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. 

The Triumphant Return to Lagoon

We finally took our kids to Lagoon for the first time. (If my memory is correct, I hadn't been to Lagoon since 1998. There were a few new rides, but it smelled largely the same.)

Every year, we plan on going, but then there's a kid who's too small, or summer gets too busy, or it's just too expensive (which is still the case). This year, we went before we could find too many excuses not to do it.

After getting off to a slow start (Curtis is afraid of everything), everyone found their groove and we had a great time.

 

 

Another thing that has changed since 1998 is my ability to handle spinning rides. I'm still fine on roller coasters, but the Tea Cups, Space Scrambler, or Tilt-a-Whirl--just can't do it. I'm very lucky that Traci will take the kids on those rides. I took one turn on the Flying Aces and just about lost it. 
 


Paige likes roller coasters, too, and she and I had a good time on Bombora and The Bat. I tried to take up a notch with her on the Roller Coaster. My the way she was huddled down in her seat after the first descent--and the fact that she didn't open her eyes once--makes me think she might not quite be ready for the big stuff.

Thanks, Lagoon. See you in another16 years!

Bones

We just got back from a super quick trip to Dinosaur Land. It's been, I don't know, 25 years since I'd last been to Vernal, so Memorial Day seemed like a good time for a visit.

We headed out after church yesterday and spent the night in Vernal. Our kids have only stayed in a hotel a handful of times, so it's still very exciting. An indoor pool, breakfast in the lobby, an ice machine in the hallway--the kids couldn't have ask for anything more. Throw in a room upgrade that included a pull-out couch (not sure how a hide-a-bed is an upgrade over an actual bed, but whatevs) and it was like we hit the lottery. We could have just headed back home and the kids would've been just as happy.

But we didn't. We drove to the bone quarry at Dinosaur National Monument. It was just like I remembered it--a giant wall fill with hundreds of hundreds-of-million-year-old dinosaurs bones. While this is pretty amazing, it's really not that interesting. (I know, I'm awful for saying that.) It only kept the kids' attention for about a half hour. Luckily, we got to ride to and from the visitor center in a open-air shuttle bus, which the kids loved.

From there, we went to the new Natural History Museum in Vernal. The fact that there were actual dinosaur sculptures made it instantly more engaging for the kids, but after about 10 minutes I was worried that we had seen all there was to see. I was actually pretty disappointed. Still a nice family trip, but was it worth a three-hour drive?

We eventually made our into the gift shop, where we let each kid choose one little item. Paige went with a necklace. Curtis found a bag of "Genuine Fool's Gold" that he was super stoked about and Tate, despite being given the option to choose whatever he wanted, chose one polished green rock. He happily hung on to it every second for the rest of the trip. (When we got back home, he promptly walked out into our front yard and said, "I know where my rock goes" and dropped it into the landscaping gravel.)

After the gift shop, we were about to leave when we noticed one small section of the museum we had skipped. Since it had been such a short visit, I figured we better see everything we could. When we entered the Mesozoic Era exhibit, I thought we were just going to see some boring rocks. It turns out, it was the entrance to a whole other--and much larger--section of the museum.

And that's when it got good. There were glow-in-the-dark rocks and bones and interactive displays (and a shout out to a rock formation baring the name of a certain someone in the family). There were cool prehistoric animal sculptures and caves to explore and bones to dig (which was Tate's favorite part of the whole trip).

 
The kids loved it. When it was time to leave, Curtis (who never gets excited about anything) was already asking me when we could come back to Vernal. Traci and I just looked at each other and said, "Well,  wouldn't we have felt stupid if we had missed this whole section of the museum?"

For a 27-hour vacation, we couldn't have had a better time. Thanks, Vernal!

Crying Over Books

For some reason, Traci-the-librarian and I were talking about books that have made us cry. I told her that there are only two books that have ever brought me to tears: The Last Unicorn (I'm sure you can imagine the massive eye roll that elicited from Traci), and Rumblefish by S.E. Hinton. (Two books I hadn't read since high school.)

