My wife, Celeste, went to Georgia last week to stay with her aunt and visit her grandmother, who is living in a nursing home down the road from her aunt’s house.  Celeste’s mother and sister Ashley went as well.  Ashley also had her little ones, who are two and a little under a year (I’m a guy, I can’t do the "however many months old" thing), with her.

Celeste called home each night and would fill me in on how their day at the nursing home went.  In general Celeste found it depressing, which I can understand.  Beyond the fact that her grandmother is not very well, almost all of the residents are in the midst of dementia, have a hard time feeding themselves, wear diapers, etc.

On the other hand, she said that when Ashley’s little ones were anywhere near one of the residents that person would instantly perk up.  Their eyes would light up, they would say something like "Baby!" and just come to life in general.  Celeste said it was a wonder to see, and she also said that it made for some fun moments, especially with the two year old, Jason.  For example:

• When one woman held out her hand to Jason he thought she was asking for a high-five and proceeded to slap her hand, which caused the poor woman to pull her hand away as if she’d just touched a hot stove.
• Jason considered these folks potential new playmates.  Unfortunately their wiring just wasn’t fast enough for him, so when he asked "Do you like my truck?" and didn’t get a quick enough response he followed up with a staccato "Huh, huh, huh?"  Each "huh" would provoke a spasm from the residents which I’m sure made the room look like it was full of human popcorn.
• Finally, upon first seeing a resident in a wheelchair Jason commented, "That sure is one big stroller."

Based on these conversations with Celeste I’ve decided that if I ever need to be in a home I want it to be one that is regularly visited by toddlers.  I say toddlers because in a few years Jason’s perspective will have changed and he’ll see the nursing home as we see it, and not as a big house full of potential playmates. 

I also hope that if I’m ever the one sitting in the wheelchair I can see it as a stroller and not a prison, and that I can adopt that perspective from this point on in my life.  That’s one glass that is seriously half-full.

My oldest son, Michael, has been spending this week at Laurel Ridge, a summer camp run by the Moravian Church in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  But Michael isn’t attending the regular summer camp, rather he is attending a mission camp.  Here’s what the kids in the 2004 version of mission camps did:

In three weeks 100 youth and 30 adults worked with 30 families to:

• build 9 ramps
• clean windows in 17 homes
• mow, weed-eat, & clean 16 yards
• complete 11 painting jobs
• replace one trailer floor
• do 6 carpentry projects
• provide general cleaning and organization for 8 homes
• build 3 picnic tables
• complete 3 roofs over decks
• landscape 5 yards

It just so happens that my aunt runs Laurel Ridge and so we’ve gotten a little advanced feedback on Michael’s experience this week.  According to my aunt Michael has been working on a house that features an indoor and outdoor woodburning stove (on the porch).  The indoor stove is used by the woman living there for heat and for cooking in the cold months.  The outdoor stove is used for cooking in the hot months.

I can hardly wait to hear about this directly from Michael.  After all, this is a kid who was astonished when he finds out there are still people connecting to the internet with dial-up.  I’d say he’ll have a very fresh perspective.

Chewie wrote a post about her dad, or more accurately about her relationship with her dad, that really is a must read for any father of a daughter.

I only hope that I can be for my daughter what her father is for her.

I had lunch yesterday with my youngest son and three of his friends in their school cafeteria.  One half hour of learning for yours truly, including:

