And today, youngest SON of Thunder celebrates such a day. Yes, they grow up too fast.

I was looking over a previous letter and realized what I said then I still mean today. Some things don’t, and shouldn’t, change.

So, with the appropriate age and grade changes, here’ s that letter I wrote last year to the Youngest.

Dear Master Shifu:

At least that’s what we call you most of the time, especially when you’re doing some type of Kung Fu stuff on your older brothers. But enough of that.

Today is your day. You are now seven  eight and in First  Second Grade. Your life is before you because this is when it really starts. You are ready, and you’ve told me that enough so I know too.

As you know, every now and then I write a little fatherly advice column for each of you. And since today is your birthday, it’s your turn.

You, like your brothers, are a gift from God and the Little Black Dress and I are very grateful you are in our lives.  We also call you the Sons of Thunder, because, frankly, that’s pretty much what you all are. But even when the house is destroyed as soon as you come home from school, despite The Dress spending six hours cleaning, always know we love you.

Anyway, here’s some things I’ve learned and what to pass on to you:

- You are silly funny. Don’t ever let that go. You can make anyone laugh, like when you were introduced to your First Grade teacher and you said “ha lo guvnur” in that British accent. Never lose your sense of humor.

- Always stand up for your brothers. They are your family. Even when they hide your favorite toys or won’t “share,” let it go. Life is more than that.

- Treat every woman or girl like you would The Dress.  Mothers will adore you, fathers will actually let you date their daughters. But that’s down the road.

- God has a purpose for your life. Find it. You will learn as you grow older that you have certain talents and passions not shared by others. Realize those passions and desires come from God.

- Find a hobby – golf, fishing, sailing or whatever – you can do all your life. You will develop friendships through those hobbies. It will also enable you to get away every now and then and just think.

- Enjoy your work and make sure it’s tied to your passions.  Never work where you are not appreciated.

- Honor your word. It is one of the most important things you have and is incredibly difficult to regain if lost. Keep your promise even if it costs you.

- Tied to that is to be loyal. Loyal to your friends, you family, your spouse, your work. Be known as someone who can be trusted, you will never lack anything. If you are betrayed, remember people are human. Practice one of the hardest things in the world – forgiveness.  That doesn’t mean you can forget, but if you don’t forgive, you will be the one damaged.

- Realize what is truly important in life and focus on those things: God, family, friends, loyalty, honor. Take care of those, everything else will fall into place.

- Practice the 80-10-10 rule. Give 10 percent of everything you make to charity; save 10 percent; learn to live on the remaining 80 percent. You will always have enough money.

- Don’t grow up. I realize you will, but I do love you just the way you are. But I also mean to keep your child-like sense of awe, of laughter, of taking delight in the small things.

- Even after school, continue to learn. Develop a thirst for knowledge.

- Take care of the small things, but never let them overwhelm you. Do them one at a time, but do them right. The big things will take care of themselves.

- Be willing to sign your name to anything you do.

- If you don’t know, ask. No one knows it all

- Marry someone like your mom, The Dress, and you will be fine.

I realize a lot of this is over your head right now, especially since you’re just starting to read. That’s okay. Hopefully you’ll keep this around and pull it out every now and then.  And maybe you’ll go, “wow, dad was kinda right on some things” or something like that.

Just remember, your mom and I love you very much and will always be there for you, even when you don’t mind and we, well, kinda yell and stuff.

Happy birthday Levi Scott Winters

Dad

I had a very nice little Dolly Varden on the line when I was rudely interrupted by my cell phone. Normally, this is ignored, especially when fish are involved. This call was not.

Within a couple of hours, the first Son of Thunder entered the world. He arrived fast, the doctor and I didn’t even have time to put on those ugly scrubs. We just threw on some gloves and within minutes, I was holding him against my fly fishing vest.

I hate clichés; like how they grow up so fast, where did the time go.

He has grown up too fast and I have no idea where the time has gone.

Today, Eldest Son of Thunder becomes a teenager. And as in the past, it’s time for one of those letters. A lot of this may sound familiar, and that’s because some things just stand the test of time.

Here goes.  

Dear Caleb:

Congratulations on hitting a major milestone. You are now officially a teenager and it is an apparent rite of passage that you now get to talk back, sulk and just test our patience to the limit.

