It's A Win

When our oldest Beatrice pointed out we hadn't shared what we were grateful for the night before, we told her that we had. 

"No, we didn't," she said.

Her mom Amy said, "Yes, we did. We said we were grateful for our family."

"Yes, and I said I was grateful that you and your sister have your own rooms now," I added.

"Oh, okay," Bea said. She looked thoughtful. "What are you grateful for today?"

I smiled because now our kids remind us to share what we're grateful each day, and we don't have to be the ones to always ask, even with the fact that we now have teens. That's a parenting win for us. One that keeps our family grounded in what's good and what we're thankful for. 

We've been sharing what we're grateful for at dinner every night for nearly five years now going back to when we started our weekly family meetings where we share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family, like being brave in everyday situations. 

Sharing what we are grateful for became a nightly ritual that simply adds blessings to our family bond and our love for one another. It really does. Especially when one of has had a bad day and we feel like there's nothing to celebrate, and yet, without having to dig deep, we always find something to be grateful for. 

Because there always is something. There has to be something. There's a continuous greater purpose of positive living, loving, and appreciation that's bigger than any one crappy moment. And I've had a lot of crappy moments this year with work. It's been rough in the recruiting and human resources space I'm in and the small candidate experience research firm I run is struggling. We've had to lay off a team member and it might get worse soon. 

However, as my wife tells me all the time, always be grateful for endless possibilities, because we're not the sum of our crappy moments. We're constantly the culmination of love and possibility, and those times are now again. Always in the now again. It doesn't mean that there won't be obstacles to overcome, but when you're grateful even for those no matter the mirrored contradiction, it's a win. Without those and endless possibilities, what would be the point? Thankfully I don't worry about that question anymore. I'm grateful for where I'm at this very moment with myself and my family. 

Dump Free

If I had water in my mouth, I would've sprayed it everywhere. My wife Amy and I were on our way to the 51st annual Wharf to Wharf race when she said something that cracked me up.

"After we park and walk, there will be plenty of time to use one of the porta-potties," I said. "We always have to pee before we start the race."

"Ugh. I hate the porta-potties because everybody always has to take a big ol' dump before the race, and then I get that one."

God, that was funny, because she's also not wrong. I seem to find those, too. I guess we don't have to look down when we enter a porta-potty, but we always do. (I'll bet you do it, too.)

The Wharf to Wharf Race is a super-fun annual10K race that goes from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk to the Capitola Wharf and usually attracts over 15,000 people. The race donates proceeds to Santa Cruz County youth sports and running programs. We've done it for many years together, and I think I've participated in it myself for 15 years now (the earliest I documented the race here was the 2nd year I ran it in 2008). I ran this 10K race until 2014, because that's when I hurt my knee and couldn't run or walk it that year (I had knee surgery that year). 

After that we mostly walked the race each year. During the covid years when there was no in-person race, we did our own 6-mile hikes and tracked them on their app. We did try to run again a little last year for the big 50th year, but that was rough on my legs. This year, we walked. One of the fun parts of the race is that there are live bands and other musical groups sprinkled throughout the race route. Good times! 

After we parked downtown and walked to the Boardwalk before the Wharf to Wharf race started, we approached the infamous porta-potties. I smiled thinking about Amy's "everybody always has to take a big ol' dump before the race" comment in the car.

"You know, they should have dump-only porta-potties," Amy said. 

I chuckled. "Yes, and pee-only ones, too."

We laughed and stood staring at the dozens of porta-potties for a few seconds. So many people and so many dumps, I thought. 

"I'm going to go," I said. "What about you?"

Amy looked at them and said, "Yes, I guess I'll go." 

Afterwards, as we headed to the race starting area, I gave her a big smile. 

"Any dumps in yours?" I asked.

"No! Dump free! What about you?"

"Same!"

And then we were off to start another Wharf the Wharf race. Good times!

All The Right Pieces In All The Right Places

The bed alone came in four different boxes. Dozens of pieces big and small plus four full bags of screws, dowels, and related construction things. The directions had the thickness of a magazine. Pages of descriptions with illustrations and alternate ways to put it all together. 

I started sweating just staring at it all. 

I've put together many pieces of furniture over the years, and with each piece comes its own share of stress, blood, sweat, and tears. And cussing. Lots of cussing. Sometimes the directions read like Latin and it would take forever to put together. This would always include putting something together incorrectly, followed by a string of colorful expletives while took it apart and put it back together again. 

And sometimes the directions were clear, but then pieces were missing or broken, and I'd have to contact the manufacturer to send new pieces. Usually though, manufacturers of prefab furniture provide extra parts and a customer service line to help you if you're grappling with broken or misshapen pieces that don't fit.

Like life, there's not always accurate directions, and the right pieces don't always fit where they're supposed to, and there's a lot of cussing (for me).

