Obedience

Curtis did something quite unexpected tonight. I asked him to stop playing and get his pajamas on. And he did!

Quite surprised, I said, "Curtis, thanks for being obedient, buddy."

"I learned about being obedient in nursery."

Had someone taken my terrible three-year-old and replaced him with this kid?

Before I could even finish that thought, Curtis walked up to me and punched me in the stomach.

Nope. Still the same kid.

Curtis: The Fugitive

Paige skipping school wasn't the only big news of the day. Traci came home with Curtis' preschool picture as well. She texted this to me:

She added in her note, "I feel like this pretty much sums up Curtis as a three-year-old."

Curtis isn't going to let anyone tell him what to do. Do you think Curtis is going to smile or say cheese just because you ask him to? Oh, heavens no. Instead, he's going to just go ahead and pose for his eventual mugshot. What can I say, he's a tough guy.

The next day, I tried to sneak a smile out of him as we walked Paige to the bus stop. I didn't capture any teeth, but I did get this shot of him wearing his Salt Lake Bees hat.

Underneath that rough exterior, he's really a softie.

Parenthood Firsts: The "Sick" Day

I was at work when Paige's elementary school called.

"Hi, this is the secretary. We've got Paige here in the sick room. She says her stomach doesn't feel well and she thinks she might throw up."

Uh-oh.

"Can you come pick her up or would you like us to keep her here?"

"I'm at work, but my wife should be home. Let me see if I can track her down."

I found Traci and she headed over to pick up our sick little girl. I was heading into a meeting, but I asked her to text me when she picked Paige up.


TRACI: I've got her, but I feel really doubtful that she's sick.


This was at about 11:00. Traci takes Curtis to preschool at 12:30.


SPENCER: See if she wants to go back when you take Curtis.


TRACI: She's mad because I told her that if she's sick, she can't have any Halloween candy. She doesn't want to go back, though.


TRACI: She just asked me for lunch. I asked about her "sick" stomach. She told me it's actually her teeth that hurt. What is the emoticon for rolling eyes? 


Despite the lack of candy, Paige seemed to have a wonderful day off of school. I got this text later in the afternoon.


TRACI: Paige is in her room playing school. Apparently being a teacher requires you to speak in a British accent. 


Oh, the irony of staying home from school just so you can play school in your room.


I guess this shouldn't have come as too much of a surprise. Just the Sunday before, Paige said to me, "Can we stay home from church today?"


"No," I replied. "We have to go to church."


"We could just pretend we're sick."


Yes, I thought. Yes, we could.

The Crypt Keeper Five

Along with parenthood has come the need for favorites. Favorite colors, and numbers, and Wiggles, and monster trucks, and Strawberry Shortcake characters. And, of course, favorite holidays.

Paige loves holidays. She'll bound into our bedroom to awake us with cheers of "It's Martin Luther King Day!" or "I can't believe it's already Labor Day!" But Halloween, that's her number one holiday.

Curtis, on the other hand, is clearly rooted in his terrible, terrible threes and kind of hates everything. He spent all of last Halloween trying to get out of his costume, only to tell us that he wanted to wear the same fireman getup again this year.

So while Paige headed off to school to count down the minutes until she could come back and get in her costume, Curtis was at home trying to avoid the holiday all together.

I invited Traci and the boys to come to my work to trick or treat around the cubicles. A few minutes before they were to arrive, Traci called to tell me that Curtis was refusing to get in the car.

"Oh, just shove him in there, he'll like it when he gets here," I advised. (Fatherly wisdom.)

She did. And then she called me again from the parking lot. "Curtis is refusing to get out of the car."

Despite my efforts to coax him out with candy and the promise that he wouldn't have to speak to (or look at) anyone, he stood strong in his resistance. So Traci, Curtis, and Tate in his little skeleton onesy turned around and headed back home. 

The evening went a bit better. Curtis agreed to get in his costume (sans hat) for some trick or treat action.