Don’t go there. Be you.

And I guess that’s my first bit of advice – be you. I say that because “you” are incredible. You are a gifted athlete who can play any sport with anyone. And you are way too smart. Please realize that at some point, you really are going to have to study more than you do now.

But be you. God made you exactly the way He wanted. Honor that and Him by being you.

Stand for what is true. Be honest and keep your commitments. Be known as the one whose word is their bond. It is becoming a dying art. If you make a promise, keep it.

Be willing to sign your name to anything you do. By that I mean do your best at everything – school, work, play or anything else. Be able to look anyone in the eye and say with complete honestly, “I did my best.”

Find your “Sams” and more importantly, be a “Sam” to others. Always be willing to help others; seek wisdom and guidance from Godly individuals. Never be afraid to ask for help, admit what you don’t know and then learn it. Also admit when you are wrong and then fix it. Never pass blame.

When everyone else has deserted, be the one still standing: standing by those who need you, standing by the Truth, standing by Honor.

Speaking of Honor, learn what it really is. It is unfortunate that it is a word sadly lacking today. Honor God and Honor yourself. Be respectful to women and your elders. Remember that when you break it all down, you only have two things in life – your name and your Honor. Honor both.

Be passionate. Anyone can learn a skill, but true passion is an art. It cannot be taught, it comes from your core. So be passionate in everything you do.

You know, as I write this I realize with a great deal of pride that I am simply describing you as you are now. I am incredibly thankful for that and I am proud of who you are. But it never hurts to reiterate.

Just a couple of other things:

Learn the 80-10-10 rule – save 10 percent of everything you make; give 10 percent away to charity; live on the remaining 80 percent. I have yet to meet anyone who lived by this rule and had financial problems. Remember that everything, even your money, is really God’s. Live wisely and within your means. Try to pay cash for everything; credit is a deadly game that few win.

Choose your friends wisely. Realize, especially as you get older, they will have the greatest impact on your life. And rightly or wrongly, people will judge you by your friends. Be loyal to your friends, but be willing to break any friendship that could lead you down the wrong path.

And speaking of people, never judge. Never judge by their title, their income or their stuff. Judge not. Realize that money, fame and fortune do not make the man. A man is one who keeps his word, who stands for what is right regardless of the cost, who protects his family and Honors God.

A man is one who does not try to be someone else or who follows the crowd. A true man is one whom, to those being honest with themselves, they wish they were. Be that man. Be the one others want to be.

One day you will stand before God. He will not look at your resume, your title, your stuff or anything else the world considers important. He will simply ask you what did you do with the talents He gave you. Be ready, and be proud of your answer.

Understand that regardless of how crazy your mom and I make you sometimes, that we always have your best interests at heart – even when we’re wrong.

And finally, realize there are only three major decisions in life: the career or job path you choose, your relationship with Jesus Christ, and whom you marry.

As to the first, choose a career in something you are passionate about, that your are good at. Regardless of what it is, be the very best at it you can.

Regarding the second, it is without doubt the most important decision you will make. And it is an ongoing one. By that I mean every day you must determine how you will live. You can follow the world, or you can follow Christ. Our time on earth is short, eternity is forever.

The third choice is easy. Marry someone like your mom, the Little Black Dress.

Caleb McPhee Winters, despite what I tell you, I am not perfect. But always remember that I love you with every ounce of my being and I am doing the best I can in raising you. So just hang with me.

Happy birthday Son.

Love, Dad.

We will forgo any mention of Obligatory Day.

Anyway, let’s continue. Deep in making a marinade sauce for the grilled lamb on the night’s menu, I was in a quandary. (Those wanting the recipe, also known as  ”How To Win The Heart of Your Own Little Black Dress,” just click  here)

My hands were covered with said marinade, as well as the raw meat, and I needed some more spices. I needed some help. And so I did what I thought was a rather excellent way to get help. I said … “I need some help.”

Nothing.

So I tried again, a rather common practice in our household where increasing volumes somehow seem to get better responses.

“I’ll help … but I have to die first,” responded the youngest Son of Thunder.

Well, that gave me pause.  

“Excuse me?”

“I have to die first i’m in the middle of this tank war and i’m in the red tank right here, see? see? see? and if i stop now then i die and i’m almost done and i’ve never beat this level and hang on just one more second and oh shoot i just got shot and where did he come from and arrhhgghh now i missed him and i only have one bullet left and where did that tank go and …”

“Never mind.”

