Time Marches On

Time marches on. It passes by minute by minute. I have been meaning to get back to writing. I just sat down and read through my previous posts. Then I look at the clock and it's 45 minutes later. The minutes pass like seconds. The hours like minutes. The days link hours. The years like days.

The last post was April of 2006. Almost 18 months ago. What's happened in 18 months? I'm no longer the late nite dad of a one year old. I'm the late nite dad of a one year old, and an almost 3 year old. My son is not only talking, he's talking back. My daughter is already a year old, and my angel. My wife is as much the love of my life as the first day I met her. I am almost 30! We won't go there. I know I've got more than a year to go. I'm working on it. That's another post for another time.
Here's where I'm at. I had back surgery almost 3 weeks ago. I had a severely herniated disk, and another moderately herniated one below that. I've been out of work for a month. I've got over a week to go before I can consider going back to light duty assignments. Figure that out, given I drive around and get in and out of a car all day. But what this episode of my life has given me is time to reflect. Time to be with my family, good or bad. In a previous post, I referred to Brittny and my inability to spend more than 3 continuous days together. While we are still driving each other nuts from time to time, it's been 3 weeks. I could not imagine anyone I would rather have by my side going through this. We do irritate each other, through what we do, or don't do. Or how we do it. But we love each other. We live for each other. We love our family. We live for our family. We love our God. We live for our God.

I thank God for my health. For my children. Now my daughter is the sponge that follows me around. She doesn't settle for drinking her soup from the bowl. She uses a fork for about 10 minutes. Then she lifts the plate to her face and digs in. Think Christmas Story, "eat like a piggy" She giggles, she laughs, she hugs, she kisses. She says dadda, t-this, she signs more. She throws a fit when her brother takes a toy. She breaks down balling when you scold her. She pulls all the books off the bookshelf, sits atop the pile and reads each one. "Da-la, ba-bi, me-mae, di-boo" She hugs her babies and pushes them around in their stroller. She keeps her mom up in the way early morning, and leaves dad alone so he can sleep! She's my angel. She has the softest eyes, that can't decide what color they're going to be. She has fire for hair. She's my red head. Maybe she'll even get her mommy's freckles. She shows the love that you show her. She giggles at everyone. She lays her head on your shoulder, closes her eyes for brief moments. You feel the love and affection flowing between. She is growing like a weed. She is huge, then you compare baby books, and she's actually smaller than her brother was. But she has muster. She can stand up to him. Push him around, yells at him. She grips things so tight, it takes two hands to get them away. But then she'll come out with this dainty little voice, "Tee-hee" I write this as I look at my profile picture of us at a parade. She knows how to melt her daddy's heart, even when it's hardened like stone.

Then there is her brother. He is almost a teenager. He has passion. He has drive. He's stubborn like his dad. He's determined like his mom. He picks out his cloths. He shoots lasers out of his wrist. Thank you Buzz Lightyear. At least he gave up trying to leap across the room from one couch to the other! Now you can't tell if he's Buzz or Spiderman. He's learning. He amazes me with his knowledge. He knows all the letters of the alphabet. Even if V comes after D, and G comes before L. He's learning. I was in the kitchen typing an e-mail. He was in the living room watching a new TV show on PBS. Small kid alert, Word World is a great learning show. Before they say the letters, there he is, "R, U, N" read them right off the screen. He can go on a bear hunt, or say goodnight to the moon as good as daddy. Neither one of us need to open the books. He knows that monsters are only in the movies. He knows he's got to tell us when he has to go potty, so the flags on the front of his Cars pull-ups don't go away. He knows his NASCAR drivers. We're working on the big changes coming up next season. But, he knows 8 is "Baby Dale", 3 is "Daddy Dale", 20 or Home Depot (even the store) is Tony Stewart, 9 is Kasey Kahne, even if the book he's reading says Bill Elliot. 29 is number 1, or Mommy's favorite, or Kevin H-Harvick. 48 or Lowe's is Jimmy Johnson, 24 is Jeff Gordon, "Pee-weu" He is worrying me though. When we were racing slot cars at his grandpa's, he wanted to be Jeff Gordon. I finally came to grips when I figured, okay, he probably drives about as well right now.

He builds Brio train tracks. No circles for him. He's like his daddy. They go over, under, around, split off and come back together. There can't be 3 different trains on different points of the track like daddy does it though, every car has to be connected. He walked into Preschool all by himself yesterday, carrying his Cars backpack that's as big as he is. He wears stylish cloths, "Cool threads" He says his prayers at night. He stops eating long enough to bow his head and mumble along to grace at the table. He tries to whistle along to "Oh Mister Sun" by really just humming in a high pitch. He cuddles, he loves, he kisses. He's the rambunctious, hyper, excited kid, until he gets outside of these 4 walls. In school, he's quiet, shy, bashful even. At orientation, the teachers kept asking us if he was okay. We'd look over and find him with his head stuck in the cubby where they store the toys. He comes over every now and then and hugs your leg.

He notices little things. My parents kept them for almost a week when I had surgery. I wasn't very mobile. I still can't lift them. And we were worried about me getting kicked or a knee in the back. When he saw me walk up my parents stairs to get them, he said "Daddy, you no need cane! Doctors make you all better?" He's got more bumps, bruises, and scares on his body. He brushes himself off. He sometimes needs a kiss on his forehead, where he fell off the retaining wall and landed face first on the sidewalk. He's right back to playing, jumping on the bed, running around the house getting his sister to chase him. He loves animals, sports, fire engine, police man, tractors, choo-choo trains. He says, "bumpity-bumpity" every time we hit a bump or go over train tracks. He has to have me say "Snug as a bug in a rug" as I'm wrapping him so tight in his towel that he can't move his arms. Then he waddles into the other room, steps on the step, and kinda jump-rolls onto the bed. He's taking his own showers, usually with me sitting in the bathtub. He wants to wash his own hair, cut his own pizza, pour his own lemonade. Unlock the car door. He says, "Me do it" He thinks he can make himself safe in a parking lot. When you tell him to hold your hand, he says he'll hold his own hand, and he does.

This is my family. This is the beginning of me growing old. This is my opportunity to put my stamp on the world. To sign at the bottom, where it says, Dad. Dad, meaning forever the one to lend a hand. The one to get money from. The one who can be more intimidating than mommy. The one who will stick up for you. The one who will reward you. The one who will do more for you than you will ever know. The one who will lead you down the road, get to the end, and then follow you down the next to make sure you're okay. The one who will pray for you every night. Who will worry about you every minute. Miss you every second you're not here. And the one who will turn off the computer at 1:30 in the morning, after typing a record long post, and go upstairs and cuddle up to my wife, my son, and my daughter all. Because, I'm sure by now, they are all in my bed, spread out, giving me the edge to hold onto. Fortunately for me, he holds on to me, so I won't fall off.

Good night to all. Prayers of safety. Of happiness and fulfillment. Of dreams come true. And ambitions met. Good night and again, God bless each of you as he has so abundantly to me.