Paige led the way, running from door to door and constantly being amazed by the amount of candy booty. But then things took a turn for the worst. Heading up to another door, she tripped on a step and came up with a pretty bad bloody lip.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" I asked.

Through hiccuping sobs she replied,"I'll...be...okay...[sob, sob]...Let's...keep...trick or treating."

So we carried on, Paige walking somberly but resolutely and Curtis needing to be piggy-backed for most of the night. (It's fun to have a sleepy 30-pounder on your shoulders, banging you in the head with a plastic pumpkin.) 

Another holiday survived. 

Paige's First Piano Recital

I don't think I used to be so gushy. But this a proud parent moment. A couple of years ago, Traci and I were worried that Paige would never stop being so incredibly shy. And now, here she is marching up to the front of the stage for a piano recital (after just three lessons) and bravely (if not a bit quietly) saying, "My name is Paige Sutherland and I will be playing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." (Traci's sister Makell joins her on the other two songs.)

We couldn't be more proud of her.

Dear Mr. Fish, I Will Eat You Now

The year was 1987. It was Super Bowl Sunday and I was getting ready to cheer on my beloved Denver Broncos as they faced the New York Giants. My mother made halibut for dinner, which was noteworthy because she never cooked fish. Having no prior experience to fish, I ate it.

It was disgusting.

I can still taste the strong fishy flavor--combined with the bitter taste of a 39-20 loss, mixed with the salt of my six-year-old tears--on my tongue.

In the years since, I have avoided fish almost entirely. Until last week.

Much like yoga, I've always thought I should give sushi a try. But I've never been motivated enough to say, "Hey Traci, let's go get some sushi tonight." (Or say, "Let's go to sushi." Why do people "go to" sushi? I'm going to start saying, "Hey, let's go to pasta" or "Let's go to hamburgers.") And Traci would never agree to sushi anyway.

But I have some other friends who can't get enough of the uncooked stuff. So I tagged along.

My first sushi experience started off well enough. I was having a great time at the restaurant, chatting it up, and drinking my orange Fanta. And the something happened.

"What's that fishy smell in here?" I thought. It was, of course, our meal.

I started off cautiously with the California roll. Then I moved on to the Spider roll...and then to the Prozac roll...and then the Xanax roll...and then to all of the other ultra-cool-pharmaceutically-named rolls. I dipped stuff in eel sauce and wasabi sauce and whatever else. And soon I realized I'd already downed like 10 of the things.

Did I like it? No, not really. But I figured if I was going to try it, I better try it.

It wasn't until I was driving home--and thinking it best to roll down the window and get some air--that I realized that was a bit too much to ask of a stomach so unaccustomed to things of the sea. (Especially after the large amounts of deer jerky I'd eaten at lunch, prepared by the guy who said, 'I hope you don't get sick, I've never made deer jerky before.')

But I hung on.

And now I have two memories of fish: the first of three Denver Broncos Super Bowl defeats (which was bad), followed by two Denver Bronco victories (which was good); and a meal that made me a little sick (which was bad), but was accompanied by some delicious orange Fanta and some dear homies (which were both good).

Only four months 'til my birthday lunch at the Chuck a Rama.

Curtis Getting Tough on the Pitch

We have reached the end of Curtis' first season of soccer. I'd say it was a success. He scored a few goals for his team (and a bunch more for the other teams), he got a lot of treats, and he got to finish every bit of running with a little bit of rolling around on the ground.

I got this footage of him during his last game. Watch as he (number 10) shows the little girl on the other team who's boss. (Poor girl. She was pretty much down for the count.)

Desperately Hanging onto Summer

In a last ditch effort to hang on to summer, we headed to St. George this weekend with our friends the Smiths. What more can you ask for than a sunny 85 degrees?

 

And now, back home. Bummer, dude.

Once Again. The Sutherlands, Model of Healthy Eating

Paige: Can I have some salt and vinegar chips with my pancakes?

Me: Of course, sweetie.

Pretty Scary Skeleton

Getting in Touch with My Pelvic Floor

I didn’t even know I had a pelvic floor.