So I tried a little holler toward the other side of the house.

“I am trying to have a zen moment here. I have been trying to have a zen moment all day, but you and the Sons are not letting me and I will have my zen moment NOW.”

My rapier wit determined the Little Black Dress was trying to have a yoga workout. One does not – ever – disturb that. Otherwise the wrath of (insert really deadly outer space monster/war god name here) emerges.

Basically, that option is out and the youngest Son is still hanging on. So I do what I thought was a pretty smart move considering the various scenarios. I put the meat and marinade down, washed my hands and got my own spices. And thank you very much.

I then I had one of those moments.

Youngest is playing a war game and is that really appropriate? So now I’m dealing with all that guilt stuff and shouldn’t he be reading a nice book and the weather is gorgeous outside and am I really monitoring what he’s playing and what kind of example am I setting by letting him play some tank war game and …

He said he’d die for me.

I was so honored. So proud. Everything The Dress and I had tried to teach them about what really matters in life was taking hold. A slight tear formed as I thought of that scripture in John where it says “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (or father in this case).”

Yeah, and then I woke up.

For example, one of the Sons of Thunder will come home from school, look at me and introduce a new word. And there will be a pause. Followed by a “what did you just say” retort from me that includes several exclamation points.

And that is followed by a very meek “nothing.”

And that in turn is followed by The Lecture about how we don’t say certain words. They are “bad” words. And The Lecture includes the finer points of how weak people use bad words, that how you speak says a lot about you – and reflects on the Little Black Dress and so on and so forth, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah.

The Sons of Thunder are allowed – with no repercussions – to ask whether a certain word falls into said “bad” word category. Those are pretty cut and dried. The conflict arises over what I call, “on the edge” words.

Words like “crap.”  

The Dress does not like that word. And the Sons ask why and I explain what crap really means and is that really what they want to say and let’s use a nicer word despite the fact your brother just kicked you and …

“What about holy crap?”

That would be a no. Just because you put “holy” in front of a word does not make it so. In fact, I explain, that kind of makes the phrase worse. And the Sons ask why and I revert to the tired phrase I swore never to use when I had kids – “because I said so.”

It’s a learning process. I’ll hear the word, follow it with a “what did you just say?” and get the “nothing” response. But I will give them credit, they are trying hard and at times, even catch themselves before I do and yell out a “sorry.”

So anyway. Flash forward to a recent Sunday. We’re all sitting in church listening to the pastor give a pretty darn good sermon when The Incident occurs.

Simply put, the pastor says “crap.” It was not a “crap … I just stubbed my toe” comment, but rather more of a “we really don’t need that kind of crap in our lives” statement. Just in passing. However …

Roughly a nanosecond after the first said usage of the word, there were war whoops from the Sons and the Eldest hit my on the arm. This hit inferred quite a bit, like “see the pastor just said it and if the pastor can say it then we should be able to say it and what’s the big deal anyway, because it is the pastor and all and he’s supposed to be an example and if he says it’s okay then …”

I simply looked at the Eldest and said, “don’t go there.”

Pity the pastor. Because he actually uses the word two more times. I know this because The Dress started counting. And she also started fuming. And she also started talking under her breath about writing a letter, and what kind of example is this, and this is church, and where are the deacons and …

I know it’s going to be a long ride home. And it is. The pastor was lucky we didn’t invite him to lunch that day. And let’s just leave it, and the whole “I don’t care what the pastor said, I’m your mother and …” conversation on the ride home, at that.

So next Sunday The Dress is ready for bear. And I really don’t want to be there because I’m already feeling sorry for the pastor. Because I have this gut feeling if he says The Word,  the LBD is going to stand up and say A Word or two.

Fortunately, the pastor refrains from saying The Word.

Instead, he lets out a “pissed off.”

You thought there were war whoops the week before? The Sons are about to have a coronary. And The Dress looks at me and says “we’re finding another church.”

I don’t consider myself, nor The Dress, prudes. One does not look up the term “goody-goody” and see my name as a shining example. I’ve been known to use a word or two quickly followed by a look at the Sons and a “sorry, but don’t you ever let me hear you say that” comment. And despite The Words, we are still at the same church.

