We Can't Have Nice Things: My Thrift Store Fail

When Amy and I bought our house 2 years ago, we were in love. It's a lovely 70s split level which, believe it or not, is exactly what we were looking for. (Utah houses have so much square footage eaten up in basements, that are haunted and that no one wants to spend any time in. The split level gives you the chance to actually have basements with windows.)

Anyway, as we started picking decor for the home, we spent a lot of time shopping in vintage and consignment shops. I'm a big believer that the interior of your house should match the exterior and match the place you live in. Nothing drives me crazier that faux-Tuscan villas in Kearns, Utah and Travertine marble bathrooms in Traverse Mountain. Our house was an East Salt Lake split level brick home built in 1969 and I want it to feel like a modern version of that when you walk inside.

Our house has a big loft type room up a few steps from the kitchen which is an office/ library/ TV room/ computer room. It's really big, so we have tried to divide the space up a bit but it can handle some big furniture. So when our favorite vintage store called us to say that they had a peacock blue and green 15 foot sectional, we knew we had to have it. And I love it.

 When we bought it I notice there were a couple of spot where the fabric was wearing a bit thin, but it was a great price and I figured it looked great after being in someones house for the last 40 years, surely we could get another 10 years or so of use out of it and then reupholster it somewhere down the road.

Wrong. We've had the sofa for about a year and my darling children have destroyed it. Why are kids incapable of just sitting on a couch to watch TV? Why must they be doing back flips over the couch and pacing back and forth on top of it and putting the cushions all over the room?? Isn't a cushion more comfortable on the couch? I think the sofa has doubled in weight since we bought it due to the amount of gold fish crackers squished into the cracks. And the cushion now looks like this:

Here's the armrest, close up:

What have those little upholstery monsters done?

I've tried to fix it. I've tried to add stitch-witch where things were fraying and I've ironed patches inside the cushion. But to no avail. And to recover a 15 foot sofa would probably only cost about $5000, plus the cost of fabric, so that's sort of out of the question. So currently the cushion is wrapped in a big purple blanket to protect it from further damage until we can sort out a permanent solution. A friend of mine who is a designer gave us some great ideas on how to make it work without covering the whole sofa, but it's still going to take some money, which there just isn't extra of right now.

And that's what I always wonder when I see those blogs about those amazing houses (usually in Sweden) where the kids wear scarves and play lovingly with carved wooden horses. How do those houses look like that and have children in them at the same time? Somehow those houses always seem have a giant glass sculpture in the middle of the dining room table and all I can think is how that thing would be broken in 10 minutes in my house.

So, we'll probably never be featured in one of those blogs about people who have it all and have amazing houses and smart, well-behaved, wooden-horse playing kids. My kids would break the legs off that wooden horse and then leave it out in the rain where it would become swollen and waterlogged. And if you want to take photos of our amazing 40 year old sofa, you'll have to brush off the pretzel crumbs and crop out the tears holes. But wait until you see our Mediterranean Grotto with all marble tiles. It's amazing.

The Problem with New Years Resolutions: A Parents Manifesto

Are these slurpee drinking hoodlums killing creativity?

Like all of you, I started this new year off with a list of resolutions. I don't know what it is about this time of year that makes us, collectively as humanity, want to reboot our lives and start over. But we do it, even though we know by about January 10th, half of those resolutions will have fallen by the wayside.

I won't bore you with my resolutions - they were probably the same as yours. And they have gone OK. Some better than others. I think the real problem is that as a parent it feels impossible to make any positive changes in your life because all of your positivity and power for change gets funneled into helping your kids. And then when they are in bed all your change energy has been used up and you just want to sit on the couch and eat pretzel sticks dipped into cookie butter and watch Nashville. Amirite?

I read an awesome book this year called The Family Fang (and is currently available for Kindle for $2.99 - so why don't you just go buy it already?) Its basically the story of a family of performance artists. The parents, Caleb and Camille, use their children in their elaborate performance art pieces. But now the kids are grown up and are dealing with what growing up as a public spectacle meant. One of the themes that runs through the book is something that a friend of Caleb and Camille tells them when they have kids -- "Kids kill art." He thinks that once they have children, their art will suffer.

So, is that true? True life example: One of my resolutions is about writing more. And every day I say to myself, "Today is the day! When my wife goes to the gym and the kids are in bed I am going to sit down and bang out 1000 words in my novel!" And then my wife heads the the gym, and I (finally) get the kids to bed and either I had to scream and yell to get anyone to brush their teeth and I am too grumpy to write or I am just tired and there is a new episode of the Biggest Loser on and so I just watch that instead.

