Happy 30th

My sister-in-law turns 30 today. In honor of her day, I'd like to point you to her blog. She's a fantastic writer, and has managed to build a charming community of readers that follow her.

Take some time to visit her. Read a while. And I'd encourage you to check back often. She posts with greater regularity than most bloggers I know.

Dancing with Dragons is Hard on Your Shoes

All things go

Chaos. Madness. Insanity. Pandemonium. Strife.

Can you celebrate turmoil? Because that's what work was like today. Yet, I felt strangely calm. And the atmosphere among my coworkers has been eager and optimistic.

I can't disclose the details of what composes our chaos, other then the fact that my workplace has been an environment where change is modus operandi. That isn't a bad thing. It's challenging. It's filled with opportunity. But it's not always easy, or pleasant. And it's rarely simple.

I've had a song stuck in my head all day. Oddly, I've found comfort mentally humming this song to myself as the day progressed.

It's Chicago by Sufjan Stevens. Over and over, I kept hearing those lines: "You came to take us, all things go, all things go. To recreate us, all things grow, all things grow." Sufjan's lyrics have been my source of comfort for the day.

What's been yours?

BBQn'... in the rain

Good day for a surprise birthday party. Bad day for a barbecue.

We were at a friends house this afternoon to celebrate the birthday of one of my wife's best friends. (I'll be nice and not divulge her age) Her son had strung tarps from their porch roof out into the yard to give all the guests a canopy under which we could socialize, and that tarp was soon an essential part of the festivities.

A tad cold. Slightly breezy. And a torrent of water pouring from the sky. We adults (those possessing sanity) remained under the relative dryness of the feeble improvised shelter. The children were not so easily contained.

We don't often let the kids play outside in the rain. They had the time of their lives.

The rub down

Nothing beats a good massage, right?

Bekah promised me an hour-long massage on Valentines Day, and today, she followed through with that commitment. To be honest, I'd forgotten she'd ever made that vow, but she kept her word. It's a four month delay, but good things come to those who wait. And that was a good massage.

However, as much as I tried to crawl into my nothing box to think about nothing while getting rubbed, there was one thought I couldn't escape. They were playing Enya through the house speakers. That reminded me of the massage therapy I had after a bad car accident twelve years ago; that masseuse played nothing but Enya in the office he shared with my chiropractor. The more I pondered that deduction, I could not bring to mind a single massage parlor (that I've been to) that has played anything other than Enya.

That prompted me to pose a question on facebook: Is there an unwritten law in massage therapy that requires all masseuses must play Enya while giving massages?

To which my brother-in-law replied: No, I'm sure it's really written somewhere.

Shhh, don't tell my wife

Bekah hates donuts.

Thankfully, the kids take after me.

In honor of a tradition started by the Salvation Army, we indulged in our donuts. Happy National Donut Day.

Happy Repeat Day

Yes, I said Repeat Day. Repeat Day.

The missing week in the life of Party Nic

Where have I been? Thanks for asking. To be honest this past week’s been a blur but I can tell you that my activities and habitations over the past 10 days have not included writing.

If I had to pick a single week of May where celebration should have been easiest, that last week would have been it. How woefully wrong was I? When you last saw me, my sister-in-law and her husband showed up for our adoption weekend. Then I vanished from the face of the blogosphere.

That whole weekend should have been one big joyous occasion. Should have. I have an inner worry bug inside me that tends to derail my ability to relax and enjoy the moment. That isn’t to say there was no cause for celebration.

We got off to a rocky start. On Saturday (the 22nd) I was overwhelmed with the amount of house and yard work that needed to happen to prepare for adoption party. Dan also had the awesome idea of renting COD: Modern Warfare while they were in town. He and I have previously spent a couple of weekends blitzing through full games, including Left 4 Dead and Gears of War. I was looking forward to some good video game time. Problem one: the only copy that Hastings had in stock was scratched and didn’t work. We made a trip back to Hastings where they buffed the disk in an attempt to make it playable. Problem two: even after buffing, the game still would not load. Another trip to Hastings to get a different game. Most of the games that we wanted were all rented out of stock. He and I spent a half hour surfing game reviews on our iPhones before settling on Borderlands. Problem three: by the time we returned from our Hastings excursion, dinner was served. After dinner I had to go into the office to send out some reports; I spent an hour and a half at work (allowing me to take two days of PTO) and by the time I got home most everyone had gone to bed.