I realize times change. Growing up, I wore a coat and tie to church. Now, I’m usually in jeans. There is no question we are a more casual society. But I’d just prefer my pastor to not try to be all “hip” and “in” and use words like that. I use that word occasionally, but I try not to because I don’t want the Sons using it. They don’t need that vocabulary at their age.

The Bible talks a lot about how Jesus was not above hanging out with certain types – the types one normally does not bring home to mom. These included rather bawdy types, like thieves and hookers.

Jesus met them at their level, because they needed him. However, He never stooped to their level. By that I mean He would go to the house of someone the “good people” would call “sinners.” But He didn’t start cussing, get drunk and pick up some prostitute.

He didn’t try to be all “hip” to reach others. He did not change His core, His character. He remained holy.

Can’t wait for this Sunday.

Never a “may I,” “pardon me,” or “so sorry.”

About the only nice thing one can say of death will be at its own. An appropriate epitaph would be ‘He showed no favorites.” Death treats all, regardless of race, status, color or age, equally.

Death’s timing is no better than its actions. The Sons of Thunder know this too well of late. Our little clan would like a pass for a while, quite a while actually.

But no, that won’t do. And it was to the youngest Son of Thunder that the black-robed scythe paid his latest visit.

There are certain sounds no parent wants to hear.

We heard those, along with some rather peculiar phrases as well. Words like “cage,” “Anakin,” and “on the floor.” It was not until I arrived upstairs that things slowly fell into place. What I saw was a cage – a gerbil cage – upside down on the floor. The sawdust and other bedding that was in said cage was now all over the floor. Anakin, the dwarf hamster of the Youngest Son, was nowhere to be found.

Also missing was the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly and the two cats belonging to the Sons and the Little Black Dress. I make that latter point so readers will understand said cats are not my cats. I don’t do cats.

Utilizing my years of investigating reporting background, combined with an immense level of deductive reason and a rapier wit, I concluded we had a probable crime scene.  Nevertheless, a full-blown search, complete with flashlights, was conducted. The fact said search was held in the room of a Thunder Son who did not believe anything should ever be thrown away made the investigation slightly more difficult.

The Dress and I, after looking at each other, suggested to Youngest Son that Anakin probably got away and jumped out the open window and is now off playing with other escaped gerbils and frolicking in the meadows and dashing in the woods and …

“He can’t jump that high.”

Okay, well that was pretty well dead-on. While the youngest in years, said Son often is the sage amongst the three. And then we got a look, the kind that breaks your heart and makes you realize you are going to have to talk about death … again.

And so you start the talk and some of the lessons sound familiar:

Someone is going to get blamed

This time, it’s the Little Black Dress. Turns out she moved Anakin and his cage from the Youngest Son’s room to the Middle Son’s room because the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly was constantly trying to do just that, and land inside Anakin’s cage. Although never successful, that is getting into the cage, the flying action did knock the cage around some.

And so The Dress moved the cage next to yet another gerbil’s cage in another room. This was a temporary move that – I promise – will be explained later. But it was this action that led Youngest Son to, well, blame The Dress for what had transpired.

And the LBD tries to explain why she did what she did. And it’s not having much of an impact on the Youngest Son. So she tries again, and then I get pulled into it with a look from The Dress and the comment, “right dad? right? Isn’t that right, tell him dad.”  I try my best but I not really get why the cage was moved either (which I do understand now and will explain later). Basically, I’m not a lot of help here.

Regardless of the circumstances, death causes us to issue blame.

Blame the stereotype

“Roxie (the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly) did it.”

As I said, the Youngest Son is astute and I pretty much agreed with him on this one. Maybe it was the fact I had to kick gently move Miss Roxie away from the various gerbil cages on more than a hundred times. Maybe it was the fact that Miss Roxie would get inches from a cage and bark and bark and well, just bark.

Maybe it was the fact the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly was nowhere to be found. And once found, had a “You honestly think I jumped on the bed, flew halfway across the room, jumped up on the desk and knocked the cage over onto the floor … and I want a lawyer now” kind of look. The fact said dog is constantly referred by me as “rat dog” and immediately peed once I found her did not help her case.