This time we ordered furniture from IKEA for both our daughters. We've ordered from IKEA before, and even though the joke is always what I've already outlined above -- tons of pieces and hours of sweaty fun to put together -- they've been quality products for us and they do a good job with packing their goods and the providing clear directions. 

The furniture is for both our daughters, because after sharing a bedroom for 12 years, and cramming a lot of stuff for two kids into one space, they're getting their own rooms as teens after some house remodeling. They've always gotten along fine in that shared space, but they're definitely looking forward to their own rooms. Their mom Amy has been helping them go through what they're keeping and what they're getting rid of. Now that we're back from vacation, it's time to get it all done before school starts. 

It is a bittersweet moment, though. This is yet another transition to independence and adulthood for them both. Moving away from young kid things (not all the way) to older teen things. Decorating their own spaces they way they want (within parental reason). 

It's also bittersweet because we know they'll miss each other. They've been close as sisters and friends for a long time sharing a bedroom and it will come with some buyer's remorse. More for our oldest Beatrice than her younger sister Bryce; Bryce can't wait for her own room. Yes, they'll still be in the same house together and will hang out in each other's new rooms, but the childhood days of sharing space are ending. 

I took a break from putting together Beatrice's new bed to have lunch. She asked me if she could help put something together, and I said of course. I told her to put together her desk chair. 

From where I sat at our dining room table eating lunch, I could hear Beatrice moaning and complaining about putting the chair together, not understanding the directions, dropping screws. Just like her dad but without the cussing, I thought. Then I heard Bryce tell Beatrice she'd help her. 

Bryce joined her big sister and I listened to them work together. They laughed, they complained, they teased each other, and they put the chair together, together. At one point it sounded like they were struggling with the chair, but when I asked if they needed any help, I heard a resounding no. 

I checked out the new chair and sure enough they put it together correctly, although there was an extra plastic cap that looked like it belonged on the chair. Bryce told me it did not and the directions said to throw it away. 

Well done, kids. However, life doesn't come with such a clear set of instructions, and while they're not quite in their own rooms yet, so far their budding independence and path to adulthood has all the right pieces in all the right places. 

Relationships That Travel Well

"You get annoyed so easily," Bryce said. "You both do."

Our youngest was talking to us, her mom and dad. She said this because we got snippy with our oldest Beatrice for always taking too long to choose something to eat and drink while we were on vacation (and just in general). Bea always needs more time to choose since she's a vegetarian, and we understand that. 

Bryce doesn't need more time to choose, because she's not a vegetarian, but she can be really picky about what she eats and how she eats it. Sometimes when she orders food she's like Sally from When Harry Met Sally -- "And I'd like it all on the side, please." She also gets really "hangry" when she's hungry and picky, which did annoy us a few times on this vacation. 

Both kids were actually pretty good the entire trip and the family grump level was low overall considering how much we make the kids go, go, go and do, do, do. This after traveling over 13,000 miles, most of which was the long flights to London and back. Overall, it was a two-week trip of planes, trains, automobiles, buses, and taxis to and throughout the UK and Ireland. This trip also included about 90 miles of walking over two weeks, an average of seven miles per day. Our kids didn't walk all 90 miles, but they did do most of it. 

As I mentioned in my last piece, there are no greater companions in the world than my family. No more how great, though, the snippy grumps happen between all of us, including between mom and dad, my wife Amy and me. It all comes with the travel territory when vacationing together as a family. Or when we're just living together 24/7. Which is all the time. 24/7.

After over 25 years together and many destinations under our belts, Amy and I can definitely get snippy with each other when traveling, especially when it comes to:

1. How early to get to the airport, which for Amy is never early. She'd prefer to get there at not necessarily the last minute, but without a lot of sitting around time. I prefer earlier than later, just to have wiggle room if something goes wrong. (We compromise nicely on this one now.)
2. Directions, which in full transparency, I'm not the greatest at, even with the Maps app and GPS. We can walk or drive somewhere, and then if we did it again, I would still second-guess which way to go, even with GPS.

In regards to number 2, during the last leg of our trip in Ireland, we decided to rent a car and drive ourselves around. Before this trip, the one and only time we drove on the other side of the car and road was in Australia back in 2018, and we ended up doing okay with the driving. So, we did it again in Ireland. 

This time there were a lot more roundabouts than in Australia (at least it seemed that way), which actually are quite efficient compared to stoplights. The problem (for me) was which exit to take. The Maps app would tell us specifically which exit to take, but when Amy drove I told her to take wrong one a few times. In my defense, the Maps exit number didn't always match the exits on the roundabouts we took, but I was still wrong most of the time. That frustrated her to no end and I finally stopped commentating. Kind of.