Sunday was a much better day, despite the kids being more on the stir-crazy side of life. Dan and I didn’t get much time to play Borderlands, and the night was devoted to family games. Dan and I challenged our spouses (and their youngest sister) in a game of Battle of the Sexes. After the first couple of rounds, Bekah’s parents were intrigued enough to join the festivities. The guys won.

We planned a bowling trip for Monday as my belated birthday party. The upside: we had Sunset Lanes to ourselves. The downside... There was a lot. The kids lost interest in bowling after the first few frames. I had problems finding a ball that fit my fingers. And Miriam found greater joy watching the kids than in whatever was happening on the lanes. After bowling, Dan treated me out to lunch at Wingstop, then we finally got some time with the Xbox. We spent most of the rest of the day killing bandits and aliens. Monday night was a Battle of the Sexes rematch. The guys won. Again.

Tuesday was adoption day. JJ is now officially and legally a Casey.

Since we were in Spokane for the adoption, we stayed in downtown for the morning. We walked all over Riverfront Park, rode the carousel, and had brunch at Olive Garden (where Zu liked pepper off her breadsticks and JJ stole his grandma’s after-dinner mint). Finally, the day was capped off with JJ’s adoption party.

Wednesday I was back to work; Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were about nothing more than catching up with life. To be completely honest, I’ve blocked out 90% of those three days from my memory. All I know was that I needed to cram four and a half day’s worth work into three days and flirted with the brink of insanity.

Mother Nature tried her best to slaughter my Saturday plans, but I flipped her the figurative middle finger and ventured out to the Kootenai County Farmer’s Market with Christian by my side. This is the first I’ve been to the KootCo market in the six years that we’ve lived here. Christian has been promised a garden the summer that he’s six (which would be next year) and he was eager to tell all of the vendors about it. He asked what all of the different plants were as we walked by the various booths. All of the plants piqued his interest (except tomatoes, he was adamant in his distaste for tomatoes). The lavender lady gave him gardening tips that included talking to plants to help them grow. When we visited Almost Sunny (ran by Sunny and Bent of Bent's Beer Garden), Christian told Bent and Sunny that he was going to have his own garden with carrots and “other stuff.” Bent was so overcome by Christian’s excitement, he blessed us with a generous and unexpected gift of some veggie starts. Now Christian can get some practice before he gets his full garden next year.

We now have a cauliflower, broccoli, and cabbage starts sitting in the kitchen window waiting for a clear patch of dirt to be dug into the yard. And Christian spent two hours on Sunday afternoon following the advice of the lavender lady, repeatedly telling his plants, “I want you to grow.” My son isn’t much of a conversationalist. Yet.

Sunday was my day of rest and I indulged in all aspects of resting. Monday was the Day we should all be celebrating: Memorial day. Finally, yesterday marked my fifth anniversary as a blogger. My first blog post appeared on the tubes June 1st 2005. I’m posting a series of celebratory posts on my primary blog this week, and you can read the first two posts HERE and HERE.

Now we’re at today. And I’m exhausted.

When the budget allows

When Bekah and I were still newlyweds, the number of kids we wanted was an occasional topic of conversation. She wanted six. I wanted two. I think we compromised on four. Part of those negotiation processes included what we want out of life. Since she was a little girl, all she wanted was to be a mom. I wanted to be surrounded by music. So we brokered a deal, every time she got a kid, I would get a musical instrument.

Shortly after Christian was born, I bought a keyboard. I started shopping for a bass guitar before Zu was adopted, and there is one that I've had my eye on for quite a while. Now with one more adoption approaching, I'm looking for a good portable recording equipment.

Why do I bring this up tonight? Today was Buy a Musical Instrument Day. Now that is the kind of holiday I could celebrate with gusto.

Unfortunately, my musical purchases will have to wait. As shiny and awesome as new instrument could be, there are more important things. Like my kids. So, between the Bekah and I, if only one of us can get what we want... I'd rather it be Bekah.

However, as soon as it's in the budget, I'm heading to an authorized Traben dealer.

Early arrival

My wife's older sister was planning on visiting us this weekend. We were expecting her and her husband to show up sometime before noon tomorrow.

But when Miriam's work day ended, she told Dan "I'm hyper, lets go now."

Now they're here. So until we all crash for the night, I'll be celebrating by hanging out with two of the coolest people in the world (and quite possibly the galaxy).