Despite the memory of such strong emotion around Rumblefish, I couldn't actually remember what it was about the book that had made me cry. In fact, I couldn't really remember what the story was even about. I figured it might be a good idea to read it again.

So I did. And not only did my eyes remain dry, I didn't even think the book was that good. I wondered if it was really That was Then, This is Now that had made me cry. So I read it. It wasn't. Maybe it was Tex. Nope. Next thing I knew, I'd re-read Hinton's entire catalog. Nothing.

Luckily, there's other great stuff out there to read (even if it doesn't make me cry). Here are some the books I've enjoyed lately:

One More Thing: Stories and More Stories - BJ Novak
Who knew that Ryan the Temp from The Office was also such a strong writer? Not all of the pieces in this collection of short stories are winners, but there are more hits than misses.

Boxers & Saints - Gene Luen Yang
I never thought I'd enjoy a graphic novel about China's 1898 Boxer Revolution, but I loved Boxers & Saints (especially the Boxers half of the collection). Right after I finished it, I moved on to Yang's American Born Chinese, which was also excellent.

The Visible Man - Chuck Klosterman
I love Klosterman's nonfiction, but this very fictional piece really drew me in. I followed this up with Klosterman's nonfiction I Wear the Black Hat: Grappling with Villans, which was only so-so. I'm curious to see where Klosterman's fiction will head next.

Turn Around Bright Eyes: The Rituals of Love & Karaoke - Rob Sheffield
Sheffield's Love is a Mixtape is still near the top of my all-time favs list, so I was very excited to check out his latest book. As someone who doesn't karaoke, I almost gave up on Bright Eyes after the first two chapters. But then Sheffield did what he does. Suddenly, a book about karaoke wasn't really about karaoke anymore. Two thumbs up.

Slow Getting Up: A Story of NFL Survival from the Bottom of the Pile - Nate Jackson
Former Denver Bronco benchwarmer Nate Jackson gives a very behind-the-scenes look at what the NFL is really like for guys who are always on the verge of getting cut from the team.  Infinitely interesting.

Mother's Day Cards

Happy Mother's Day to Traci. She got some pretty sweet cards from her kids. 

Here's the text from Curtis' hand flower:

I love my mom because: 

"She's the best mom. She plays with me. She talks to me."

(Apparently, silent, brooding Curtis loves being talked to. Who knew?)

Paige had this to say: 

"Dear Mom,

Thank you for always being there for me, even though I might of been a bratt about it. One thing I like about you is your good leadership and your strong loyalty. I also like how you always believe in your family. Even when Curtis falls dramatically in soccer! Happy Mother's Day!"

(Leadership and loyalty? I think Traci should list Paige as a reference the next time she applies for a job.)

This little illustration accompanied the necklace Paige made for Traci.

The kids also made some homemade keychains for their mother. Tate wasn't too interested in making his, but when it was time to present the gifts this morning, he went into the kitchen, picked up a wooden car he'd painted last night and said, "Here, Mom. You can have my car." Pretty sweet.

My kids are lucky to have such a great mom.

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.  

Texts From My Dad

I know my dad loves me. We don't hug or kiss or say "I love you." We're not that kind of family. But we love each other nevertheless.

A while back my sister forwarded me a text my dad had sent her. "I miss you," it said.

I called her immediately. "I miss you?" I asked. "What does that mean? Why did he send that to you?"

"I don't know," my sister replied. "I have no idea.'"

"Weird," I said.

"Weird," she said.

It was so weird, in fact, that my sister decided to get to the bottom of it.

After quizzing my dad, she found out that though he sometimes send us texts, he doesn't really know how to write a text. He just knows where the pre-written text templates are stored -- texts like "In a meeting" or "Be there soon" or, apparently, "I miss you." When he gets a text, he just chooses the the best auto response.

So it wasn't surprising that when I sent this text to my dad:

"Saturday's game is at noon,"

He responded:

"Good morning!"

