetry helps me understand the world. As the day turned to night, I had a refrain play in my head, “while death waits.” Which became a poem and the title of my latest collection of poetry. But at the time I was emotionally trying to keep Death in the hallway. He could lean against the wall all he wanted. I was going to be a son for as long as I could.
And Death did wait. He waited until I was back home to take my mom. Death waited until she was home.
My mom was released Sunday afternoon from the hospital. Her body had found a state of being that allowed her to go home. Hospice care was arranged, a new bed was being delivered to the house later in the week. That Wednesday she had a good report from the doctor. The chemo seemed to be working, in the sense of allowing her to have more time. Death does not believe in time.
My dad called Friday morning. I remember the sky was so blue as he shared that mom had passed away earlier that morning as he sat by her bedside. I wanted to ask if he had seen Death in the shadows, but there were too many tears between us.
In September of 2023, my wife lost her mom. My mother-in-law was at home with her husband by her side. They live in the same town as us. That last month, my wife spent many nights with her mom and dad. I’ve never had the courage to ask my wife if she felt Death waiting in the house.
Because I know now that Death doesn’t actually wait.
So, I’m not doing what I set out to do. I am supposed to be writing a really cool short story idea I have. I am at my favorite writing spot at my local coffee shop, The Blue Moon. I have my Bizarre Orange Encounter drink. (My traditional drink for moments like this.) My writing playlist is hitting the right notes. But I am blogging.
Chasing your dreams is hard.
Today, this moment, is a perfect example why.
First, I had planned this moment a few days ago. Our trash needs to be out on the curb at 7 a.m. I was like, I could just go to the Blue Moon to write before the day started.
It opens at 7:30. We are on Easter break. Perfect way to start the day. Well, it was a struggle to just get here.
I got the garbage out in time, but had to fight… fight the urge to just crawl back into bed and sleep. The voice in my head tempted me with the thought that I could write another time. And it is true… but that is the first hurdle to achieving your goals. Actually working on it.
There will always be something to take you away from working on your goals, especially if you have to hold down a job to chase your dream or raise a family or any relationship. We only have so much time. We all have the same amount each day. We decide how to spend it. It’s important to spend it well. That means your relationships, your job, but also your goals.
Yes, you have to plan your time, and that is OK. Plan the time with friends and family, but also your goals, and stick to it.
The second hurdle was my youngest daughter. She loves having breakfast at the Blue Moon. I was tempted to see if she wanted to go. To sit and talk with her about Taylor Swift and horses. But if I did, I wouldn’t get any writing done. Achieving balance is part of life. Hence, the reason for planning your time. It helps you maintain that balance so you can strive for your goals and be a good friend, father, and husband (in my case).
I showered, grabbed my computer, kissed my wife and headed to the Blue Moon. Got my drink. Put in my headphones. And started this blog… which is also a hurdle.
I am supposed to be working on a new short story. Instead, I am blogging. I know what you might be thinking reader. How is this a bad thing? You blog all the time.
It is bad because I am not working toward my goal. I want to be known as a writer. I have novels that are not completed. Short story rough drafts in notebooks. I have so many ideas that are not completed. They don’t write themselves.
Yes, I am happy to blog. I hope this post helps you in your pursuit of your dreams. But I wonder, am I just afraid to reach for that big dream. Are you afraid, too?
We find ways to distract ourselves, to give ourselves excuses not to chase those big dreams.
Today has 24 hours. Plan it well. Love your family and friends, but your goals need your time and effort too.
Would I be able to say or write anything if I knew it was the end?
I think I would want to see the stars one last time, that’s for sure.
But I’m 99.9% sure this is not the end. That I will get up tomorrow morning, get ready for work, fill my daughters’ water bottles, maybe make lunch (at the time of writing this they are going to eat hot lunch tomorrow). On the way to work my wife will get her Mocha Sea Salt Caramelicious blender. I will teach, eat lunch, teach some more, then head home. Depending on the night we might head to an activity, make dinner, or take one of the kids to a practice. I might wash dishes, or sit down to write with a cup of coffee (which I have next to me as I write). To finish off the day, I will read (reading Fairy Tale by Stephen King right now), brush my teeth, take my blood pressure pill and head off to bed.
Then repeat…
…unless…
…unless, this is the end.
I would like you, reader, to know that it has been a blessing to share my writing with you. To share my joys and heartbreaks.
I would want my family and friends to know I love them and that this life is beautiful underneath all the hate, trouble, and selfishness it seems to wrap itself in.
I would like people to remember my writing and the depth I tried to live my life. This life is the closet thing to heaven I’ve ever found.
But it is not the end… but I’m going to do a little stargazing after posting this blog.
I’m also going to make sure to tell people I love them before I go to bed. You never know.
We finally got out of the house today. It was late morning, we had our traditional Sunday morning breakfast, but we were running low on milk and other supplies because we stayed home for two and a half days as another snow storm hit our area.
During the last three days, I adventured out a handful of times to clear a path on the driveway. I battled new drifts each time. And of course had to deal with the pile of snow the plows leave at the end of the driveway every time they clear our cul-de-sac.
It was cold! No, we do not own a snow blower, so I cleared the driveway (four times) with a shovel. Besides taking a lot of time, it was peaceful work. Scoop, fling, repeat. I watched the drifts fall and found my way to the street. Of course I had to repeat the process because of the storm, but it was good work.
After muffins this morning, I had to tackle a new drift. The wind had died down during the night and this drift was a piece of cake compared to the first round. I had our driveway cleared in less than 20 minutes.
But what struck me this morning was how fast a new routine was developed. Of course the storm lasted for two days, but in fact I have the routine of clearing the driveway whenever there is a storm. And I scoop, fling and repeat.
Routines get a bad rap sometimes. I understand that, especially when a routine feels never ending. I was tired of seeing new drifts form on the driveway, yet as I cleared the snow I saw the street get closer. Some routines are never ending… washing dishes, laundry, just life in general can feel mundane.
But, if we hold to that thought, the routine will feel heavy and joyless. I enjoyed shoveling the snow. I enjoy making muffins every Sunday, and tonight I washed dishes while listening to music. I stopped to dance to one of my favorite songs, “Remind Me” by Tom Grennan. My daughters laughed, my wife gave me ‘the look’ but I was enjoying the moment. (Of course I was wearing headphones and I can’t sing very well!)
Because without the routines, what would happen to our everyday life? If I don’t shovel the driveway, we are running out of food. Let alone the dishes or laundry. Routines are small moments that help make life run smoothly, but more importantly, opportunities to feel everyday joy.
It is all Connected 