Maddie Sings Hanukkah Song at Mormon Christmas Party in Egypt

Yes, I realize I should buy a better pair of jeans, but please, this should be about Maddie...and a little bit about Henry's stage presence.

Death by Soccer (Yes, I'm THAT Parent)

The soccer season came to a welcome close on Saturday with a round robin tournament dubbed "Death by Soccer" by a witty parent with multiple children involved.  Caleb's tournament was 8 am to 11:30 and Maddie's was 11:30 to 4 pm.

Caleb's team opened the day with a 0-0 draw against the top team (whose coach helpfully pointed out that while the league does not count individual goals, if it did, his son would be the league leader with 52 goals on the season).  Then a few nice wins.  Caleb played great.  He's not much of a scoring threat, but in a league with no goalies, his defense wins games.

Then we played the push, shove, and tackle team that took out two of our guys on illegal slide tackles.  Here I also pause to note that in this league, coaches double as referees, which places them on the field during the game.  The coach of this team placed himself right in front of the goal whenever the opposition would approach.  Handy tactic.  When this was brought to his attention, he laughed it off with "Oh, I just get out of the way if they kick the ball."  Right.  Because seeing you there, they won't try to kick around you, clearly.

A few games later, we had a rest period and were spectators while the team with the goal tending coach played another match.  The game was tied and his team needed a win to make the finals.  Suddenly, the coach of the illegal slide tackle team started calling fouls!  Against his team!  Amazing.  So I wasn't too impressed and started really wanting him to lose.

Game tied, their top player makes a break away toward the goal, opposition giving chase.  The time keeper calls time.  No one hears.  Players collide.  They fall.  Time keeper calls time again.  The top player from goal-tending-coach team decides to hold his ankle and cry.  At which point goal-tending-coach calls a foul and awards a penalty.  Arguments ensue.  Cheater coach places the ball for the kick.

I can't take it.  I walk onto the field yelling that time was out.  "No the foul took place first, we will end on a goal kick."

Then I really get into it and yell, "La. La. La. Mish quayes! You cheat!"  (No. No. No. Not acceptable.)

This prompts a parent from the other team to yell at me, "You can't call another adult a cheater in front of all these kids. Not in Egypt. Not in our culture. In front of these kids, you can't call him a cheater."

To which I replied, "But it's okay in your culture for him to cheat?"

Then another parent yells, "This is just a social event, and then you ruin it with these accusations."

To which I replied, "No, he ruined it by cheating."

It was great.  Katie really loved it.

The Subtle Way Pakistan Haunts Me

6 months removed from a year in Pakistan and some difficult and unexpected consequences of time away from family are just now fully manifest.

A quote from a parenting book Katie and I are presently reading and trying to implement will set the scene: "Pouting is a passive behavior that is designed to make you (the parent) feel guilty.  If you do feel guilty when your child pouts, that's really more your problem."

But you see, I just couldn't help it.  Psychologically, after a year a way, I simply could not resist the slightest pouting.  Even if I wanted to, it was impossible.  Predictably, I reinforced sub optimal child behaviors as I tried to recover from the strange "We all know and agree I had to go but I still feel totally guilty for leaving you alone" sensation.  Predictably, this frustrated Katie.

So yes, I felt guilty when my children pouted.  I felt guilty even when they didn't.  Yes, this is my problem.  Now it is also Katie's problem.

On the bright side, when one is blessed with kids (and wife) who are fundamentally good, these problems can be resolved.

Teach Daughter About Ambition, Check

I think most visiting my blog are LDS and will apprehend "fast Sunday" and all that implies.  Just in case, however, a quick overview:  We Mormons take one Sunday a month and skip meals, donating the economic value of the food to charity.  This practice is also accompanied by prayer, usually for a bit of clarity about a difficult life decision or for the receipt of a desired object or outcome.

In Cairo, we have Fast Friday.  During the most recent such Friday, the kids asked why I wasn't eating.  Mormon readers, feel free to pass judgment that we had not already explained everything and trained them to skip meals as well.  So I gave them some version of the above paragraph.  Following which, they asked, "So what are you praying for?"