Or it could have been the cat. Not Mr. Three as he is simply obese and couldn’t if he wanted to. But Sam is another matter. I say that because on more than one occasion I’ve caught Sam sitting on top of one of the cages licking his lips. Licking like I do when someone presents me with a porterhouse steak covered with cracked pepper and olive oil and right off the grill.

Or they could have worked in cahoots. I mean, they do sleep together.

So we have the moral of guilt by association. Not only that, but we always assume the stereotype is guilty.

This blog is getting too deep philosophically.

We say stupid things

We don’t mean to, but death makes us just babble sometimes. As was the case with the Middle Son. “Wow, what a day. My older brother got a new canteen, I got a Star Wars figure and my younger brother got his gerbil eaten by Miss Roxie.”

Okay, not exactly smooth there. He tried. He failed. But he’s learning.

Accidents happen and sometimes it’s too late

As I mentioned, The Dress moved Anakin’s cage. There was a reason. Said cage was faulty, a slight jar would/could make the cage door open. Sitting in the back of the LBD’s car was a new cage with a better door. She had just gotten it a couple of hours before The Incident and was waiting for Youngest Son to come home.

She moved the cage into the other room because there was a gate the Sons would put across the door of the bedroom to keep the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly out of said room. Thus the gerbils would be safe.

They forgot to put the gate up.

Sometimes Death takes the right one

Not that we should rejoice at the death of anyone, but if someone has to go …

Anakin did not exactly fit the stereotype of cuddly gerbil. At one point he had a roommate – so named Chase. They were soon separated after The Dress noticed Chase was missing chunks of his body; chunks about the size of a gerbil’s mouth.

Fitting?

The theological debate

“Is Anakin in heaven?”

Loaded. Loaded question.

I can’t find a scripture that says all dogs, cats and yes, gerbils, go to heaven. I also can’t find one that says they won’t. And I don’t need comments from the “United Super Christian Church of Animals Have No Souls” spewing doctrine.

God is the creator of everything. Heaven, according to Scripture, is a place of perpetual joy. Youngest Son is seven. And so despite Anakin’s earlier aggressiveness toward Chase …

“Yes.”

An aside – I believe there is one and only one way for humans to get to heaven. The Bible is very clear. I have no clue about pets. I’m not going to get into – ever – a debate about pets in heaven. And the “United Super Christian Church of Animals Have No Souls” can picket my house – the Sons will bring you out lemonade when it’s hot. There are more important issues.

Back to the conversation.

“Yes … and he’s up there playing with Sparky.” Sparky was a dog belonging to my parents that Youngest Son, for whatever reason, especially loved.

“What if Sparky eats him like Roxie did”? Told you the kid was a sage.

“They’re in heaven, they don’t eat each other up there. God makes sure of that. And Mimi and Papa (the LBD’s parents) are up there and are taking care of both of them.”

Youngest Son thought for a moment, nodded, and said “Okay … goodnight.”

And so today The Dress and Youngest Son are off to Gerbil/Hamster House of Fun to find another. I just hope the hamster humane society police will give us a little more grace and not pay a visit.

It’s something we don’t think about. It’s just hanging out there with its friendly finger neighbors, just doing its thing. But it’s practically a necessity – try doing something with your hands and not using your thumb. Yeah.

And, according to the Sons of Thunder, you apparently can kill a man with a thumb. Now I’m not saying the Sons have actually killed said man, and they might be exaggerating, but let’s just not go there.

The thumb ranks up there with things the Sons of Thunder consider necessities – the computer, cell phone, Playstation, television, PSP 3, Wii and so forth. Notice how all those “necessities” I just mentioned involve electricity? And to the Sons, they are quite necessarily necessities.

Occasionally, and oh so very rarely, the Sons get a little too big for their britches. Uppity, not minding, basically fulfilling their nicknames.

Enter the “no thumbs” rule.  

If your kids are anything like ours (we feel your pain, joy), there are certain times when they are not at their best. This would include getting up in the morning, getting ready for school and bedtime. Oh, and when we say it’s time to get off electronics. Happy campers they are not.

And yes, we have – rarely (ha) threatened to remove, eliminate or take away all electronics until the Sons start acting like gentlemen. For some reason, this has little effect. In a nutshell, we say “no electronics.” And they say, “what about the computer?” And we say that’s electronics. And they say “what about television?” And we say that’s electronics. And they say “what about PSP 3?” And we say that’s electronics. And they say “what about Playstation?” And we say that’s electronics.

