On Your Birthday

When you first opened your eyes,
The moment before I blinked
With vista full of tears,
I thought I saw
The galaxy swirling.
That a universe so incomprehensibly vast
Could be confined to such small vessels.

As hopes and
Dreams and
Wishes and
Prayers
All shot by at over eleven million miles per minute.

As you became,
I became something new under sun and moon.

Hope fulfilled.
More than dreams imagined.
Wishes turned truth.
Prayers answered
With a soft cry pushed into being by tiny lungs.

Miracles.

I thought I saw the galaxy be born.
I believe I heard the voice of God.

The Miracle of Toast

Okay, my little nugget, time to go into the oven.

Our niece and nephew recently offered some interesting insight into the miracle of childbirth. As a little context, my wife is currently very pregnant—like within two weeks of delivery pregnant!

The conversation centered around the whole “got a bun in the oven” idiom, which they found rather perplexing. The discussion quickly turned to making toast, I suppose because they were more familiar with cooking bread in a toaster rather than an oven.

However, their toaster doesn’t quite work at the optimal level. The toast doesn’t just pop out when it’s ready. You have to manually push the lever in order to retrieve your warm, crispy wheat square. And sometimes, the lever gets stuck and it’s rather difficult to get the toast out.

At this point, my brother-in-law was able to point out to his children the meaning of this timely metaphor: getting toast out of the broken toaster is just like getting a baby out of the mommy… except without a lever, I guess?

So, when my wife is writhing in pain during the delivery, I’ll just need to remind her not to fret and that it’s just like making toast.

Well, now it’s time to grab some seasonal pumpkin butter and enjoy a slice of processed gluten with high fructose corn syrup.

Potty Humor

Coulda sworn I left something in here…

Welcome to another tickling tidbit of Thrilling Tales of Toddlerdom!

The other day I was sitting with our toddler (me on a stool, her on the potty) and waiting for the punctually scheduled morning bowel movement. After one-two-three little grunts and a squinched up face like a dehydrated lemon, I knew we had another successful fiber deposit.

Suddenly, she peeked down into the toilet bowl and exclaimed with astonishment, “Oh! There’s a mommy poop and a daddy poop and a baby poop—the baby poop goes ‘waahhh!’” A terrific example of transfer and application of knowledge. A truly laugh out loud moment.

No convoluted life metaphor this week. I’m not comparing poo portions to some deeper philosophical thought. Just: it’s good to take time to find and enjoy the funny moments in life. At work, over a meal, in bed, or on the potty; allow yourself a chortle or two. Enjoy the odd and comical and absurd, like warm soup for a sick soul.

This has been Thrilling Tales of Toddlerdom!

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Slippery Slope

We took the kids to this natural spring swimming area located in a national park. Overall, it was delightful experience. But there’s a couple of things about these parks that aren’t ideal. Specifically, I’m talking the slick algae and moss growing on all the rocks and steps and ladders. I always feel like I’m gonna slip and bust my head open while trying to get in the water.

But the real kicker is this: the park had installed these railings around the entire swimming area. They looked as if they would function both as safety rails (to prevent people from accidently falling in the water) and as hand rails (to help people safely enter and exit the water).

But if you thought that these rails were for helping people to not slide and tumble while getting in and out of the pool, then you would be so very wrong, and the livid lifeguards perched atop their judgment nests would surely let you know of your transgressions with the blowing of trumpets blasting forth from the clouds and with cups of wrath flooded out onto the earth as fire and brimstone from the grave.

“Stay off the rails!!!”

The shouts of condemnation would pierce into a person’s soul and then some would inevitably fall like lemmings to their demise (actually, the lemmings jumping off cliffs thing is a total myth).

One friendlier lifeguard approached us and said, “Hey guys, you can climb and jump off the rocks all you want, but you’ve got to stay off the rails please.”

And I’m thinking… wait, wait, wait a second here… First of all, there are no signs about staying off the rails. Maybe if there were signs, you wouldn’t have to scare people half to death with your four horses of the apocalypse war cries.

Secondly, maybe there were signs, but I don’t know because I wasn’t paying attention. Who has time to read when you’re too busy trying not to die while algae figure-skating?

But thirdly, seriously? We need to stay away from these securely mounted railings, but those super slippery, goo-covered rocks are fine‽ These rocks are by far the most dangerous thing out here! And what’s the point of all these rails in the first place if not to use them?