My response, "Three things that I always pray for.  First, that all three of you will go to college.  Any college is fine, but BYU would be really great."

Their response, "Of course, who wouldn't go to BYU?"  At which point I did a mental fist pump.

"Second, that you will marry someone nice.  Third, that you will serve missions."

At which point Madeline burst into tears and ran to her bedroom.  This was unexpected as she had previously expressed interest in going on a mission.

So, of course, I followed her and asked what was wrong.

"Why are you praying for me to do something I don't want to do?"

"I thought you wanted to.  You don't have to."

"I'm not going on a mission.  My mission is to be an executive with Disney.  I already have a mission."

Um, wow.  My response could best be described as incredulity mixed with admiration.  Would that I had such clarity at age 8.  "Then that's your mission.  I will pray for that."

A Well Executed Floor Spin

So Bad It Hertz

So I neglected to mention that I rented a car while in Jordan.  I rented it from the guy with a desk and a cell phone in the hotel lobby.  Good hotel, so I assumed, normal rental car company.  That's called foreshadowing.

He didn't give me any kind of receipt or anything when I made the reservation.  Should have been first clue.  I reserved it with my hotel room number.  You see, but then due to a long story, the hotel moved me to a new room.  Didn't occur to me to inform the rental car guy and his cell phone.

So when I finished work on the appointed Friday and returned to the hotel to pick up the car to pick up Katie and the kids from the airport (which turns out to be about 90 minutes from downtown Amman), there was no car.  You see, when the guy attempted to confirm the reservation, he couldn't find anyone in the previous room.  Precious time ticked away.

At length, a car arrived.  But not my car.  The guy said to get in his car and he would drive me to my car, which I assumed would be close.  It wasn't.  I didn't know how to get back to the hotel from my new car.  Not to worry, said the guy, you can just leave from here and go straight to the airport and you'll make it just in time.  Alas, my driver's license, passport, cash, cell phone and other items necessary to depart for the airport were back at the hotel on account of my not realizing I would be driven several miles therefrom.

So I meandered my way back to the hotel with only one wrong turn, retrieved said necessary items, and then began meandering my way to the airport, already late to pick up Katie.  Turns out the way to the airport is not as direct as I had imagined.  A few wrong turns later, I was on my way.

Turns out the guy gave me the car on empty.  Turns out gas stations are not easy to find in Amman.  Then I started getting texts from another guy saying he was with my wife and that she was on the corner thumbing for a ride.  So I was looking for a gas station, trying to read mostly Arabic street signs, and trying to text to some strange guy to tell Katie I was on my way.

Anyway, it was awesome.  Then I got lost on the way back to the hotel and we drove all over Amman. At length, I stopped at a gas station and found a man in a Mercedes MacLaren who spoke English.  He said he would drive to our hotel and that I could follow him.  Suddenly I was in Le Mans racing around Amman in my rented Mazda 3 at about 100 mph chasing this Mario Andretti.  At length, I recognized some landmarks and knew the way.

On the final hill to the hotel, the Mazda 3 gave up the ghost.  Dead.  100 yards from the hotel.

Don't rent a car in Amman from the guy with the cell phone.

(But chasing the MacLaren was fantastic.)

Marketing Exercise

So I'm a big fan of marketing and brands.  As such, on a lark, I attempted to pick five brands that would give a good sense of our family even if you knew nothing else about us.  Here's what I came up with (in no particular order):

1. Disney
2. BYU
3. Apple
4. Red Sox
5. Star Alliance

Then one clarifying brand for each individual:

Katie: Snowbird
Tim: Nike
Madeline: Harry Potter
Caleb: Wild Kratts
Henry: Marvel

The Reason I Took This Job

Riding to Petra entrance.  "Dad, stop asking if I like it, I'm busy riding a horse."

Henry is sucking on the Camelbak, if you were wondering.

Horseback ride included in park entrance fee (with a $10 tip per horse)

At which point I heard these magical words: "This is the awesomest day ever!"

Henry is making Spider Man fingers, if you were wondering.

The Treasury

It's a long walk to the Monastery

Henry almost fell off the donkey, if you were wondering. Saved by his foot getting tangled in the rope.