And so on and so on. Ugh.

Anyway, the Little Black Dress was talking with someone with a similar situation; who’d have guessed? And they told her about the “no thumbs” rule.

And it means exactly what it says. You can’t use your thumbs.

Now when we first introduced this rule, we got little smirks from the Sons. They headed off with a “aren’t they dumb” look and …

“Sorry, can’t use your thumbs.”

And there’s this pause. And they suddenly realize life with no thumbs, when it comes to electronic devices, can get a little difficult.  They can’t function,  or rather function remotes and handhelds, without thumbs.

There is one exception to this rule, a quite simple one really. They may use their thumbs all they want, all the time, any time, however they want … as long as they are outside. And the only exception to that exception is no electronics outside.

And out they go, pouting all the way. Yet within a few minutes, there is a game going on. Probably with lots of rules, maybe a blue ball and the obvious sharp stick.

But at least they are using their imaginations and not having some electronic device serve as such.

And that’s the point.

Yeah.

Most kids walk into their parents’ room and start softly calling out “mom” or “dad” with a slightly increasing volume until they reach the yelling stage – or you finally wake up. Not the middle Son of Thunder. He has a tendency to just walk into the room and come right by your side of the bed. And wait, without saying a word.

I guess he thinks his aura will wake us up. And it does, and it totally freaks you out when you come out of a dead sleep and see a body standing right there.

This morning was no different.  This time it was to remind us that today was his day. The Son hit the big 10.  

Birthday tradition has it in our family that all parents/siblings wake up early, walk into the birthday boy’s room and do a little serenade. Okay, a really loud serenade.  Obviously, Middle Son blew that. But he promised to pretend to sleep and went back into his room so we could continue the tradition. He did his part, we did ours and the tradition lives in.

Each year I write a letter to the Sons on their day. It seems I write similar things each year, maybe because if you follow a few simple time-tested guidelines, things work out in the end. And so, tradition goes on.

Dear Seth:

Congratulations on hitting 10. You are now in double digits. I wish I could say life and things and stuff will get easier. They won’t. But that’s okay, because know you will always have your mom, the Little Black Dress, and I behind you. And your two brothers, at least when you all aren’t pounding on each other.

I admire your voracious reading habits, you got that from me. You are quite an artist, which obviously came from The Dress’es side and not mine.  And I love your imagination. You’re the only kid I know who can go out by himself with just a stick and create an entire battlefield with six opposing armies.

Just a few thoughts from you old man:

I know you’re just starting to get a real understanding of money, but try to live by the 10-10-80 rule. Give 10 percent of everything you make back to God and charities; save 10 percent; and learn to live on the remaining 80 percent. You will always have money.

Be willing to sign your name to anything you do.

Remember your name, your honor, are among the most important things you possess. Never let anything tarnish them.

Keep your word, even if it hurts or costs.

Be a true friend – the kind someone can call at 3 a.m. for help. You will never lack friends.

Forgive. Human nature makes it impossible for us to truly forget, but learn to forgive a wrong. Your heart will feel better. Keeping a grudge or not forgetting only hurts you, the other person probably doesn’t even know.

Get all the advice and knowledge you can. Weigh it. Remember that in the end, you have to make your own decisions. Stick with them unless new information causes you to change.

Work harder than everyone else. Be the first to arrive and the last to leave.

Remember something else about work, God and family are more important. Learn what is really important in life.

And finally, a man once asked Jesus what were the most important commandments.

“The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’There is no commandment greater than these.”

Follow those two rules above all else and you will live a rich life.

Oh, and marry a girl like your mom.

Love you Seth

Dad

As I do for

The Sons of Thunder are finally sent packing back to school a day later. A side note: why can they get up at 6 a.m. on holiday, but can’t get up until 7:30 a.m. on a school day, despite threats, water torture and shock treatments?

Anyway, I finally have a day of quiet.  Time to write, to think, to plan. Time to realize how quiet the house is without the Sons.  I love the Sons, but the constant barrage of noise can drive one a little batty. Especially when one can’t really escape outside because it’s below zero with the windchill.