• Nine year old boys know what french kissing is and will be happy to describe it to you in graphic detail.  Of course their point of reference is some un-named movie where an alien disguised as a woman disembowels her "boybriend" with her tongue while engaging him with a french lip-lock.  Being an experienced father of three I decide not to point out the metaphoric properties of their version of a french kiss and just let it rest.
• If you’re uncomfortable with a topic of conversation just wait five seconds since you’ll be on another subject anyway.
• Nine year old boys now have girlfriends.  Some even have multiple girlfriends.  I was tempted to point out the inherent danger (hell hath no fury, yada, yada, yada) but decided they’d learn on their own soon enough.
• Nine year old boys are still gross.  Cows don’t regurgitate as much as these guys.
• I don’t know diddly squat about video games any more.
• All business people should go back to an elementary school cafeteria for a refresher course in trading.  Markets define themselves on the fly…1/4 piece of pizza for 12 Doritos, 10 french fries for a cookie…no wait I’ve changed my mind I think 12 fries would be more fair, and so on until a win-win is achieved.  And no anymosity or b.s.ing.
• Nine year olds are honest, brutally honest.  A certain girl is "stupid", a certain boy is a dork, I’m not particularly well groomed, you get the idea.
• Burping, farting and such are still funny.
• Adults need naps after power lunches with third graders.

Yes, I snore.  Loudly.  Very loudly.

This pic from www.lvrj.com is probably an accurate representation of Celeste’s fantasy at around 3 a.m. many mornings.

My youngest son, Justin, is third grader and an avid reader.  Actually he is a devourer of books.  Until this year, though, he hasn’t had cause to do much writing.  Well, his teacher, Mrs. Brown, has changed that.

Below is the text from one of Justin’s recent assignments.  He was to write a story using some of the words from his weekly spelling list and this is what he created (spelling words underlined):

Once I did not know what to do.  I didn’t know where I was for that long while. There was a person with a long whip.  That wasn’t a very warm welcome. I would have weeped if it wasn’t for something that caught my eye.

I think this definitely qualifies Justin as the poet laureate of the Lowder clan, puts his hat in the ring for poet laureate of North Carolina and, my apologies to Billy the Blogging Poet, but I think his days as the "blogging poet laureate" may be numbered!

Per my earlier post you know that today started off as a classic crappy
Monday, literally.  This post is to tell you that it ended with one of
those sublime evenings you hope to remember forever.

It began with dinner.  Nothing special; ham, peas, pineapple and some Kool-Aid to drink.  Then we started talking.

Erin, my daughter, is 11 and she was on a roll.  She is renowned for mixing
metaphors and for being a step late on getting the joke, but then
out-laughing everyone.  She cracks herself up in the middle of jokes
and can’t finish them.  She’s brutally honest and oblivious to that
fact.  She is our catalyst.

I can’t even remember what we were talking about, but she mixed
something up and it got Justin, our 8 year old, laughing so hard I
thought he was going to puke.  These laughs are generally reserved just
for us.  I’m not sure how many of his aunts, uncles, cousins or even
grandparents have seen this laugh.  It’s a thing of beauty, something I
wish I could do.

Then Michael, our 12 year old resident comedian jumped into the mix and
it was a full-on riot.   Michael’s a goof, and Erin’s antithesis.  He
gets the jokes before they’re finished and holds his tongue when he sees
"the look" in his parents’ eyes.

Celeste sat back with that bemused look she gets when they are this way
and watched her fourth kid, me, jump into the fun.  We wandered into
gross joke territory, talked about kids from our respective schools who
can pull spaghetti out of their noses and kids who have milk shoot out
their noses when they laugh.  Then it was mean teachers and who knows
what else.  Celeste explained a joke or two to Erin and we kept laughing.

It was a half-hour of paradise.

Then the truly remarkable happened.  We asked Erin and Justin to clean
the kitchen and Michael to finish his homework while we went to work
out.  Upon returning we found a spotless kitchen, a new table cloth on
the table and homework completed.

Celeste and I talked about dinner tonight and when I said these are the
moments I hope I never forget she said, "I hope these are the moments
the kids never forget."  As always she is so right. 

What that this would be our legacy.

P.S. Don’t tell him I said so but I think Michael is a budding author.
His assignment was a (very) short story and if you go for military bugs
slaughtering each other I think you’d like it.  Of course if you have
a soft spot for caterpillars you’ll probably lose your lunch.  He’s asleep now, but if he wakes up and gives me permission I’ll upload a scan and link to it.