Last Day of 4th Grade

Some Children Love the Performing Arts...Others Do Not

The theme of the end-of-year program at the elementary school was "Celebrate."

Here's how that theme was illustrated by Paige. 

And by Curtis.

He doesn't quite share his sister's passion for the stage. 

Princess Paige...Literally

Casting day. For weeks, Paige had been waiting to find out what part she'd be playing in her theater group's production of Aladdin. 

"I really, really want to be Princess Jasmine," she told me—for the thousand time—on the way to rehearsal. 

"I know, sweetheart. But I think every girl wants to be Jasmine," I said, trying to prepare her for the inevitable letdown. "There are lots of great parts, even if you're not the lead."

When I walked into the building to pick her back up, she came speedwalking right toward me. "So...what'dya get?" I asked. 

Though she kept walking, she turned her head toward me slightly and said, under her breath, "I got it." 

I could tell she was trying to keep her cool in front of the other girls, but despite her best efforts, she couldn't control the volume or pitch of her voice much longer.

"I got it."

"I GOT PRINCESS JASMINE!" she squealed. 

For the past seven months she's been learning songs, and for the last three she's memorized lines and dance moves and cues. On Saturday all that hard work paid off. 

She was a fantastic Jasmine who, for reasons only known to the director, also sang Taylor Swift and Eye of the Tiger. 

I love how brave she is. She doesn't even bat an eye at being in front of 200 strangers.

After channeling her inner repressed Arabian princess for 90 minutes, it was great to see her face light up as the crowd gave the kids a standing ovation.

Proud of our little thespian.

Killin' it as Princess Jasmine.

Daddy Daughter Dance 2016

The daddy daughter dance. 

A room full of dads

in ill-fitting suits

and neck tattoos. 

Receding hairlines,

mohawks,

rat tails

and big, gnarly beards.

(And the one guy with those shoes with the individual toes.) 

Dancing, ever so awkwardly

to Taio Cruz

and Justin Bieber (but not the good Justin Bieber)

and doing the Electric Slide,

the Macarena,

and the Chicken Dance. 

(And then there's the one really good dancer who makes the rest of us look bad worse.)

And a room filled with

the daughters who love them. 

Best night of the year. Every year. 

An Evening in a Dead Man's Roller Skates

Paige got roller skates for Christmas. Tonight we decided to learn how to use 'em.

I figured I was a qualified teacher. In junior high, I spent two summers rollerblading every day with my friend Bert. (It was clearly the coolest and most efficient way to travel around the neighborhood, looking for chicks. Duh.) 

My rollerblades were long since given away. Luckily my mom just gave me a pair of roller skates that she found at a deceased neighbor's house. Sweet.

These days, skating rinks rent this little walkers with wheels to help kids to learn to skate. They cost $3.

"Dad," I really think we should get one of those walkers.

"I don't think we need one," replied the dad who had brought his daughter to $1 skate night and saved $2 by bringing his own pair of roller skates, stolen from a dead man. 

I laced up my skates and I stood up. And nearly fell right back down. It turns out, roller skating is a little trickier than I had bargained for. We rented the $3 walker. 

Paige used it for the first 30 minutes or so and then told me to hang out to it, just in case she needed it. After after hour, she was ready to ditch the walker entirely.  After an hour and a half, she was cruising along all on her own.

And then, of course, there was a surprise visit from Princess Leia and some stormtroopers. 

But that wasn't even the best part. At one point, Paige had no choice but to ditch her skates to run out the middle of the rink to dance to Watch Me Whip/Nae Nae (I didn't know she had such sweet moves). And then, just when we were getting ready to leave, the DJ announced that it was ten minutes to THE BLACKOUT. 

"What's a blackout, Dad? Can we stay?"

How I could say no? 

Ten minutes later, the lights were out, the fog machine was in full force, and the lasers were a-blazin'. The DJ was mixing Bieber with T. Swift and Demi Lovato with Tove Lo. What more could we ask for?  

On our way out, Paige said, "Dad, did you have an awesome time? Because I had an awesome time. And can you believe that I can skate now? Wasn't the blackout awesome? When can we come back? How long were we here? Two-and-a-half hours? It went by so fast. Wasn't it awesome?"

It was awesome.

Ten Years Old

My friends all started having kids at the same time, give or take a couple of years. I remember about five years ago, when the older group's kids were hitting baptism age. Eight years old? I thought. How have your kids gotten so old? 

Then Paige turned eight. But that didn't seem so old—especially those other guys' kids were now 10. Ten. Now that's old! 

But now Paige is 10 and I'm trying to figure out where the time has gone.

I still remember the night before there was a Paige. Traci left the bed because her contractions were hurting so bad that she couldn't sleep. A few minutes later, I asked how close the contractions were.

"Still about five minutes apart," she said.

We had gone to five sessions of birthing classes. It was so gross that I pretty much kept my eyes close the entire time. But I had listened enough to know that five minutes meant it was time to go.

We packed up the bag and headed to the hospital. By the next night we were parents. A few days after that, we were headed back home with a tiny little body in a brand new car seat. I drove slower and more carefully than I ever had before. I'm not sure how Traci felt, but I was scared to death.