With apologies to my brother

My hometown was in strawberry country. Picking those berries was a first job for many of my peers. In fact, the City of Marysville throws an annual festival about this time of year - The Strawberry Festival. (I know - creative, right?)

This festival was (and likely still is) the most exciting thing to roll through town. A car show, beauty pageant, vendors market, parade, trike races, carnival... For some reason that still eludes any explanation, my favorite part was the giant strawberries that the city painted in the major intersections along State Ave. Nothing bolsters civic pride more than government endorsed graffiti.

As for the food options, those red berries received the center stage in every dish served around town. Strawberry milkshakes, strawberry shortcake, strawberry ice cream. It was the toppings for pancakes, elephant ears. Served in scones, on skewers. Dipped in chocolate, in whip cream, in yogurt.

My family was involved with the festival for a few years. My dad, brother, and I all worked the vendors market and volunteered as parade security. It came with perks. The guy who brought the go carts gave us unlimited or extended racing time, often after hours. We were given free carnival passes and an insane amount of free food.

Oh the free food. The food vendors understood that we were in control of their power supply and their access to ice. So they repaid us with goodies. This was greatly appreciated, but as it was a benefit it was also a curse. Remember how strawberries played a central theme in the festive foods?

After eating nothing but a variation of strawberries for five consecutive days, at the end of May, every year, you suffer something akin to strawberry burnout. At least that's what happened to my brother and me. For years, neither of us could stand to eat that infernal fruit. I'm not sure if Aaron has yet recovered from his strawberry aversion, but I have. Almost.



I have regained my taste for strawberries, but only in small doses - like a man building up an immunity to a lethal poison. It is a good thing, because today was Pick a Strawberry Day.

Zu, Christian, and I took a trip after dinner to pick strawberries. And there is no better place in Coeur d'Alene to pick strawberries than the grocery store.

Christian was seriously serious about his strawberries, but Zu was so excited I feared she might bounce out of her seat.

And of course, I savored my own bowl.

When life gets in the way

I missed yesterday. Completely skipped celebration. There were a few events conspiring against me.

1) It was Circus Day. The anniversary of Ringling Brother's debut in 1884. Not to make up an excuse but it is difficult to celebrate Circus Day when there are no circuses in town? (Yes, I realize there are a few who would say I live in a circus every day.)

2) Any plans to celebrate got hijacked by JJ's health. Bekah made a quick trip to the ER last night, and by quick, I mean she was absent for a significant chunk of the evening.

3) My father-in-law is entering a cupcake contest. Since my wife has mad cake decorating skills, he invaded our kitchen and dining room to enlist Bekah's assistance.

I know these reasons are not a valid justification to neglect my daily celebrations. At the end of the day, I failed. However, I did manage to spend some time with Christian looking at pictures of circus animals, which turned into pictures of animals of all varieties. Which turned into a series of unanswerable questions.

"What's the giraffe doing? Why is the giraffe eating? What is the gorilla doing? Why is the gorilla sleeping? Why is the fox hunting? Why is the baby moose learning to walk? Do coyotes howl? Why do they howl?"

Blow Up the Outside World

I've always felt a kindredship with Mount Saint Helens. It blew up the day after my first birthday, so I feel like we're grown up together. Like the dorky kid next door, who you're only friends with because he lives next to you. And he owns a Nintendo. (When I was 5, he was the only kid in the neighborhood with a Nintendo... that actually counted for something back then)

I digress.

As a kid in the Seattle suburbs, I truly believed that this piece of natural history was a part of my story. And to an extent it may have been the catalyst to my fascination with disaster in both it's natural and man made forms. In this respect, I feel this is an important chuck of cultural history that I want to teach my kids.

So, today was all about St. Helen's anniversary. No... no big bash, no volcano shaped cake. I used this day as an opportunity to educate my son. A little geography lesson, a little geology lesson, and a little OOOH SHINY.

First, I made sure he could locate our house on a map, then showed our neighborhood in relation to where Mount Saint Helens is located. Then I showed him pictures of the mountain before 1980. I asked him if he knew how a volcano worked. His answer was almost correct. Then we watched the video of the explosion (thanks youtube!).

"Where's the lava?" He asked.
I explained how some volcanoes erupt with lava and some just shoot out ash and rock.
"Oh," he said.
We looked at some more pictures of the mountain, and looked at what it looks like today.
Then, "Where's Africa?"
"The other side of the planet." I answered.
"Can I see what Africa looks like?"

Perhaps he'll appreciate volcanic explosions more next year.