It's nice to know that he cares.

SEE ALSO: My Dad's Thoughts on Email

Extra! Extra! Paige and the School Paper

When I got home from work the other day, Paige had some exciting news for me.

"Dad," she said, "I've decided to be editor of the school paper."

"Wow, okay," I replied. (Paige and I have spoken a few times about my illustrious career at the Murray Go Round. That's right. The high school paper was called the Murray Go Round.) "I didn't know that your school even had a paper."

"I just saw a poster in the hallway. It said to ask about it in the office."

So the next day, she marched right into the school office and did just that. Only, the results weren't so great.

"How'd it go?" I asked.

"The office ladies said they didn't know anything about it." (Shocking.)

I asked her if she knew which teacher was in charge of the paper or where else she could turn for info. She said all she knew was what was on the poster--and the poster just told her to ask at the office.

And that was the end of that.

Until the next day when I picked her up from her book club.

"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."

"Yep. I was going to ask that."

"Well," she said, while turning and walking away from me--only to spin around dramatically and exclaim, "I GOT THE JOB!"

...

"I got the job" means something a little different to a grownup than it does to a second grader. To me, it meant someone had told her that she could, in fact, be the editor of the school paper. To Paige, it meant that the office ladies still didn't know about the paper, but the poster now had a signup sheet attached to it. Paige, being the first (and only) one to sign up, wrote her name and "editor" on the list.

Still pretty proud of her.

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. 

Sutherlands in the City

Santa brought the kids a three-month pass to Discovery Gateway for Christmas. It's been nice during the winter to have somewhere to take them where they can run around. Yesterday, we braved the wind and gloom to get in one last visit before the three months were up.

It was a good day for make believe.

Like riding horses. 

And driving cars. (Curtis' aversion to photos continues.)

But the adventure didn't end there. After the Gateway, we took Trax to the downtown City Library. My kids love taking the train.

But before we made it to the library, we had to make a quick stop at the Dunkin Donuts across the street. 

There was plenty of adventure to be had at the library. 

Including a trip to the cold and windy rooftop. (Tate said, "I can see the whole city!" He then pointed toward the U. and said, "Look, I see our house!" "Yeah, buddy," I replied, "Just turn the other direction and look about 20 miles that way.") 

And lots of trips up and down the elevator. 

It was also fun to check out all the cool reading nooks in the kids' section. 

But Tate's favorite place was the tiny couch. 

Trains, elevators, donuts. Pretty much a perfect day for kids and a dad. 

A Handy Man?

I was doing some manly stuff this afternoon, putting up a new bathroom mirror and installing a new light fixture. But does it make me less of a man if I turned PrettyHandyGirl.com for help (while listening to Katy Perry)?

I don't think so.

Gag Me.

Kids love stickers, right? Not Tate. We live in a house full of kids and even more full of all sorts of stickers. But if one ever ends up on Tate's hand or foot, he starts freaking out...and then gagging. 

Who knew a kid could be allergic to stickers? This is problematic because everywhere you go, people want to give 'em out -- at school, at the doctor, at the grocery store. 

"That little guy is just so cute," they all say, "can he have a sticker?" 

Stickers aren't the only thing that gives Tate fits. The other night, I was unpacking a box and Curtis was tearing up the styrofoam and turning it into "snow" and chucking it at Tate. 

The next thing I heard was shouts coming from the hallway.  "Eew! Gross! Tate threw up!"

I ran out and picked Tate up. "What's the matter, buddy? Are you okay?"

In his soft little voice, he relied,"Curtis threw snow in my hair."

I got the styrofoam out of his hair, and the dirty shirt off his body, and he was just fine. 

That's my boy. The pukey kid. 

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. 

The Life and Death of Dorothy the Fish

Paige wanted a pet so bad. A dog, or a cat, or a hamster, or a guinea big. But we said no. She had to settle for a fish. 

