The Great Adventure continues…

When I take three boys to the bathroom at one time, I walk the line — a thin, yellow line.

Water, freed from a dam, moves with intense energy. It cuts its path with a force unrivaled in nature. Well, nearly so. Nothing is so swift or forceful as my sons rushing to the bathroom. Their race is powered by the intense desire to explore the wonders of indoor plumbing for the masses. I reluctantly ride this massive force helpless to stop the chaos it creates.

Three boys tugging, pulling, pushing – and touching everything. I never thought of myself as having a queasy stomach. At home, I’m usually the one to clean the carpet when the kids get sick on it. I pick up the dog’s mess in the back yard. I’ve even endured diapers the EPA would classify as toxic waste. But there’s something about three boys in a public restroom that makes me want to… Well, I’ll just say the only thing keeping from being sick is the image of putting my head near somewhere it was never meant to go.

If my sons would be satisfied with just using the restroom I would not have a problem, but being boys they are explorers. They want to examine every inch of every surface by touching everything, by looking under, over, and around everything. They also share the explorer-like tendency to make bold proclamations. Unfortunately, a bold proclamation in the average public restroom has the tendency to echo loudly (and much too long).

My explorers like to make proclamations such as:

“That man is making this place stinky!”
“He has brown shoes because he’s pooping.”
“When that man is done he’s going to use that sink” (said while pointing to the meanest, and toughest looking man in the room; and indicating the dirtiest sink in the room).

It’s times like these I don’t know whether to fear more for my health or my safety.

Gem identified a “future” meme on her blog. Having already been prodded several times by my wife to contribute to memes I thought I’d get things moving on my own this time around.

American Snapshot

According to the book, a majority of Americans:

• Eats peanut butter at least once a week
I’m allergic. To this day I can’t even eat grape jelly thanks to my brother and sister mixing that sticky, icky brown paste into jar back when. (I do like strawberry jelly though)!.

• Prefers smooth peanut butter over chunky
Yeah right!

• Can name all Three Stooges
What about Shemp?

• Lives within a 20-minute drive of a Wal-Mart
I swear it’s more like 20 Wal-Marts within a 5-minute drive. (Are they like weeds or what)?

• Eats at McDonald’s at least once a year
Mwuahahahaha! (Every kid down to the 2-year-old knows the theme song for crying out loud).

• Takes a shower for approximately 10.4 minutes a day
I admit my average is dropping significantly. At this rate, when the 5 kids are teenagers I’ll be lucky if it’s 10.4 minutes a month.

• Never sings in the shower
Never say never.

• Lives in a house, not an apartment or condominium
Yup. First house. Coming up on 4 months now.

• Has a home valued between $100,000 and $300,000
Sure.

• Has fired a gun
Yes.

• Is between 5 feet and 6 feet tall
No. I’m exactly 6 feet. And yet, so many people seem to be much taller than me…

• Weighs 135 to 205 pounds
Yes.

• Is between the ages of 18 and 53
Yes – and seeing that place where 53 is closer than 18.

• Believes gambling is an acceptable entertainment option
How can losing money possibly be fun?

• Grew up within 50 miles of current home
Yes. But at least I didn’t grow up within 50 miles of a Wal-Mart.

The White Sox recently won the World Series. I know this fact not because I’m a White sox fan, or even a baseball fan. I follow baseball, but I really only pay attention to the Colorado Rockies. And given their current poor ownership/management, and resulting poor records, I really only follow them in the newspaper. No, I know the White Sox won the World Series because I’m a guy – and that’s the kind of thing a guy notices without trying.

Another thing guys do, particularly guys who are fathers, is make big plans with their sons. I’ve read about fathers and sons who have made it their mission to visit every Major League ballpark in North America. What an awesome goal! Imagine all the cities you would experience, the players you would see, the hotdogs you could eat.

I’d like to make big plans with my sons – if I can survive their current goal.

Survive? You ask.

Yes. Survive.

I use the word survive, not to indicate a tedious or uninteresting goal, for although the tasks are tedious they are nothing approaching uninteresting. No, I use the word survive exactly as one would describe living through the Black Plague. You see, my sons’ great plan is to explore every bathroom on the planet.

A typical child has a wonderful sense of adventure – the inspiring need to explore. I believe this is healthy and natural because it is the gateway to learning. Although it’d be hard to argue against my sons’ desire being natural it certainly can’t be healthy. I’m no spermatophobe, but three boys in a bathroom at the same time is a bit much to take.

The “adventure” usually starts somewhere quite public with the following public proclamation, “Daddy, I need to go to the bathroom!”

It’s important the announcement be as public (and LOUD) as possible so as to get the attention of every brother in earshot – not to mention a few eavesdroppers. The answer is as immediate as a religious call and response, “Daddy, I need to go to the bathroom too!”

With that the journey begins.

Okay. Here is some writing I can really get with (Thanks Iowahawk).
Problem is I need a lot more material.
Start Googling people! (My first attempt is below)

Question and Answer

Have you seen this chicken?

yesterday when i was mad,
the reluctant blogger

why did i major in english?

To me writing is not a natural process. It is a twisted Frankenstein process. The monsters (of thought) this writing process creates take on lives of their own, overrunning my own thoughts.

The typing comes easily. Nothing else does.

The struggle to put words to paper, or print, or screen is a torturous dance. It starts like a snake bite. The venom pools, then pushes through my veins crawling its way through me. Panic makes it move more quickly. Struggle increases the agony.

Cold sweat and shakes are what’s left after all is done. And the words.

The beauty of the words.

I was driving to work one day going over in my head all the stuff I had to do. I was fighting the feeling I’d forgot something at home when it hit me. I was missing two kiddos.

My wife and I had two miscarriages this year. I don’t know why my thoughts turned toward them at this particular moment, but my heart sank. The first little one would have been here by now. There’s emptiness instead.

My MP3 player skipped to a song by the Newsboys called The Orphan. The chorus sings of a person waiting to hear an orphan infant’s cry. I thought of my own longing to hear my child’s cry. I thought about him resting in God’s care. Loved. Secured. Saved. I longed to see him and suddenly I felt the one orphaned. I thought of David lamenting,

“Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.” (2 Samuel 12:23)

And I thought about how I am the orphan without my child. How I could be forever an orphan. I thought about that singer standing on a barren shore, waiting for a cry. I thought about my loss and how it made me want to be close to God. I thought about a child given to us long ago and how He will make sure I see mine one day.

Tears of sorrow and of joy streamed from my eyes.