I did the same thing when we used Maps while walking around, and it took me over a week to figure out that the little flashlight-like directional glow coming off the blue dot was like a compass reminding us to keep following the right blue-line directions. Again, in my defense, Maps and GPS can freak out and give incorrect directions, but most of the time they were correct. And I was not. Amy and I are still a good team and we get to where we're going. 

Yes, we all get grumpy traveling together (and living together). However, there's a nuance to the mom and dad travel and everyday life grumpies that sometimes our kids mistake for fighting. Amy and I have been together for over 25 years now and we know each other very well. Of course we've had our share of disagreements, even a few serious fights, but we also like to tease each other where it sounds like we're grumpy, but we're really not. They're just one part of our long-term relationship terms of endearment and this came up with our kids during vacation.

"You guys get annoyed so easy," Bryce again reminded us. "Are you fighting now?"

"No, Bryce, we're teasing each other this time, but we can get snippy with each other as you've already seen on this trip," Amy said. "The difference is we always work it out no matter what."

"We don't always agree, but we know how to compromise," I added. "And of course we love each other very much."

That was my queue to give Amy a kiss. 

"Ugh, stop it!" both girls cried out. 

Then I kissed her again.

We hope someday they'll have their own loving and elastic relationships based on trust and compromise. Those are the relationships that travel well. 

No Greater Companions

"I would not wish any companion in the world but you."

—Shakespeare, The Tempest

"Dad, no more steps!"

Our oldest daughter Beatrice wasn't happy. We had carried our backpacks and dragged our suitcases from the train station to a lunch spot, and then hauled them up stairs on the side of a small hill to the hotel. We'd been doing this between vacation stops the entire trip. Anything that is less than a mile is reasonable to us to walk to with all our stuff. Us, meaning the parents. Not the kids.

"Why couldn't we have just taken a taxi!" Beatrice pleaded. 

We're now halfway through our latest vacation adventure in the UK, and while the entire family is having fun and we're grateful to be here, moving from place to place can be a stressful grind. That's the way my wife Amy and I like to travel, though. Especially when we're in places we've mostly never been, at least not together with our children. We pack a lot in on our trips and it's why we save our money each year to go on them. We've been traveling together before the kids and since. They're always an investment well worth the spend for us to experience, learn, and grow as humans. 

This time so far we've seen really old rocks (Stonehenge), really old castles (Windsor, Edinburgh, Blair), really old churches (Canterbury Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, St. Giles' Cathedral), and so many really lovely people, old and young, along the way. 

But back to the travel schlog. Our youngest daughter Bryce doesn't mind it as much as Bea does, but like me, she gets hot easily, which makes her uncomfortable and cranky. While I never experienced backpacking-on-the-super-cheap like Amy did before I met her, hauling all our crap in between multiple locations I'll still do. The payoff is always worth it. 

"Dad, no more steps!"

The last stretch to our latest hotel was supposed to be only 39 steps according to a sign up a small hill. We had carried our backpacks and dragged our suitcases from the train station -- total time was only about 15 minutes to haul it all less than a mile. Our kids can get grumpy and beat us up when we push them, but we know someday they'll thank us for all these travel experiences. 

"Why couldn't we have just taken a taxi!" Beatrice pleaded. 

"Just a little bit farther," I said, huffing and puffing up the hill. 

"You can do it," Amy said. "We're also there."

It wasn't 39 steps, though. It was 44. A sign taunted us at the top of the stairs with that bit of information. A measly tease of five more steps and then another 100 feet to walk to the hotel entrance. 

"Why did you make us do that, again?" Bea pressed me one time.

"I'm so hot and tired," said Bryce. 

"Good God, just go to the hotel," I said, wiping sweat out of my eyes, more than ready to rest and cool off.

We can all get a little cranky on these trips together, not just the kids. I'll tell you what, though -- I'll take the sweaty backpack and suitcase schlogging anywhere in the world as long as I'm with my wife and girls. There are no greater companions in the world. 

This Father's Way

It had been nearly a week since I set the barbecue on fire on Father's Day, and now we were walking alongside the River Thames in London, awake for nearly 24 hours since we left home.

And the first thing the kids wanted to see in London? The Shrek Experience.

Don't worry, they did make a list of all the other traditional things folks want to do in London prior to us going. And we did shout in jet-lagged glee when we saw Big Ben across the Thames. 

But about that barbecue fire the week before on Father's Day. Every time I barbecue, I crank up the propane afterwards for a few minutes to burn off the grill and then scrape it. I knew the bottom of the barbecue was due for cleaning, but I thought I could do one more grilling before I did it. As the grill was "burning off," I looked outside the kitchen window and noticed a whole lot of black smoke billowing from the back vents. And flames. Lots and lots of flames. I ran outside, looked at the barbecue, and then called out to my wife Amy. 

"Amy, can you bring me a cup of water?"

She could also see the smoke and flames and told me later she had thought to herself, He wants me to bring him a cup of water for that?