Sometimes, life doesn’t quite make sense. Like pineapple on pizza or pickles on peanut butter or hot sauce on mango… it can be difficult to rationalize the sanity of the world. But take heart, and do not lose hope! For to hope is to be human. That we can continue to imagine a better world and believe in a better future is a testament to the divine nature in all of us. At times I start to lose faith in humanity like I’ve lost faith in Sony’s ability to produce good a Spider-Man movie. But then I remember: Hey, chicken and waffles are delicious! What an unexpectedly great idea‽ Perhaps, truly, there is hope after all.

(By the way, if you happen to know why these park rail rules exist, then please don’t bother letting me know why; you can feel free to not email me at MySpace… is that still a thing? Don’t let me know. Not really interested.)

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty. – Mahatma Gandhi

The Grrreat Tiger Theory

I recently saw a trailer for the upcoming Mister Rogers movie starring Tom Hanks. So. Super. Stoked. That man was and still is a national treasure. God bless Mister Rogers, his soft-spoken, stoic, cerebrally strange puppets and all those sweaters.

If you haven’t kept up with the man’s legacy, then you’re missing out. In our home, we watch Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. Ya can keep your over-produced, premium-subscription, serialized dramas. Give me big-eyed, silly, anthropomorphized animals in wool cardigans anytime.

And look, here’s the thing: Daniel Tiger is a veritable genius. Throughout history, humanity is gifted these truly remarkable people that change the course of society. Leonardo da Vinci… Galileo Galilei… Isaac Newton… Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart… Albert Einstein… Daniel Tiger (I apologize for only listing white Western men… and one oversized kitty). It’s like the great man (person) theory that proposes most of history can be understood and explained by the significant impact of highly influential individuals—great people.

Not that I give a tremendous amount of credence to that theory but let me just share some tiger wisdom with you today. Allow me to drop some truth bombs into your brain cavity. Keep in mind that these are all meant to be sung with a little jingle:

“Keep trying, you’ll get better! Try, try, try!”

“It’s okay to feel sad sometimes. Little by little, you’ll feel better again!”

“When you feel so mad that you want to roar, take a deep breath—and count to four. One, two, three, four.”

And of course:

“When you have to go potty STOP, and go right away. Flush and wash and be on your way!”

There’s a little song solution for every life situation. All throughout the day, my family is singing these little melodies to help us get through the grind and struggles.

So, when you’re facing today’s trials and attempting to navigate the winding labyrinth and corridors of life: take a moment, take a breath, and sing a little ditty. It’s not if these things happen; it’s when. Take a lesson from our furry feline friend Daniel Tiger. Keep trying, never quit. Believe in yourself. Learn to regulate your emotions. Don’t poop in your pants—that one’s especially important. And please, would we, could we all just be neighbors?

“Ugga Mugga. – Daniel Tiger”

Finley Walker

Being a Foster Dad

Being a foster dad is awesome; an incredible blessing everyday. Truthfully, being a father in any capacity is a great gift and joy. One of the things that I love most about being a dad is all the things I get to teach my kids. Things like:

  • Teaching them how to be self-sufficient and solve problems on their own like when something goes wrong with the plumbing and good ole’ dad needs to fix it.
  • Or teaching them how to be inquisitive and proactive like when we need to watch YouTube tutorials on how to fix the plumbing when our first fix didn’t go so well.
  • Or teaching them how to be wise and humble like when we need to look up and call a real plumber to come fix the bigger mess that I made before the entire house floods over.
  • Also, teaching them how to match their clothes in the morning like how stripes and plaid go together because they both have lines in them, duh.
  • Also, also, teaching them how to eat a balanced diet like a lunch of pickles (vegetable), mac n’ cheese (grain and dairy), and spoons full of peanut butter right out of the jar (protein and fat). I can even teach them the value of recycling and conservation by saving leftover food in your hair or pockets for later. For myself, I grow a beard to reap the rewards of a nice little flavor-saver. Mmm… my mustache still smells and tastes like garlic knots.
  • And of course, teaching them more about their own selves and how to make various bodily noises and flatulent imitations.

With all these things and more, fostering brings a different kind of special to the mix. I am so deeply in love and in fondness of the little two-year-old girl we have. She may have other parents, but I am her daddy and she is my daughter—my little moon. And nothing will ever change that.

She may not have my eyes, but she has my every admiring glance and smile.

She may not have my ears, but she has my full attention and adoration.

She may not have my nose, but she has my sense of wonder and adventure.

She may not have my complexion, but she has all my hugs and kisses.

What she does have is what is most important. She has my heart. She has my mind. She has my soul. She has my very life, and I would gladly give it up for her.

She also seems to have my uncanny ability to make realistic fart raspberries on demand.

“It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.”

– Friedrich von Schiller