Infinity is Short

Are there some things that you could do indefinitely? You'd never grow too tired, get full, become bored? Things you stop doing not because you must but because you should? Here are some things that I could do forever:

1. Tinker around, building things while listening to music. Things like picture frames, fleece mittens, insect collections, painted figurines.

2. Play video games. I used to rent Nintendo games from Blockbuster and play them for three days straight (the length of time for rental). Shelley helped out by running to Subway to get me a sandwich to eat while playing.

3. Listen to Wendy laugh. Not that I'm that funny, not by a long shot.

4. Eat Mint Milanos from Pepperidge Farms. I once asserted that I could eat an entire bag in one sitting and Laura said I would fail. Let me tell you, 15 Milanos in one sitting is a wonderful thing.

5. Talk with Shelley. She is very interesting and funny and smart. She is also responsible for a lot of lost sleep.

6. Play soccer or Ultimate Frisbee. Saturdays in college, I would show up on the field around 8 am, just as the first game was starting, and I would go home when the last game ended, sometimes around 1 pm.

7. Listen to President Hinckley. He has a way of saying what I already know but that I am unwilling to admit.

8. Snuggle with my daughters. This is a very rare treat for me, so my world stops when they get cuddly.

9. Eat salsa. If Wendy ever starts buying more than one bottle at a time, then I would suggest that you all buy stock in Herdez.

10. Read history. Any history.

Enrichment Night

I know that many men wonder: What goes on at Enrichment? But I wonder if the women know what goes on at home while they are gone. This entry is for those who want—and dare—to know. What follows is a recap of how my daughters and I spent the most recent Enrichment Night while Mom was away.

6:00 PM Mom runs out the door; she has to get to the church to help set up.

6:05 PM Time to start dinner. It should be something healthy.

6:30 PM Time to clean up the kitchen. How about some nice music?

6:35 PM Cleaning can wait. Let’s rock! Ann immediately gets down with all-original moves. Sara seems reluctant. “Loud. Loud,” she complains.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried that this is the end of Rocktober Night. “Is the music too loud?”

“Loud.” Sara replies. “I like it!”

And then she joins in the wild rumpus for the next 15 minutes.

6:45 PM Someone calls on the phone:

"Sorry Paul," I say, "I’m hangin’ with my girls. Call back later."

6:50 PM After rocking and cleaning, we need and deserve a treat.

7:05 PM I wonder what’s going on in the backyard?


Nothing out of the ordinary. Oh well.

7:10 PM How about more great music? Turn it up so we can share with the neighbors.

7:45 PM Get ready for bed.

So there you have it: the typical Enrichment Night at home.

Living on Borrowed Music

I am the sixth of eight children. Never mind the down side to that; it is insignificant compared to the positive. My older brothers and sisters had good taste in music, so while my peers in elementary school were bopping to Captain Kangaroo, I was rocking to The Clash, Queen, Billy Idol, Bob Marley, and the Cure.

My dad also listened to good music: one of my life’s most unforgettable moments is when on a church outing (I was maybe 13 at the time), my dad taxed the factory speakers in our mini van with Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”.

Don’t think for a moment that any of this made me cool: I never was. But I was musically rich, and so it is no wonder that I spurned trite pop bands in my youth in favor of groups with talent and depth.

And yet, there was a disadvantage: growing up listening to my dad’s music and my siblings’ music meant I never owned any good music. So as my siblings left home, my music selections dwindled until finally I found myself listening to—think no less of me—the radio.

For years I languished in the FM airwaves, a slave to the deejays and the banality of the masses. My senses progressively dulled until—thankfully—I made the sudden, sickening realization.

Sure, now that I have come to recognize my error, I should be able to buy my own CDs. But building a music library takes time and discretionary income. All those years I could have been building my library, I was living on borrowed music!

Got A Devil's Haircut

A few days ago I got my hair cut, and I realized an intriguing fact: Every person who has ever cut my hair has a name ending with a long E sound. Lest you doubt this mystery, I present the hairdressers:

Mommy: my first haircut and many more.
Shelley: also known as the “Hard Hat, Peanut Butter, and Mayonnaise Incident” or “The Girl with a Buzz.”
Marci: my sister, who while did not cut my hair, feathered my bangs one day for church. I think that is worth mentioning.
Me: that’s right; I cut my own hair several times. These were often the only times I ever got compliments on my cut—and with my genes, I think I should get praise just for having hair.
Nikki: a red-headed woman at Haircuts Plus who was the first hairdresser I ever requested on return visits. She was meticulous and fast, but best of all she did the shampoo after the haircut. Alas, she moved on to a fancy salon.
Mandy: the replacement to Nikki, and almost as good. (I mean no offense.)
Wendy: that’s right; my wife cut my hair for a few months. She stopped when she could no longer bear being associated with the tragedy that is my hair (you haven’t seen it? Find a picture of David Letterman.)
Lindsay: a fantastic hairstylist that used to cut hair in her own home. I say ‘used to’ because after cutting my hair once she quit the cut-at-home business forever.
Suzie: one of the more recent walk-in cuts here in Rochester.
Jenny Mahoney: a double-'ee' sound…amazing! And it was she that cut my hair most recently.

And this list does not include the occasional Candy, Kristi, Mindy, or Cindy. Is there a hidden message in all this?

When Kids Really Get It

As a father, I hope my daughters can really understand the reasons for the rules we have. When they do, it means we don't have to address the same or similar problems repeatedly. Instead, they make good decisions based on correct principles. A story will illustrate what I mean:

My four year-old, Ann, was playing with a friend, Jasmina, on the playground. According to Ann, another girl came up to them and started saying mean things to them. Ann and Jasmina responded by saying mean things back. The girl ran away crying and I had to have a discussion with Ann. The point I tried to make was this:

When you do mean things, no matter what the reason, you lose the Spirit in your heart. So it is always better to be nice to others--even when they are being mean--because at least you will know in your heart that you are doing what is right.

A few weeks later Ann came crying to me from the playground. Two girls--her friends--were saying mean things to her:

Me (concerned): What did you do?
Ann: I told them I just wanted to be their friend.
Me: And what did they do?
Ann (sadly): They kept saying the mean things, but I didn't say them back because I wanted the Spirit in my heart.
Me (proudly): That is right, Ann.
Ann (with brows scrunched and one fist clenched): But I wanted so bad to say something mean back!