I then realized I had the garden house right there in front of me. I turned off the propane and doused the flames through the vents. I did not open the barbecue lid until the flames were out. Thankfully no one was hurt and nothing was damaged. Our kids asked, "Dad, how did you do that?" 

Quite easily, I thought without answering out loud.

Earlier that same day I was finishing painting Beatrice's new bedroom we're renovating. I had turned the ceiling fan on earlier to help dry the earlier coat of paint, but I didn't turn it off when I got on the ladder to paint the upper wall and -- smack! -- the fan blades whacked the back of my head. Fortunately, there was no major trauma or blood.

And even earlier that same day, again all on Father's Day, we were putting the cover back on our RV, and as I reached down to toss Amy one of the restraining ties, I gouged my hand directly in a sensitive spot that bled and bled. That's something I do all the time, with most of the time not even knowing how or when I made myself bleed on my hands, my arms, and/or my legs. Amy and the girls always say, "Dad, you're bleeding again. How do you do that?"

"It's not about how, girls. It's about when and how bad each time." 

These father fails aren't exactly related to our now family vacation, but in a way, they are. This father's way -- my way, that is. Being a father of two amazing human teens, two daughters, has been an extraordinarily fulfilling journey for the 14 years since our oldest Beatrice was born and the 12 years since our youngest Bryce was born. I'm grateful that they see all my successes as well as my usually self-deprecated day-to-day failures, like setting the barbecue on fire, or gouging my hands or arms unknowingly doing supposedly simple chores. And I'm so grateful that we can take them on jam-packed vacation journeys, even if the first thing they want to see in London is the Shrek Experience. Sigh. 

This father's way makes for a loving end to every day. 

Our Only Cat Thing

Her name was Cleo. Short for Cleopatra. A cross-eyed Siamese cat we had was I was a child that would sprint across our front yard, her back legs pumping faster than her front, which would then rotate her back end to her front end 180 degrees causing her to literally flip over and tumble multiple times to an abrupt stop. She'd look stunned, meow, and then do it all over again. 

She was also a loving cat. Until she wasn't. Not unusual for cats, Cleo would lay on my stomach while I laid on the bed or the couch, purring contentedly while I petted her. After a few minutes I hear her low growl growing inside her and she'd tense up. That's when I knew she was going to pounce on my head, and if I didn't push her off me or cover my head with something, I was a goner. 

Pounce!

Decades later, the last cats that my wife Amy and I had were her cats she had before we met, a sister and a brother named Chelsea and Charlie, and I had a dog named Joshua. Her cats did not like my dog, but they all tolerated each other. Chelsea was a beautiful Calico, and after our daughters came, first Beatrice then Bryce, only Chelsea was still alive. Bryce was only a baby and Beatrice was two. Beatrice would toddle behind Chelsea, pull on her tail, and call out "Kitty!" Chelsea didn't want any of that and she'd take a swipe at Bea. Chelsea lived to be 21 years old, too. Mercy me that's old for a cat.

Then there was my mother-in-law's cat, Sweetie. They lived with us for a few years when our girls were little. Sweetie was skittish gray ghost cat that would vanish before you even entered the room. She also took swipes at Beatrice, one time connecting and leaving a big scratch on her arm. That deterred her a little bit from pursuing Sweetie, but never fully stopped her. 

So, what's with all this cat talk today? Especially on Father's Day? Well, it's because our girls now want a cat, especially Bryce, and that's never going to happen in a million years. At least, until in a million years when the girls have places of their own. 

Why? Because cats are like humans; they're extremely unpredictable. When they're indoor cats they use cat boxes that constantly stink. When they're outdoor cats they leave dead things on your porch like Biblical sacrifices. They hack up hair balls. They scratch everything. They knock everything over. They howl and hiss and run around in the middle of the night. One minute they're loving you, and then next, pouncing on your head and biting your ears and nose.

I'm sure there are many cat owners that would challenge my current distaste for cats. Blessings to you all. Amy and I are really more dog people, and while dogs can be just as bad as unpredictable cats, they're still more like docile children compared to the bizarre, unpredictable world of adult-like cats. 

So, sorry kids, no cats. Instead, my girls and I watch cat videos together with our dog Jenny by our side (not caring about the cats). Funny cat videos of cats running around like banshees. Of cats knocking things off of high shelves. Of cats getting startled and jumping five feet into the air and off of counters. Of cats pouncing on each other and/or other humans suddenly. Of cats making alien sounds after smelling food they don't like. Of cats hacking up hair balls the size of oranges. Of cats laying around and watching TV. Of cats being dressed up in funny clothes and sunglasses and made to dance. 

Each night before bed now we watch funny cat videos until we laugh so hard we cry. It's our cat thing. Our only cat thing. So funny!

Nope, don't look at me like that, kids. No cats!