When I was in college and taking creative writing classes, I did a lot of writing. I wrote short stories and poetry like it was going out of style (my poetry probably was.) And it was great. And despite all of my best efforts to write more (I'm pretty sure it was my 2012 resolution too.) my production has slowed to a trickle.

So, whats a creative parent to do? I know there are people who read this blog who are painters or writers or videographers or photographers or print makers or whatever. So how do you find the time and the energy to stay creative when your children take everything you've got.  Parents of older kids: does it get better? Or do I just need to power through and find ways to be creative now?

Even this blog post (which is hardly high art) has taken me an hour to write because I am dealing with a toddler with the flu who just called me down to the bedroom screaming like she was dying because Mikey Mouse's blanket fell off. Now where did I put that cookie butter?

Highs & Lows

A dinner ritual for our family is that we go around the table taking turns recounting our “highs and lows” for the day. You know, the best and worst things that took place that day. Our hope was that it might spur some lively conversation and provide some insight into how each child feels about their stage of life, current events, and of course, have the opportunity to rat out their siblings’ bad behavior and/or tell weird stories about their friends. 

You might expect to hear something along the lines of, “Well, my ‘highs’ for the day included riding my bike, playing with Jo-Jo Marie – who told me that her dad passes gas when he’s watching TV – and having a dance party with Abbie. My ‘lows’ were cleaning my room and also…when Tanner wouldn’t let me play with his lightsaber!”

There have been some eyebrow raising discussions, of course, but for the most part, I’m beginning to see a pattern develop.

Becca, who is 3 years old, generally starts the discussion by reminding us about it. “Mom! Dad! Highsandlows! Highsandlows!” (Most anything Becca says includes exclamation points.) Then Becca will begin to give us not so much the stories of her “highs and lows,” but an itinerary of what she’s done that day. “Uhm, my highsandlows was, I eat breakfast…then I look at books…and my highandlows was, I played games with Connor…I made poops in the potty…and that’s Lucy, and I kiss Lucy, and that’s all!”

Next is Tanner, age 6, who rather indignantly states, “Don’t ask me what my highs and lows are. I’ve told you; don’t ask me. Every day is just fine. I like all my days. I don’t have ‘highs and lows.’” Then Katie will try to jump start it. “Well, what about when you played soccer in the backyard with Connor?” Then, with great conviction, “Yes. That was awesome. That was my high. But don’t ask me anything else.” So Katie strategically mentions all the things he’s done that day, item by item, and only then will Tanner admit that he had “highs and lows.”

Then it’s Roxanna’s turn. She’s 8. And as anticipated, Roxanna (possibly our pickiest eater) will look down at her plate and say, “Well my low is having to have two asparaguses…and kind of this salad, too…(then, moving her fork like a laser-pointer in a marketing presentation)…and my high is this chicken.”

Connor, age 10. Connor is a little more diverse, except that his list invariably includes Star Wars or Legos.  But if he has watched a movie that day, it will always be listed as a ‘high.’ No matter how poor the movie. “My ‘high’ today was watching The Berenstein Bears and the Messy Room.” Me: “No, it wasn’t.” “Yes, it was.” “That could not have been your ‘high.’ Do we even own that movie?” “Yeah…I don’t know where we got it. It’s pretty lame. But that was my ‘high!’”

Garren, age 12. Garren is at a magical age where he still thinks that doing anything with his dad is cool. Whatever we’ve done together that day, Garren will list it as one of his ‘highs.’ “My ‘high’ was picking weeds with dad in the front yard. Then a gang of bikers came by – you should have seen them – they got off their bikes and waved knives in our faces – they stole our minivan out of the driveway – they graffiti’d the house – they threw beer bottles at us – one of the bottles hit me in the head. And Dad and I were like, “Whoa!” Those were my ‘highs’.”

Abbie, age 14. Abbie will genuinely share her “highs and lows.” Her dreams, her disappointments. Her hopes, her fears. But not her crushes. Some things are just not for public display.

What are my highs and lows? My high is that my children will openly share their lives with me. My low is the thought that at someone else’s dinner table, their child is sharing that “Tanner’s dad says the word 'crap' a LOT.”

This is Lucy. Recently 1 year old. Currently has no lows. 

How about YOU? What are YOUR Highs & Lows?

That's What I'm Talkin' 'Bout, Willis.

Folks, I don’t know if you’ve spent much time on this newfangled Internet thingee, but I’m here to tell you, it is awesome! And my prediction – it’s no fad. If I were a betting man, I would wager that this World Wide Web-a-ma-thing is going to stick around. You can quote me on that!