At which point I heard these magical words: "This is like a real adventure, not a pretend adventure."

Henry fell asleep with three miles to walk back to the entrance, if you were wondering.

I was a tough negotiator and got the price down from 20 dinars to 10 for this life-saving ride back to the entrance, only to find out I only had a 20 dinar bill. Driver's lucky day.

Overlooking Jordan Valley

Entrance to Karak Castle

An ice cream-like snack

Clearly discussing something very important

That's the Dead Sea in the background

Dead Sea (and wife and daughter)

(Not) swimming in the Dead Sea

At the Dead Sea resort

At the Dead Sea besort

Jordan River baptism site

Mount Nebo

I'm a Believer

Geography increases my religiosity.  When I'm far from those I love, I yet feel connected to them.  This in turn prompts religious sentiment.  It seems I can feel my family's prayers/love/hope/faith (whatever you want to call it) as a physical thing.

I like science.  I read about science.  I especially enjoy physics and stuff about space.  I don't fully understand a lot of it, but it's cool.  So now and then some of the scientific stuff creates some confusion about how to interpret some of the religious stuff, and vice versa.

But you know what?  I just believe.  I can't really explain it and I don't think I have to.  What can I say?  I'm a believer.

Goal-Oriented or Anti-Social

So I go up to the hotel lounge to eat some eclairs and listen to the audio book of Guns, Germs, and Steel and this guy starts trying to talk to me. He's all like, "Hi, how are you?" and that sort of thing.  And I'm thinking, whoa there buddy, I have a 24 audio books-per-year goal that I'm behind on.

But do I say that?  No.  I'm all polite and stuff so I say hi back.  I even extend my hand for a shake and give my name!  Fatal error.  Never give your name to people with whom you do not want to converse.  Abort!

Too late because he's already like, "Bet you'll never guess where I live."  And then I go, "Wales?"  You know, 'cause he has an accent but I don't want to be all cliche and say London and, of course, I can't tell the difference between any of the accents over there anyway.

And then he goes, "Dallas, Texas!" and I'm all, "Wow, you got me" and he's all "I know, right?" And I'm thinking, when can I put in my earphones?

Then like a flash he's showing me photos of Petra and giving me advice about how to visit and giving me incorrect information about how far a walk it is and I don't want to tell him I've already been there and that I know he's exaggerating so I'm just nodding stupidly and stuffing eclairs into my mouth so I don't have to feel obligated to say anything.

I didn't listen to my audio book.  The eclairs were delicious.

Top 10 Songs That...

My blog and Facebook post frequency goes way up when I'm traveling.  I am presently compiling new playlists from my hotel room at the Amman Marriott.  I'm trying to come up with top 10 songs that are awesome when you imagine singing them to your kids but less so when you imagine singing them to your wife/girlfriend.  Top song on that list: "Hero" by Enrique Iglesias.

Also just discovered The Killers.  I don't know why it took me so long.  "Runaway" is, ahem, a killer song.

Apology to My Happy Band of Blog Readers

Just found out I had posted the last two videos as private. My bad. You should be able to watch them now.

First Game of the Season (Caleb)

My soccer coach used to get frustrated with me for slipping into "Tim's Playland" during games and not paying attention. So I had to include this first clip. Then there is some good action and a bit of nice defensive positioning. My kids might be natural fullbacks. Caleb had some good kicks but I did not get them on video.

First Game of the Season (Madeline)

I like the natural bounce as the ball approaches. I like the angle (some natural understanding of the game's geometry). Especially, I like the block. 

Politics Begins in the Home

First, I encounter the fact-checker:

7:25 am (10 minutes before school departure)

Tim, has Caleb eaten anything?

Define "anything."

Caleb, have you eaten anything?

Pants on Fire

Did you give them vitamins?

This week?

Pants on Fire

Is Caleb's swimsuit in his bag?

You didn't say which bag.

Pants on Fire!

Have you been reading The Wall Street Journal all morning?

What? No. Not all morning.

PANTS ON FIRE!

Then we review the broken promises.

Dad, remember when we were in Utah...

Buddy that was two years ago.