Nevertheless, I am enjoying my Wednesday solitude.  This despite the fact we may face more crazy weather. And that fact has led me to drive the Little Black Dress down to the big town. She has a pageant to judge, and having a judge stuck out in the country when they’re supposed to be judging in the big town is not good.  I get the LBD down to the big town and get back in time to pick up the Sons.  They will be in school for the next two days, I will be alone. Life is good (despite not having the LBD around), but you get my point.

“ARTIC BLAST.  No School for two days!!!!!!” the youngest Son bellows upon getting in the car.  Said phrase is repeated twice more by the other two upon their entry into the transportation vehicle. Plus they have notes from the various principals.

This means four days, alone with the Sons, with an “artic blast” expected.

For the record, we are surviving.  No bones broken, no blood spilt – at least nothing really measurable.  Necessities – food, wood, toilet paper, all collected prior to the coming storm. The generators are gassed up.

We go to sleep, knowing the ice, snow and freezing temperatures will meet us with the morning sun.

Dawn arises, it is freezing. But there is no snow, no ice.  The “artic blast” brought colder weather, but nothing else.  The Sons easily could have gone to school.  But they are home, with me.  For four days, without the LBD.

Yeah, this is that quality time everyone talks about.  Just me and the Sons, eating pizza over the kitchen sink, farting without saying excuse me, not making the bed, missing the dirty clothes hamper.  Telling stories, hanging around the fire. Just really getting into the father-son bonding thing. Yep, all over that.

And I’m just writing up a storm.  And that would be a big lie. And I finally give up. And I look at the Sons and say “yes … please.”  And they go “YEAH” and the electronic games are on.

I don’t care what all those child shrinks say, there is only so much “quality time” you can spend with your kids before you need some of your own quality time – and I mean alone.

But at least it’s quiet again.

Let us pause for a moment to recover from said jumping before we venture out.

Okay, I can move now. Sorta.

And yes, we have more snow.  Fortunately, this time without the Artic winds of last week.  Snow, when it’s not driving into your face at 30 mph, is actually very pretty and has a somewhat calming effect.

This time the Sons are properly outfitted with survival gear, and it’s not long before they are out enjoying the whiteness.

And they head up to visit Grand Ann and Pops – their grandparents – and to make sure the tunnel they made from the previous storm has survived.

And Grand Ann suggests they make ice cream.  And the wheels start turning among the Sons.  I know this because they are soon racing into our house yelling and screaming and demanding various supplies.  And tracking up the house the Little Black Dress and I just cleaned up. 

I am enthused by their enthusiasm.  Yet I am also not exactly happy about the snow drifts previously outside that are now inside my house.  However, enthusiasm wins out.

Although I have not spoken directly to the source, it’s my understanding Grand Ann gave them the secret ingredients and methods passed down from generations of yore to make said snow ice cream.  As I recall from my youth, there was actually some type of big hunk of metal – some type of churning device – that was used.

We did not have said device.  However, the eldest Son is rather industrious and quickly went to the internet.  And sure enough, within a matter of minutes he’s called up a YouTube video with step-by-step directions on making snow ice cream.

Tell me the world isn’t changing.  I use splattered, covered and torn up cook books.  My kids use videos from the internet, something that didn’t even exist when I was growing up.

Anyway, there’s a lot of running back and forth between the kitchen and the computer.  There’s also starting to be “discussions” about who gets to put what where and how much and the “can’t we just all get along, this is supposed to be fun” phrase is starting to emulate from the LBD.

We take a short regrouping break, assign various tasks to each Son and fortunately, move on.

And after a while, the eldest Son sticks a spoon with some kind of glob in front of my mouth.

“Uh, you first,” I respond.  And he does, and smiles.  And I see he isn’t gagging and falling to the ground writhing in pain.  This of course means I now have to try said glob.  So I do.  And darn if it’s not good.  And I mean really, really good.

With the success of the first batch, the Sons immediately inform us we must quadruple the recipe.  And so they start throwing out all these one-fourths and two-thirds and other odd amounts at me to do the math for the quadrupling.

And my head is starting to hurt; whether from the snow cream or the math, I’m not sure.  I’m seriously missing the metric system.

Now we have a freezer-full of snow ice cream, but the Sons are happy and no one is poisoned.  So we’ll chalk that up to a good memory.