Anyhoot, if the Internet is a familiar place to you, then chances are you have occasionally received an email or seen a Facebook post or some such social communication where somebody of a certain age (read: over 30 years old) has written or most likely forwarded or re-posted some righteous indignation about how the world was a better place in the 80s, because we had Carebears and some old lady playing the role of Wendy’s mom would say, “Where’s the beef?!”

We also generally get a proclamation of how we rode in the backs of open-bed pick-up trucks and played out in the street until dark – and we managed to stay alive! So take THAT you wicked world of the 2000s! And nostalgia kicks in, and we defend this simpler, gentler upbringing of ours with fondness and reflection.

And we think to ourselves, “It’s true! I would no sooner let my children play at the park after dark as send them to use a bathroom in a half-way house!”

Whenever my mind starts making comparisons between these two eras, I think of a very specific incident from my childhood…

Me in 1978.

When I was 8 years old, my mom signed me up for a guitar class. It was held on Wednesday evenings in an upstairs room at our local YMCA. It was southern California, 1979.

The YMCA was far enough from our house that I wouldn’t have walked there on my own, but close enough that my mom would drop me off, head home, and come back to pick me up after an hour.

A lifetime later, and I can still remember sitting in a circle with about 10 other people; all of them older than me by a minimum of 18 years. There was a bumper crop of flared jeans, blouses with lace, massive Lindsay Buckingham hair, and a lot of people calling me “little man.”

“You can really play, little man!”

“Stick with it, little man!”’

“It’s just another brick in the wall, ain’t it, little man?”

There were posters on the walls of Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, and…I think it may have been James Taylor. They all made me a little uncomfortable; and to this day, I am still oddly intrigued by Stevie Nicks. 

The lady teaching the class reminded me of one of the older sisters from the cast of “Eight Is Enough.” This comforted me.

And it smelled like a YMCA, circa 1979.

It was a lot like that scene out of the movie My Girl; where the 11 year old protagonist has a weird crush on her English teacher, Mr. Bixler, so she takes a writing course from him over the summer. She is the only non-college age person in the class, and you can tell she’s in way over her head when some “peace-love-dope” kind of a girl reads an inappropriate poem that she’s written about her and her boyfriend. That’s kind of what I felt like sitting in this class. It was not an age-appropriate environment, but nobody cared.

Anyway, I came home the first night and played a song for my parents. I don’t remember what it was, but I remember them being really encouraging. Not to brag, you guys, but I pretty much nailed it.

I think I went back maybe two more times. I don’t know if that was the predetermined length of the class, or if my parents got nervous about my “new friends,” or if they thought I smelled like a “controlled substance” every time I came back… but for whatever reason  – that was my short-lived brush with hippie folk-rock.  And nope, I’m pretty sure I would not send my kids to such a place in today's world.

Howzabout you? What did you do as a child that you would never let your children do in 2012?

A Spoonful of Kid Praise

Normally, I’m pretty skeptical about any new-age pop-psychology mumbo jumbo slapped onto a magnet and strategically placed front and center on a refrigerator. However I recently came across one such attention-grabbing public notice, and I have to admit, I was intrigued.

It read: 101 Ways to Praise a Child

It was produced by some company that goes by the name of Nannies & Housekeepers U.S.A. At first I was discouraged, as it appeared that it was something solely created for nannies, which we don’t have because a) we don’t have the money, and b) there is only one Mary Poppins, and I don’t think she’s available. But although it was targeted at nannies, I couldn’t help wonder if it might work for parents too, as they sometimes interact with their own children as well.

I decided to give it a shot.

I've carried it around in my pocket for a week now, and I’ve really noticed a difference in my children’s confidence. Used to be that when they ran up to tell me about some accomplishment, I just didn’t know how to react. But now I do!

I tried it out on my oldest first.

Oldest Daughter:  Dad, I made 8 loaves of bread today.

Me: (Scanning the card for the right thing to say) You’re a pleasure to know!  (Nailed it.)

Middle Child: Dad, I drew this picture for you.

Me: What a great listener!

Youngest Son: Dad, I had an accident when I couldn’t climb up on the toilet fast enough.

Me: You’ve earned my respect!

Baby: Pffffpts.

Me: Thanks for caring!

Oldest Son: Dad, in Scouts we talked about coin collections.

Me: The time you put in really shows!

Middle Daughter: (And I wish I were making this one up…) Dad, listen to the song I memorized from West Side Story! “My daddy beats my mommy; my mommy clobbers me; my grandpa is a commie; my grandma pushes tea; my sister wears a mustache; my brother wears a dress! Goodness! Gracious! That’s why I’m a mess!”

Me: Class act!

So, turns out, as you can plainly see, that sometimes this stuff really works! I can really tell a difference in my children’s attitudes. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that if this parenting thing doesn’t work out, I could totally be a nanny. Kenny Poppins.