... remember when we were in Utah and you said I could have a pet.

Dad, you said you would read us Harry Potter tonight.

That was before you decided to stay up late playing Legos.

But dad, you said.

Dad, you said I could have chocolate milk.

That was before you had ice cream.

But dad, you said.

Henry Goes to School (and stuff)

My little buddy started school. The last one is out of the house. I'm a grown up (which realization is not wholly unrelated to my decision to go out for ice cream tonight).

Cairo American College, the school of my older two, instituted a new no-homework policy this year (which realization is causing significant helicopter trouble).

When Do I Tell Them What To Be When They Grow Up

(Fast readers of my blog posts will notice this was totally re-written. Until now, all my posts have been first drafts. But this one just didn't feel quite right.)

I started out to be a sports writer. I covered high school sports for my hometown newspaper. It was awesome. I left that, worried I wouldn't make money at it. Ironically, I left to get a PhD in Political Science, which I subsequently left, worried I wouldn't make money at it.

Then I sold life insurance, and it sucked, and I couldn't figure out how I got there or how to get out of it (but if Northwestern Mutual calls, I still like their insurance!). Then I decided to just do something that paid the bills and was reasonably engaging, so I went to business school and got a good job.

Present satisfaction notwithstanding, my circuitous career path has given me much anxiety about steering my kids in the arena of making a living.

Meanwhile, if Madeline hears me explain one more time why I think she would make an excellent marketing manager for Disney, I think she's going to beat me to death with jewelry from Claire's.

Seriously, do I really have to let them discover this stuff on their own?

First Day at Cairo American College

Entering school grounds

Good view of the soccer pitch and elementary school

Desert Hiking South of Cairo

Caleb's Self Awareness

"Caleb, do you want to play soccer this year?"

"I don't think so."

"Why not? You don't like soccer?"

"That's just not where my talents lie."

Love that kid.

Jerusalem 17 Years Later

First, am I really old enough for it to have been 17 years since I attended a semester at the BYU Jerusalem Center?  Weird.

I visited again today for the first time since. It was an emotional day for me. I remembered a lot of people and events I am sad to admit I had forgotten.

As you will surely guess, I also remembered many spiritual experiences. Prominent among them is a gem of a spiritual lesson that could have been acquired anywhere, but was brought to me by the unique circumstances of living in the Middle East with a bunch of Utah girls mostly far from home for the first time.

They daily the check-the-mail routine was a source of some, I don't know, agitation for me. I bristled at the giddiness the girls displayed upon receipt of letters or packages. At lunch one day I complained of this to Wade Milne. At age 26, Wade was the oldest of the group.

(As I type this, I now remember how we all worried when he would just finally get married because he is WAY old. Strange culture.)

He apparently had acquired some wisdom with his antiquity. He responded with something like this (I forget the exact words): "Tim, maybe everyone else thinks it strange that you don't react enthusiastically when you get a letter."

The Garden Tomb was great. The Via Dolorosa is impressive. But Wade's Socratic method probably made the biggest difference in my life.

Thanks, Wade, wherever you are these days.

Purpose (Part 2)

The sense of purpose displayed by these folks in Hebron really got me thinking.  That plus the Olympics.

I saw the photo of Mr. Pistorius with the little amputee girl.  Then I thought of inspiration and my own children.  I hope they will find a source of inspiration.  Then I thought about the purpose of my parenting.

Do I parent for me or for my kids?  Harder question than I thought once I really thought about it.

Olympians don't inspire others because they want to inspire others.  Olympians inspire others because they want to be great and they make all the sacrifices necessary to do it.  Their ambition gives us permission to have a little ambition of our own without feeling selfish. Which is also called inspiration.

And then I think of parenting.  Will I inspire my kids by hovering around and harassing them all the time about how inspired they are?  Or will I inspire them by pursuing my passions?

If I am parenting for them, I probably need to worry way less about them, let them figure out more stuff on their own, learn independence, gain a sense of self.

What is the Purpose

As the recent meme goes:  I know we just met, and this is crazy, but what's the purpose of your life?

Or in this case, of my blog?  I removed my prior post after thinking on this topic a little.  I am at a cross roads with my blog of funny family stories.