And, just like that, it's 10 years later.

Paige is a beautiful girl. She's smart. She loves books, just like her mom. She likes to write, just like her dad. (She even draws little comics for her brother that are funnier than I anything I've ever done.)

She loves to perform. Whether it's acting in her Up With Kids performances or singing solos in sacrament meeting, I am amazed by her fearlessness. Especially from a girl who started out so shy that she didn't let go of my leg for the first three years of her life.

And she's got a big heart. She's always worrying about her friends' feelings and making sure that everyone is included. And lately she's also been really good about entertaining a four-year-old brother who can never get enough entertainment.

A decade. Paige has been a part of our lives for a complete decade. We're pretty lucky.

Our Little Mermaid

Though most of the summer was consumed by moving into a new house, Paige managed to sneak in Up with Kids camp. 

It was five days of acting classes in the morning and swimming in the afternoon--pretty much Paige's two favorite things. At the end of the week, the group performed their version of The Little Mermaid. 

Paige landed a leading role as Flounder. The girl can memorize like no other. Not only did she knock out her part, she spent the rest of the show whispering lines into the ears of her co-performers. 

The girl was born for the stage. 

Proud of this little fish! 

Church for Paige

One of our biggest reasons for moving to a new house to was to be in an area with more kids. Traci really wanted Paige to have the same experience that she had growing up, where there were tons of girls in neighborhood to play with.

It might not be exactly like that here.

Church - Week One

We sent Paige off to her primary class, with our fingers crossed that she would meet her next best-friend-for-life.

"Paige," we asked her after church, "How many girls were in your class?"

There was good news and bad.

Bad: There was just one girl. (Plus a couple more who were out of town.)

Good: It was a girl she recognized from her Up with Kids group and they instantly got along with each other.

Sure, we'd love to have more kids around. But if you find one best friend, that's all that matters, right?

Everyone was happy.

Church - Week Three

I'm sitting in Elders Quorum, waiting for class to start. I'm listening to the chatter in the room when I hear, "So, I hear you're moving, huh?"

"Yeah, the house sold in one day. We're heading out in about three weeks."

Wait a second, I know that guy, I thought. That's...that's....that's the dad of the girl in Paige's class. Noooooooo!!!!!

Everyone was sad.

Paige's Acting Debut

Paige was born for the stage. She started dancing when she was four [video]. She had her first piano recital when she was five. And she started singing in the school choir when she was seven. But this weekend was her biggest moment so far. Her big theatrical debut.

For the past eight months, she's been rehearsing for a play called Frostbite (which is in no way affiliated with Frozen, despite starring main characters who just happen to be named Anna and Elsa).

Paige had two roles: Lily Bo Peep and Snowman in a Hat. The world has never seen two more confident and animated characters. She knew her lines, hit her marks, and had the jazziest jazz hands of anyone on in the cast.

When she walked off the stage, she was absolutely beaming.

So were we. Proud dad and mom moment, for sure.

Piano Lessons

Paige hates playing the piano. And she reminds of this fact every single time she has to practice. 

This afternoon, as I was driving her to a piano recital at the University of Utah, she asked, "When can I quit piano?"

A Date to the Rock Show

My last year of college, I got my first PR job. I worked at Salt Lake Community College for a great guy named Joy, who plays music with a guy named Eric, in a band (cleverly) named joy&eric. 

The other night, Joy invited me to his next show. I gladly accepted and let him know I'd be bringing Paige. 

Paige Learns to Drive Four-Wheeler, Almost Kills Me

Paige quickly got the hang of the gas pedal. It was the brakes that were the problem. I had to cut the video short in order to prevent the imminent death of Tate and me.

Paige, however, was unfazed.


Luckily, all were unharmed. Well, except for the tripod that holds the sprinkler. Paige ran right over that a little while later. Oh, well.

Back to School

The kids have survived their first week of school (and Traci survived another summer with the kids - barely).

Paige is a big third grader. Basically running the school.

Curtis has made the big move from Kindergarten to first grade, which means all day at school, navigating the lunch line, and getting three recesses (Paige spent all last year telling Curtis how sweet it is to have three recesses!) 

Even Tate will be a school kid soon. He met his preschool teacher this week and will become an official big kid next week. Until then, he's been running the house all by himself.

"Tate," I said. "Do you miss Paige and Curtis when they're at school?"

"No," he said flatly. Then he told me to get out of the way so he could keep playing Punch-Out on the Wii.

Family life.

Them's Some Happy Kids

Celebrating the 4th of July at Grandpa's Ranch

The Piano Girl

Congrats to Paige on her fist piano trophy. It represents three years of earning Superior scores at piano Federation. 

(Of course, much of the credit goes to Traci for fighting through piano practice everyday. Not an easy task.)

Curtis has had absolutely no interest in taking piano lessons. That seemed to change a bit tonight when he found out trophies were involved. 

When Your Kids Start Spying on You on the Internet

"Uh, Traci," I said. "Have you read the comments on the Manifesto lately?" 

"No, why?" she replied. "Who left a comment?" 

"Your eight-year-old daughter." 