Armed with a bag full of allowance change, she picked out a pretty little beta fish and promptly named her Dorothy. (Paige and I knew Dorothy was a male, but we agreed we didn't need to get hung up on technicalities.)

Dorothy couldn't have asked for a better owner. Paige cleaned her tank once a week and fed her every day -- she even made a little chart that she hung on her wall and marked the exact time that she fed her. 

She didn't stop there. She would google things like "how to bond with your beta fish." That's how she came up with the idea to draw pictures on Dorothy's tank (because "betas are very curious") and why she tried to teach Dorothy tricks like following her finger (which wasn't incredibly successful).

But all that love couldn't save Dorothy.

Paige came into our bedroom this morning and said, "I think Dorothy's sick."

Sure enough, she was on the bottom of the tank, barely moving. It was time to face the inevitable.

As Paige was quietly sobbing, we tried to console her.

"I remember when my fishes Missy and Kissy died," Traci said. "Maybe Dorothy will get to play with them in fish heaven."

Between tears, Paige replied, "Mom, you know that betas don't play well with others." (Thanks, internet.)

Her tears continued through the first hour of church, but she was in better spirits after Primary. On the way home she told me, "The good news is that I can get another beta for $2.99."

When we got home, she made this tribute to Dorothy on her whiteboard.

"You can't kiss a fish. But you can miss a fish."

We miss you, Dorothy. 

"Make a Pool"

Tate. It's funny how his little mind processes the world. The other day, he and I were sitting on my bed watching TV. He turned to me and said, "Make a pool."

After three kids and eight years of parenting, I'm getting pretty good at deciphering random demands like this. I somehow knew that Tate wanted me to sit cross-legged, essentially making a "pool" in between my two legs. 

So I did. But I didn't do it right. 

"No!" he shouted. "That's a pond! Make a pool!"

Now I was confused. What could possibly be the difference between a pond and a pool? After much trial and error, I realized that until I crossed my ankles, my legs would remain a pond.

Once I remedied the situation, we had ourselves a proper pool. 

Immediately, Tate shouted," Cannonbaaaaaaaalllll!" and jumped right in.

Curtis Finds His Dream Job

We took the kids to Discovery Gateway yesterday. Even Curtis, who refuses to smile about anything, couldn't stop grinning while he was playing in the construction zone.

But that was nothing compared to his happiness working as a mailman. 

  

He spent at least an hour picking up the mail from the big, blue mailbox and delivering it to all of the little mailboxes around the museum--the market, the farm, and even the dog house. (Luckily, Paige was happy to keep retuning all of the mail to the big box, so he could just keep delivering and delivering.) 

And the fun didn't end there. When he got home, Paige dumped out every tupperware container in the house and turned them into mailboxes. With a grocery bag slung over his shoulder, Curtis delivered mail to our room, Paige's room, the family room, and the kitchen. Over and over.  

Today, when I got home from church, Paige had even made name tags for Curtis and his junior assistant. It looks like their company is called the Mailman Brothers. 

  

Watch out FedEx, the Sutherland boys are gunning for you.

Paige's First Solo

If you've ever been to a Mormon Primary Program (where the kids sing and do all the talks during Sacrament Meeting), you've probably noticed that there's always one kid who sings about twice as loud as all the others combined.

In our ward, that kid is not only loud, but sings with enough vibrato to make any opera singer jealous. That kid is Paigey

We've known this about Paige for a few years now, we just hoped that others wouldn't notice. Well, they did.

A few weeks before the Primary Program, Paige was asked if she would sing a solo. She was ecstatic about the opportunity. We were a little nervous about it, especially since she refuses to sing in front of us, which means should wouldn't practice at all.

Paige didn't seem to get nervous until the day of the event, when we were driving to church. "My stomach feels weird," she said.

By the time she was sitting on the stand, fidgeting uncomfortably, I could tell she was really nervous. But she still probably wasn't as nervous as Traci and I.