I only made one New Year’s resolution this year: to take a yoga class. Why? I don’t know. Maybe  because we have a gym at my work with free yoga classes. Maybe because I think it’s good to feel like a complete idiot every once in a while.

I did it. I took my first yoga class.

From the first 30 seconds of the class, I realized the biggest challenge would be keeping a straight face. Which was tough, with the instructor saying things like, “Breathe down through your core all the way to your toes, giving added focus to your pelvis. Feel it move. Feel it moving your body.”

I thought yoga was going to be all about stretching and positive thinking. But I soon learned that “plank” position is just a euphemism for “pushup” position, and suddenly I was transported to seventh grade gym class. By the class’ halfway mark, I was already sweating profusely and feeling really bad for whoever was sitting behind me, as my shirt was falling over my head and shorts were going who knows where.

Toward the end, we were sitting cross-legged with a goal of resting our heads on the floor. For those whose bodies were not capable of achieving such a thing, an alternative was offered. Bend as far as you can, and rest your head on a little green foam block. My foam block quickly turned into a seat-filled sponge.

With 15 minutes left in the class, I started thinking I might actually be able to make It to the end (with 30 minutes left, I was really worried that I would have to give up and leave). I was glad I stuck it out, because the last 10 minutes was just lying on our backs with our eyes closed. Sweet.

After the class ended, several of my co-workers/co-yoga-ers asked what I thought of my first experience. With a dazed look on my face, I replied, “I’m not sure what just happened to me.”

Still confused, I walked into the locker room. One glance in the mirror and I noticed something odd. Green letters written backwards on my forehead.  Argh! The foam block.

The next day, I said to one of my friends, “Did you notice the writing on my forehead?”

“Yeah. But I figured you’d had a tough enough time in class that I didn’t need to say anything.”

Namaste.

Dieter F. Uchtdorf vs. Mike Tyson's Punchout

Watching General Conference this morning...


ME: His name is Dieter F. Uchtdorf. He's from Germany.

PAIGE: I know someone else who's from Germany.

ME: Yeah? Who?

PAIGE: Von Kaiser.

The Innocent Prayer of a (n Evil) Child

Now that Paige is all religious, Curtis has followed suit. So of course they fight over who's going to say the prayer (I don't think that either of them is as interested in saying the prayer as they are in making sure that the other one doesn't get to say it.)

This morning, we had the usual fight over who's turn it was. Curtis freaked out, and instead of just praying at the same time as Paige (only much louder) like he normally does, he took a more drastic approach. The second Paige closed her eyes, he grabbed a bottle of lotion and chucked it right at her head.

Are we the only family that has to pause mid-prayer to put their kids in time out?

Tactical Soccer Genius for Three-Year-Olds

I was happy to hear these words of wisdom from Curtis' soccer coach to his team during half-time.

Coach: Okay, soccer friends. I want to tell you a secret. [She leans in closely and talks softly.] You guys are doing really good out there. But here's the thing: you can't punch or push. You can't punch or push the Yellow Jackets [the other team] and you can't punch or push the Blue Sharks [Curtis' team].

This was bad news for Curtis, who's not afraid to throw an elbow or two.

Blair Waldorf v. Pee-Wee Herman

 

The other night, Traci came home with "The Roommate."  This was not too surprising, seeing that it stars Leighton Meester (aka Blair Waldorf) and we watched at least the first three seasons of Gossip Girl before we gave up on it. But we don't normally watch scary movies.

When Meester's creepy, stalking character put her roommates cat in the dryer, I said, "Uh, so why did you rent this?"

"Oh, I don't know," Traci replied.

By the time Blair Waldorf was stabbing the roommate's ex-boyfriend with a boxcutter, Traci had to read a book to distract her from the movie.

The next night, we watched "Pee-Wee's Big Adventure," something that was a little more our speed. It's weird when you're old enough to say things like, "I haven't seen that movie in at least 15 years." But it's also weird that you can still know all of the words from a movie you haven't watched in 15 years.

