prodigy progeny

I know what you are thinking:  there has been a dearth of Cole photos and information in my writing of late.

The problem I have writing about Cole is the same reason I don't write about my own accomplishments.  It sounds, to my ear, self aggrandizing.  The guy is a superb example of how to be a boy.  See?  That sounds like a pretty big call, but humor me and read on.

This is one of my favorite photos of Cole and me (2006).

I like it because it represents much of the time we spend together.  Cole and I can take anything simple and amuse ourselves.  We can delight in the details of the ordinary.

At the age of nine, he already has a fantastic sense of adventure, mad Uno skills, and an almost diabolical ability to convince me to incorporate chocolate into whatever meal I am preparing.  He is far ahead of me when I was his age in every way - origami, drawing, athletics, lego, design, and being a good brother.  He is quick to help out around the house and will give Gabe a piggy back ride whenever asked.

It seems like most of my family members merely tolerate my incessant rambling, but with Cole I feel like he is actually trying to understand.  He listens with a look of deep concentration, searching for the reason why I feel it is necessary to discuss mathematical limits with him during my introduction to the wonders of Calculus.  It is not one sided though.  We share mutual passions.  Seeing each other excited about something creates this resonance that makes whatever we are obsessing about much better.

The thing I love about parenting Cole is that I know he is going to be okay.  He is on a good course.  Whatever happens in his life from here on out, he will be able to handle and he will thrive.  I am normally adopt a worst case scenario view of things, but with Cole I can be an optimist.  He has a way of bringing that out in people.  That sweetness and sincerity is his charm.

Currently listening to:  Django Django - Django Django (I highly recommend the song Wor)

Welcome home, kill this please

[Text conversation with my wife as I pull into the driveway]

Mary: Come inside quickly.  There is a massive spider in the dining room. Your department!

Joe: I don't do spiders.  I will come in the house when you tell me it is gone.

Mary: Yes you do.  Suck it up!

Joe:  Once!  One time I killed a spider for you!  I will take care of all the snakes you want.

Mary:  Good to know.  Now it will be twice.

Joe:  I'm going back to work.  It is safer in my car.  Spider proof even.

Mary: I don't think it is a huntsman, or I would put a bucket on it.

Joe:  There is a car in the garage for you.  The kids can fend for themselves.

Mary:  Come in now before it crawls away and disappears.

Joe: I wish.  This is your fault.  You warned me.

Mary:  It might just be a huntsman.

Joe:  THAT DOES NOT MAKE IT ANY BETTER!  I do not like any spiders, regardless of their species or creed.

Mary:  It is now crawling towards the garage. 

----

At this point, I came in the house.  If the thing fortifies itself in our garage, it will have a massive tactical advantage and I risk finding thousands of mutant spider babies in my camping gear.  Which, now that I think about it, is still a high probability.

Mary was not amused.  The spider had made it into the garage and when she peeked her head through the door and looked around the corner, this is what she came face to face with.

For perspective, each of those legs is three inches long.  I measured the door jamb in the photo to make sure I am not exaggerating. 

It is a bad photo because he was crouching in the corner and I wouldn't get any closer than than a broom's length to him.  Most of the photos I took of him are blurry; a product of me shaking violently in anticipation of him leaping off the wall and attaching to my face.  

He moved further along the wall.  Mary handed me the can of Spider Napalm and I sprayed him which did no actual damage, it is just a courtesy shot to let him know the duel has commenced.  I then put thousands of hours practicing with my sword to use and beat him into a pulp with the broom.

----

When relating the story to a friend (an American friend, because any Australian I would tell this story to inevitably ends up telling me a more hideous spider story and nobody wins when exchanging tales of near death arachnid experiences), he asked me if I identified the spider.  No!  I have not.  Identifying a spider involves looking at a large selection of spider photos.  I would rather jamb blunt objects into my eye sockets.  If you want to know what kind of spider it is, use the above photo and enjoy yourself.  We live in southeast Queensland, near a river, if that is any help to you.

To cleanse your mental palette, here is a picture of my lovely wife and Gabe.