It started Christmas Eve, and even factoring our five-year stay in Alaska and other northern regions, it was our first white Christmas. The Sons of Thunder were rather pumped.  And of course we outfitted them in all the proper snow survival gear – being former Alaskans and what not. Or not.  Seems during our foray in Georgia we sort of purged all that.

Note to self – we’re back where it snows. Be prepared.  And yes, kids can turn blue.  And I’m talking a really deep royal blue.

Anyway …  We were rather barricaded in for a couple of days. Winds coming off the lake at 30 mph-plus have a tendency to do that, especially when you live right on the water.  They also have a tendency to create some incredible Sahara-like drifts.  One, about 30 feet long and five feet high, caught my attention.

Anyone can build a snowman.  Carrot nose, coal eyes, scarf, hat, that special wind that makes them come alive. Yeah, done that.

But a tunnel? Now that’s just flipping the dog. 

Due to my summer arm operation, I needed help to make this happen.  And I have the three Sons, so anything is possible.  While they are about as adventurous as you can get, at times they need a little coaxing.  This becomes more difficult right after Christmas when there are several new electronic games/toys to experience.

I am slowing learning, at glacial speed, that while they are all my kids, there are also all very different.  What works for one doesn’t work for another.  They are their own; they are individuals even at this age.  I probably will spend the rest of my life learning – and remembering – that.

We all should.

To my six-year-old: “Hey, want to build a tunnel to China?” Done.

To my nine-year-old: “Hey, it’s time to get off the Playstation/Gameboy/PSP/Whatever and come outside and play. Because I said so (damn, I swore I’d never use that line) and if you don’t, you’re off electronics for two days.” Done

To my 11-year-old: “Hey, I need help figuring out how to build this tunnel, and I’m too big to crawl in and break us through to the other side. Oh, and your friends will be totally blown away.” Done.

Fun is fun until there is work involved.  Their enthusiasm started to wane as they realized you actually have to dig out the snow to make a tunnel.  And wet snow is heavy.

Let us just say allegations of who was actually “working” started. Let us just say they started on the rules.

Let us just say said author was going to build this friggin tunnel regardless and ended all that.

As head engineer, I basically said “no” to getting two-by-fours to board it up and “no” to ropes in case of cave collapse.  I did institute the “no climbing on top of the roof of the tunnel” and “no throwing shovels at your brother” rules.

This was supposed to be fun.  So I also instituted the “dive” rule.  Basically, you could stand at the mouth of the tunnel and dive in.  The only rule was you had to bring snow out with you.  Now we’re getting somewhere.

So I’m at one end using a big shovel and shoving it as hard as I can to get through.  And the Sons are following the “dive” rule at the other end.  And it finally hits me we’re pretty close and I will probably take some Son’s head off  with the shovel.  That would constitute a “party foul.”  It would also mean various explanations to the Little Black Dress, so let’s just stop that idea now.

We abandon the “dad digging with the shovel” idea.  We also are at a point where the dive rule is no longer working as the Sons can literally be at either in with only their feet showing and we still haven’t broken through.

New plan.  The two older Sons are at one end.  I and the youngest at the other end.  One Son at each end crawls as far as he can and grabs as much snow as possible.  At the sound of “pull!!!!” I and the other Son grab the feet of the “miner” and pull them out along with all the snow they can grab.

Teamwork? With the Sons?

Sometimes, I have to just stand back and stare in astonishment, awe, amazement and several other appropriate words at my own brilliance.

Anyway … we finally break through.  And then the battle starts as to who will actually go first.  I somehow convince them to let the smallest/youngest go first.  This is agreed to as I point out the tunnel is still rather tight and he can make it larger for the other two. Plus, I point out that if one of the larger ones goes first, it might result in a CAVE IN from too much initial pressure.

The order is agreed upon.  Brilliance shines once more.

And they have a blast crawling through.  And the Little Black Dress comes up and takes pictures.  And by now I realize I’m approaching 50 and my arms are killing me and it’s absurd how cold I am.  And no, I’m not helping on the “side tunnel.”

My work is done.  Minimal rules.  Teamwork.  A “little” work.  A lot of fun.

The oldest and youngest Sons stay to work on the side tunnel.  The middle Son is the only smart one and comes back and hits the computer/PSP/Playstation/Whatever where it’s warm.

But we have a tunnel.  And we have three Sons who banded together to make it happen.

And we had a very, very, good day.