One of my favorite lines:

Francis: Shut up, Pee-wee!
Pee-wee: Why don't you make me.
Francis: You make me!
Pee-wee: Because. I don't make monkeys, I just train 'em.
Francis: Pee-wee, listen to reason.
[Pee-Wee cuffs his hand around his ear in a listening motion]
Francis: Pee-wee!
Pee-wee: Sh! I'm listening to reason.
Francis: Pee-wee! 

Words of Wisdom from Young Women's Class

I was sitting in Sunday School when I noticed some remnants from the preceding Young Women's class still on the chalkboard:

1. Do not shank people

My heart filled with joy knowing that the youth of the Church are learning such valuable lessons.

Don't Forget About Me, Dad

 

Paige is off to kindergarten. Curtis is going to preschool. This kid's still at home, drooling and being generally quite likeable.

Scissor Kicks and Such

Only two kids on Curtis' soccer team scored goals on this, his inaugural game. Juan, who's five and at least a foot taller than all of the three year olds, scored about a dozen. The lone remaining goal was scored by little Curtis, who was as surprised as the rest of us to find himself right in front of the net when the ball bounced his way.

It was a successful first outing, despite a bit of apprehension on his part. He spent a lot of time being frozen where ever he stood, until his coach would lovingly say, "Curtis, go kick the ball." At which point, he would run and play and get knocked over (several times) and score a goal by accident. Then he'd go right back to standing until his coach prodded him on again. (After a while, I think he just liked the attention and I would catch him looking at his coach, just waiting for her to give him a little encouragement.)

Paige cheered for Curtis maniacally and unceasingly. He showed his affection in his customary way--he walked over to the sideline, punched her, and then went back to the game.

Good times were had by all.

Off to Preschool

Poor second child. With all the worries about Paige heading off on the bus to kindergarten, we barely paid any attention to the fact that Curtis was starting preschool this week.

Fortunately, there was less to worry about, given that Curtis has gone to that classroom for the past two years to drop Paige off. Traci says he walked in today, put on his name tag, and headed straight for the toys. No time to worry about Mom's tears when there's stuff to be played with.

Curtis also made his soccer debut last night. I met Traci and the kids at the soccer field, where he was to meet his coach and get his uniform. When he hopped out of the van, I was happy to see that he was already in one of Paige's old uniforms and his flip-flops. The first thing he said to me was, "I need my cleats, dad!"

"Alright, buddy. We're just here to get your jersey, so I don't think you'll need them right now."

Turns out he did need them. After the uniforms were distributed, the team had a short practice.We got his cleats on and he ran off to become an athlete.

He did pretty good for his first time. Dribbling the ball around the cones must have been pretty exhausting, since about every 30 seconds he would run over to me and say, "I need some more water, dad."

He also got a little distracted when the coach paired the kids up to practice passing. Here was the scene.

Curtis is paying attention. Oh, wait. His partner Beckham is filling up a cone with grass clippings. Now Beckham kicks it. But here comes a firetruck, so now Curtis can't concentrate. Curtis kicks it to Beckham but Beckham is sitting on the ground. Teamwork.

School, sport. Lots of big changes for our little guy.

School: Day Two

Sending Paige off to school was emotionally exhausting. But we did it!

But here's what's whack. She had to go back again the next day! School is hard for parents.

Again on day two, Traci followed the bus over to school, just to make sure Paige was safely navigating the system. Traci kind of lurked in the shadows while Paige played on the playground before the bell rang. When it was time for the kids to line up and go to class, Traci made her appearance known.

"What are you doing here, mom?" Paige asked, as if to say, "Why are you here when I can clearly do this on my own?"


So, Paige is surviving just fine.

I don't know that Curtis is doing as well. I think he's a little jealous.

When Paige came home from school yesterday he asked, "Paige, how many recesses did you have today?"

"Three. Like I always do."

"Ask me how many recesses I had," he prodded.

"How many?"

"A hundred."