Currently listening to:  Bat for Lashes - The Haunted Man

I have the sense of delicacy of a bear trap

It was a bad day as a father for me.  I had little sleep the night before and Gabe chose this morning to compete for the position of head of household.  It didn't go well for him.  I was probably 50% more unyielding than I should have been.

Factors of safety are not applicable to disciplinary measures.  Finesse is the mark of a good parent.

Boundaries are a tricky thing.  My dad once explained to me that a child's entire purpose is to push boundaries.  To systematically test what is right and wrong and find where acceptable behavior lies.  I may be misquoting him because, from anecdotal evidence, my father understands that kids are binary: either eating or playing.  I think he was trying to give me insight into those two modes.

I have such small quantities of time with my children during the week that everything seems distilled to intense interactions.  I find myself manufacturing the cliché "what did you do today" conversation as though that will fill me in on my child's life.  They have not mastered the memorandum bullet point form of communication.

Gabe will wake up tomorrow and I will have another chance to be a patient and loving father.  That is comfort in the resiliency of our children in the face of my imperfections.

My little mountain [flower]

Cora's seventh birthday was last month.  It seems so long ago.  I have a hard time finding a way to write my observations of Cora without the word "effusive" coming to mind.  Gushing would also suffice.

Parenting can be like that, in my experience.  I could be having a conversation with you and listening to the great things your kids are doing but deep down I really don't care about the specific achievements of your child.  What I do relish is sharing the experience.  I like listening to the wonder and awe of parents who are gobsmacked watching their children unfold into fully formed human beings.

Let me see if I can illustrate this another way.  There are mountains all over this planet.  I have seen a few of them, but they are essentially all the same.  But if I was listening to you tell me a story about climbing a mountain it would be the trials and victories that you encountered that would interested me.  The mountain is background to the story.

I say all of this because, just like a mountain, my daughter is impressive and complex and tricky and growing inch by inch every year.  Anyone can see that.  There are other daughters in the world, but this one has been given to me and she is my toughest challenge.   To carry the metaphor further, it is nice to sit back once in a while and see how far we have come.  The skinned knees and missteps all seem trivial at this point.

Currently listening to: Birdy - Birdy

150 Calories per serving

Gabe:  Pfffffffft
..
Gabe:  oooooh  Pfthttt
...
Gabe:  Pshhhfffft  rrrrgggh
....
Gabe:  ewwwww mmmmmrrrggll PFFFFFFt
.....
Mary:  Yes. We get it.  Play Doh does not taste good.  Stop eating it.

process.

I was just watching a video.

The creator was describing the design process.
-The need to be cutting edge
-Experience
-Figuring out where to begin
-Change in scope
-Mistakes
-Late nights

and the last thought was: when it is finally good enough, then I sign my work.

Pride in the final product can be a source of difficulty in design.  It can almost be as bad as apathy.  A job never finished is as bad as a job never started.

I am an engineer.  That describes the process I use to perform my work, more than the designs produced.  The difference between engineering a structure and designing a structure with no calculations or references, is precision.

The trap I fall into is that I focus on what I think the client wants instead of what they actually want, and that gets in the way of delivering a successful result.

Other times a client views my completed work as a failure because it doesn't match what they think they wanted (precision) and I gave them what they needed (safety, clarity, and economy).  I have declared to many people that good design does not need to be explained, but it does if it does not meet a client's expectations.  And that is fine with me, because an engineer should be able to explain to you his or her design and decision making process.  If not, then you should go find another engineer.

That sort of transparency is what you should be looking for in any consultancy relationship.  Because it is just that:  a relationship.  The client is not a slave to the engineer's decisions and the engineer is not a slave to the client's expectation.

I would love to tell you that I am a slave to my own expectations.  The truth is that I am a slave to the fear of not meeting my expectations.  The prospect of failure is somehow more terrifying than actually failing.  Maturity in design is not about passion or insight, because there are many young brilliant engineers with those qualities.  It is about the grind.  It is about getting on with the work and not letting anything stop you from finding a solution, not even yourself.