When she walked up to the microphone, all alone, my heart was thumping in my ears. The piano started, the chorister raised her arm, and give Paige her cue. After a small pause--which felt like a mega enormous is-she-going-to-do-it pause to her parents--a voice as big as a house excited our tiny daughter's body.

She did a wonderful(ly dramatic) job. We were very proud of her.

She was also proud of herself. As she went back to her seat to sing the remainder of the songs with the the primary, she was beaming. She continued to belt the songs out, louder than anyone else but now with her arms crossed proudly across her chest and her eyes closed like an R&B diva.

After the program, she was showered with praise from just about everyone. She, of course, let this go directly to her head.

After church, we had this conversation:

Me: Paige, you did a great job. Do you think you'd want to try taking voice lessons?

Paige: [Rolling her eyes] Voice lessons? What are voice lessons?

Me: It's like your piano lessons, but you practice singing.

Paige: Dad, I take piano lessons so I can get good at playing piano. I'm already good at singing.

Later that night, I left the kids in the car while I dropped some keys off at the Relief Society president's house. When I got back in, Paige said, "Let me guess, Sister Rickards told you what a good job I did." (No, Paige. I'm sorry to say she didn't mention it.)

It's good to have a confident kid.

--

On a related note, Curtis also refuses to sing. But not just in front of us, he refuses to sing ever. (Well, that's not entirely true. I have heard him singing C&C Music Factory in the bathroom.) He once again refused to sing during the Primary Program. But we had a few major breakthroughs. Not only did he stay on the stage for the whole program (with his lips pursed so no singing could slip out), but he actually said his one-sentence part into the microphone. (Last year, he walked up to the microphone and not only refused to deliver his line, but turned his back to the audience. Take that, crowd!) It was super fast and completely mumbly, but he did it. Another proud parent moment.

Jazz Game Night, Take Two

Last April, I attempted to take Curtis to his first Jazz game, only to have him decide at the last second that he didn't want to go.

Because I'm a resilient father (or maybe stubborn...or stupid), I gave it another shot.

I  tried to learn from last season's mistake. This time around, we left straight from our house so the allure of grandma's house or cookies or toys could not distract him. Traci was not allowed to speak of what she, Paige, and Tate were going to do while we were gone. We were only focusing on the game.

We successfully made it into the car (which I know isn't true success; I still remember when I took Curtis to Monster Jam and he didn't start bawling until we were all the way to the arena) and he was still pretty excited about the game.

At the Gateway before the game

We made it to the arena and he was still happy. It was free t-shirt night, so Curtis and I put on our matching shirts--me in a Men's XL and Curtis in the smallest size available, a Men's L that went down to his calves--and made our way to our seats.

It only got better from there:

• We had aisle seats on the eighth row (thanks, New Job)
• The Jazz Bear slid down the stairs on his sled right next to us
• The Jazz dancers danced right next to us (Dad like this part)
• During a timeout, the Jazz Bear played Curt's favorite sport, human bowling, and got a strike (with the help of Little Jazz Bear)!
• Curtis and were on the Jumbo Tron for like 15 seconds (me shaking my keys and whooping it up for the "Show us Your Keys" contest; Curtis refusing to acknowledge the camera) 

Curtis, being Curtis, did not allow his emotions to get the best of him. I don't think I saw him smile the entire night. (But I did spy the half-smile he does when he wants to smile, but doesn't want you to see it.) But I knew he was having a great time.

In our matching shirts

On the ride home, I asked him what his favorite part of the game was. In classic Curtis fashion, he said it was when I bought him a bouncy ball out of the vending machine by the parking lot. But when we got home, his true feelings were revealed.

He ran straight up to Paige and said excitedly, "Paige! We got shirts and the Jazz Bear rode on his sled and Dad was shaking his keys and the Jazz wore their green jerseys but they didn't win and the Jazz Bear knocked down all the pins and I got this cool bouncy ball."

The night was a success. He's already asked when we can go to another game.

And that makes my heart happy.

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