Madeline is old enough now to deserve some ownership of the way her life is presented to the public.  Caleb isn't far behind.  So what is the purpose of my blog?

I just returned from a day in Hebron, about 10 miles south of Bethlehem.  I was there for my work.  My job will be to objectively convey through an audit report some of what is happening there with U.S. tax dollars.

It was a fascinating experience.  It was a serious experience.  It was not what I expected.  The rigors of my professional obligations suggest that I say little about it until after the report is published in a month or two.

I think I am safe to say this:  I wish everyone could hear for themselves the conversations I had today.

I talked to people who had purpose.

The Cluttered American

We have a lot of stuff.  We have been unpacking and unpacking and unpacking.  My new philosophy is fewer things, higher quality.  Less stuff, more meaning.  I wish I had that philosophy for the last eight years.

It's almost embarrassing.  I see how little the average Egyptian needs to live.  Then I see how much support apparatus I require to maintain myself, and I'm almost ashamed.  Some of the stuff has spiritual meaning:  A copper tea pot that I saw on my parents' bookshelf in my earliest memories; a religious artifact Katie inherited from her grandmother.

A lot of it is just stuff: a million instruction manuals for electronics I've never used and didn't know we had; six remote control cars that have cumulatively been played with for about two hours.

Fewer things.  More meaning.

And some meandering tidbits--

The kids are done with summer camp.  Caleb summarized thus:  "They had instructions for everything.  Don't they know kids just want to play?"

Now they have swimming lessons every afternoon.  It is fun to see them learning all the real strokes and showing some initiative to practice.

I had the day off today and watched Real Steel with the kids this morning.  Make fun of me if you must, but I love that movie.

We have blackouts once or twice a week lasting one or two hours.  Tonight was a black out.  So we gathered on the couch and read The Call of the Wild with a flashlight.  Great book!  After suffocating under Ms. Rowling's labored, clause-filled sentences, Mr. London's economy of language is a breeze.

A Very, Very, Very Fine House and Welcome to My World, Kids

Giddy for the arrival of our final wave of stuff tomorrow morning--comfortable mattresses, a TV large enough for me to watch without wearing my glasses, iMac, books, and toys.

While my excitement for the mattresses, TV, and iMac is beyond words, I find myself wondering what the rest of it could even be.  We've figured out how to live without it, so part of me is afraid it will just be clutter.

In other news, though it is sadly on a very small screen, I am presently watching The Fellowship of the Ring with Caleb and Maddie.  I wore Katie down with my constant pestering and gained permission--more like a resignation.  This is our fifth viewing in two weeks.  It has been the dawning of a glorious new day.

And I get to answer awesome questions like "How come Frodo always runs toward the battle but then never actually battles?"

Over the course of about a month I gave them an oral retelling of the entire trilogy as a prelude to the movie.  So I also get lots of these:  "Dad, you said Galadriel's hair caught on fire, but really it just turned blue."

4th of July, Cairo Style

Turns out they have the 4th of July in Cairo!  Caleb was a bit confused at this discovery, however, since the date is not accompanied by any corresponding celebration.  "It's America's birthday, right?"  Correct.  "And friends have birthday parties, so why doesn't Egypt have a birthday party for America?"

I had the day off from work but the kids did not have the day off from summer camp (I mean, we could have kept them home but that would be crazy).  Our first wave of stuff had arrived the day prior so we reveled in the luxury of shower curtains and spoons that don't bend when you eat ice cream.  I had no idea the kids could scream in glee over bath mats.

Today we went to the Independence Day party sponsored by the Marines, as shown below:

Photos (Including Homage to Hart Family Classic)

We enjoyed Disney World so much this time around that we bought property there.  Disney World is literally our home in the United States.

I sometimes wonder if it is weird for Ariel, et al, to be featured in the blogs,  photo albums,  memory walls, etc, of perfect strangers.

In which the Idaho Falls cousins create monsters (IWIFCCM)

IWIFCCM continued

Madeline's WOWP birthday cake

All Hart boys age 35 and up should recognize this homage to a circa 1982 achievement in Polaroid wizardry.