Blogging is a tricky thing. The whole idea is that it's supposed to be an online journal--i.e., a place where you can share your unfiltered thoughts and feelings. But you really can't. You can't say stuff about your neighbors or your coworkers or your family or your third grade teacher. If it's on the internet, people end up seeing it and it's there forever. 

So what's left to write about? When I started blogging a decade ago (holy cow, A DECADE AGO!!!), I'd write about music and TV and life. Now I just write about my kids...which is pretty much all my life is these days. But now, apparently, it's not even safe to write about my kids anymore. 

The other day, I wrote about Paige signing up for the school paper. In the post, I referenced Paige being  embarrased by me: 

"I know what you're going to ask me," she said, in the voice she uses to show me that it's totally annoying to even have a dad, "you want to know about the school paper."

A couple of days later, I saw this comment on the post:

"Hi!Its Paige!(The girl in your article)I just wanted to say that I didn't mean to sound like it was annoying to have you.(Sorry,if that ruined the article.)"

Great. Now I've not only embarrassed my daughter, but I've offended her, too. :)

After she looked at the comment, Traci asked me the same question that I'd been thinking, "How did she even find your blog?"

I envisioned Paige googling her own name or even setting up her Google Alerts or RSS feeds. (I wouldn't put it past her. She's very smart.) 

But then Traci answered her own question. "I must have been reading the post and then left it open on the laptop." 

So that's it. There's nothing safe to blog about anymore. I'm going to have to go back to writing my journal with pen and paper...something my kids will also discover. I guess I'll have to get the kind with the tiny lock and key.  

The Daddy-Daughter Dinner

Fresh on the heels of the Daddy-Daughter dance at the school, Paige and I got to go to the daddy-daughter dinner at the church. 

In advance of the event, each of the girls drew pictures of their dads and hung them on the wall. The men had to guess which portrait was theirs. It took me a minute, but I eventually spotted myself. (See handsome devil above.)

Paige also had to use her skills to identify me. 

Each of the dads had to go out in the hall and take off his socks and shoes (which is always fun to do at a social event with strangers). We then came back in the room in groups of 3-4 and stood behind a big whiteboard. The girls had to look at the feet to determine which belonged to their dad. Paige had it easy. My group consisted of me, two African Americans, and a Tongan. 

We also ate some dinner, did some hula-hooping and a little bit of dancing. Paige was happy because they gave us treats after each activity--and then dessert at the end (she also managed to sneak an extra cupcake and a handful of suckers before we left). I was happy because I had such a beautiful date. 

Date Night with My Favorite Girl

The Daddy-Daughter Dance at Paige's school is pretty much the best night of the year.

Once again, I had the prettiest date at the ball. But this time she expected more out of me.

About 30 seconds into the first song, Paige grew bored of my step-step-clap dance moves. She looked up at me and said, "is that all you're going to do?"

I'm pretty sure she wanted me to be throwing her around like a swing dancer, but luckily she settled for the next best thing. I'd do a sweet move -- like throwing my hands in the air or doing some sweet robot marching -- and she'd follow right along. I'm sure we were quite the sight to behold.

Other than pausing for a bit of cake and having our picture taken, we spent 90 straight minutes dancing. We did the Cupid Shuffle and the Hokey Pokey and the Cha Cha Slide. We sang along with Miley and T-Swift and all those girls who may or may not be Demi Lovato. And we slow danced to My Girl. We had a wonderful time.

It's good to be a daddy of a daughter.

Our Kids, Lately

A random collection of recent kid things:

Tate

> While trying to get him dressed, I say, "Tate, do you know who loves you? Me."

"No!" he shouts before smacking me in the face. "I love YOU!" Such loving anger. 

> Tate pretty much runs this house. Whenever he's playing or distracted, I try to sneak away and have some quiet time. But the second he realizes I'm gone, he'll track me down, wherever I'm hiding. If I'm in my room watching TV, he'll barge in and demand that I change the station to something he wants to watch. Lately, however, he's been allowing me some concessions...kind of. Sometimes he'll say things like, "Dad, I want to watch the Jazz." This would be nice if it were ever when the Jazz were playing. I'll respond, "That's nice, buddy, but it's 8:00 in the morning." Or he'll say, "I want to watch the Broncos." "Sorry, buddy, the Broncos don't play again until August." These responses are never good enough. "I want to watch the Broncos. RIGHT NOW!" I just can't win. 

> Speaking of TV, here's another common trick of Tate's. I'll be lying on the bed, watching TV. He'll put a pillow on my head, sit on the pillow, and then declare triumphantly, "Dad, you can't see your show!"  

Curtis

My birthday is tomorrow. A couple of days ago, out of the blue, Curtis ran upstairs and into his bedroom. When he came back, he said, "Here, Dad. It's an early birthday present." He dropped 47 cents into my palm and then ran off again. 

Paige

Paige and I have been watching the Olympics together the past few nights. Thanks to her patriotism and steel-trap memory, she delivers comments like, "Come on Shiffrin, you need to defend your title" and "I'm so excited that Maddie Bowman won the first-ever gold in women's ski halfpipe." Sure you are, Paige. Sure you are.