Dogging It

Honeymoon phase is over. I have a (bleep) dog! Don't get me wrong, he's a sweet heart, and Henry's on-and-off girlfriend now has the vampire love marks on her arm to prove it. Nothing says, "Trust me with your children for a play date" quite like a biting dog.

Professional help has been summoned. The whisperers are coming next week for an interview... of the dog, not the owners. I am clearly not a real pet person, because this concept of interviewing the dog means nothing to me. I can't even imagine what a pet person might imagine this could possibly mean.

I think, overall, Lucky is a good dog. He just goes into John Rambo mode (in "First Blood", not the later sucky movies) sometimes in unpredictable ways. I want to go all Brian Dennehy on his little terrier derriere, but Katie is calling in Richard Crenna, so we'll see how that goes.

Meanwhile, Henry is in a pitched battle with the dog for lowest spot on the totem pole. Nothing makes a fight more bitter than really low stakes (see also, rivalries in academia for the right to publish on esoteric topics that will be read by exactly four people ever).

Being Young Ain't What It Used to Be

Being young feels older than it did 10 years ago.

I have more sadness about losing my hair than I thought I would.  I always told myself that if I were to lose my hair, I would just let it go.  Now I yell for everyone to quiet down when the Rogain add comes on.  The real problem is that I am losing it in such a way that there is no graceful adjustment period.

And I have to stretch before I exercise.  What's that all about?  And after hiking in the Wadi, as we did this morning with Lucky, my knees are killing me.

The Wadi

My back hurts.

My high school friends are posting wedding photos on Facebook...their kids' weddings.

Watching a classic Christmas movie with the kids a few weeks ago, I fielded this devastating question: Dad, why does the phone have that string attached to it?

Now I Have a Dog _AND_ a Wife

Marriage is great. You give up some things but gain others. On the one hand you give up control of your time and money. On the other hand you gain someone pointing out all your mistakes. So you take the good with the bad.

We got a dog a little over a week ago. Now I also have a dog pointing out all my parenting mistakes. Turns out, he's super effective at it because he reveals the errors. Can't reward bad behavior in a dog. Crate training. Can't let him out of the crate until he stops whining, never when he begins whining. Then, Maddie complains about such-and-such, I don't want to deal with it, so I tell her to go grab some Pringles, knowing this will bring me peace. See how I did that?

Lucky the Dog. Best parenting manual I've encountered so far.

Not only that, but my house is super clean since getting a dog. Kids don't want to leave anything out for him to chew on and we've learned that it's easier to quickly clear the table and rinse the dishes than it is to train him to stay off the table. He enforces discipline.

Not only that, but we are walking around the neighborhood a lot more now that we have a dog, which is good exercise and good to finally see what's around the corner.


On the other hand, he goes bonko for about 15 minutes every night around bed time, snarling and sprinting, and trying to chew on every imaginable thing. So we're working on that.

The Thing That Happened While Riding Horses

We went horseback riding with friends the weekend before Christmas.  I had been to the pyramids already with Caleb for a class field trip but, shamefully after 6 months in Egypt, this was the first time taking the whole family.  We followed our friends who had invited us to ride horses with them and I was surprised when, almost at the pyramids, they took an unfamiliar turn south, away from the pyramids (away from the Giza ones anyway).

We followed one of the many Nile canals (when I say canal, what you should think of is the trash compactor from Star Wars) and followed it until arriving at some lovely stables between the Sakkara and Giza pyramids.

At length, everyone was on a horse and riding through the sand.  Given that there were many novice riders, the professional guide-to-horse ratio was low.  Early on, Katie's horse tangled with Hilary's horse (Hilary is Maddie's friend and daughter of friends who invited us for the ride) and a double de-horsing was narrowly avoided.  But all calmed down and we enjoyed a sand blown ride through the desert.

The horses, some of them less trained and fit than others, tired as we neared the end, however.  We were all quite spread out by then when I heard a commotion from Caleb's and Henry's horses.  I turned in time to see a buck, causing separation of hands from reign, then a shimmy, sending the loosened Caleb careening face first off his six-foot perch.

His face broke his fall, so that was good.  I guess the other good thing is that it happened in the desert, the sand making for a reasonably soft landing.  I, a novice rider myself, struggled to get my horse to stop as I yelled after his welfare.  He bounced up fast, but did not speak.  I believe he had his wind knocked out.  Meanwhile, Henry's horse, seeing the confusion, chose the moment to lay down and attempt to roll over on top of Henry.  Fortunately, he is short and his legs were not stuck under the horse.  He scampered away without incident.

By now I was off my horse and approaching Caleb who, but for spitting out a mouthful of sand, appeared uninjured.  Katie, who had been a quarter mile ahead, was running toward us.  I am very proud to report that she was yelling, "Get back on that horse!"  No quitters allowed in Katie-land.  I like it.

And to their credit, both Caleb and Henry, free of harm, were eager to get back on the horse.  Caleb even subsequently decided he wanted to take riding lessons, the perfect response to being thrown, in my humble opinion.

Indulgent Christmas Home Movie (in which I experiment with iMovie tricks!)

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.)