Currently listening to:  Gossling - Intentional Living EP

Echoes of Olive

My friend Shawna reminded me of a poem I wrote in 2005.  I had forgotten all about it.

I don't think it stands out in philosophical or romantic value, but it does remind me of how much I loved having a dog.

------

evening sky
dark and grey
go away
and bring the clean
black night with
its starry gleam

crowded highway
with engines racing
heavy hearts grip
the wheel and hold
their burdens close
minds heavy with
chances lost and
youth they've sold

overlapping houses
disjointed tenants
blue light through windows
from watching their shows
not aware of the others
sharing the same
only next door

me in a field
under the pinpoint canopy
feeling very small
from the space around me
listening for the rhythm
of running dog paws
circling around
she has never lost
this feeling which
I have just found

10.13.05
-jmo

Mischief

Text from Mary:  Cora just stuck a post-it note to Cole's back that says "Punch Me".

Currently listening to:  Flume - Flume

Night Terror

It is 2:00 in the morning and Gabe is awake and terrorizing everyone.

His favorite move in this situation is jumping on Cora's bed and saying "I'm jumping on my sister" over and over.  I don't know if it is her gentle nature, or if she is too tired to do anything about it, but she never lashes out at him for this.

I love the early morning.  Waking up at this time in the morning refreshed and ready to take on the day feels like a gift.  It feels like you are cheating time.  Everyone else is asleep and I am awake with these hours that I can use however I want.  The difference between Gabe and me is that I prefer solitude.

Of course, there is always a price.  Waking up at this time makes for a long day.  

Currently listening to: The Kleptones - 24 hours

Punch Buggy

I seem to remember that we would say "slug a bug" when I was a kid.  There were not that many Volkswagen Beetles in the town where I grew up, so the opportunity to hit your sibling in the arm and yell slug a bug did not present itself often.  I think I was aware of the punch buggy equivalent.

A few months ago, Mary reintroduced the concept to our children - without the punching each other in the arm aspect.  There is a classic (and slightly rusting) Volkswagen Beetle that parks on the street near our house and we drive by it almost every time we go somewhere.  A dismantled Type 1 (which I just learned is the official name for the Bug) is also mounted above drinking establishment we drive by on the way home from the city.  The bragging rights for getting the punch buggy on any trip is the subject of many joys and tears in our family.

Things were going along fine.  Then Mary introduced the phrase "pinch mini" when they see a Mini Cooper.

Keep in mind that we don't actually get to punch or pinch each other when we see these vehicles.  It doesn't seem to have a point to me.  I think the game lost its exclusivity.  To make my point, I made up my own phrases.

-Slap Ute (for the non-Australians, a 'ute' is short for utility vehicle and refers to a pick-up truck or what Americans would know as an El Camino)

-Poke Motorcycle

-Tickle Bike

-Trample Train

-Body Slam [Suzuki] Swift

Which spawned further inclusions:

-Bruise Bus

-Jump Jeep

-Doom Digger

-Tooth-out Taxi

-Coconut Crane (by Cora)

-Lick dog (only to be used when a dog is riding in a vehicle)

-Pineapple in the face Volvo (that little ditty was Cole's genius and is my personal favorite)

-Wedgie Ferrari (another one of Cole's)

It is now completely out of control.  The only redeeming aspect to this is that bouts of car sickness have been in sharp decline now that the kids are looking out the front window scanning for car types.

The milestone for us is that Gabe got his first legitimate Punch Buggy yesterday.  We were coming over the hill on our way home from a long and exhausting trip to the hardware store and he shouted punch buggy before any of us.  A proud moment to be sure.

Currently listening to:  Husbands - Husbands EP

Resurrection

I have declared blog bankruptcy.

That is when I have so much info to put on the blog that I delay writing a post, which then adds to the accumulation of things I should post, until it snowballs out of control.  And then to simplify the process, I just ignore two years of activity and start fresh:  declare blog bankruptcy; all blog debts are cleared.

I have done this with voice mails before.  When I need to be productive, I shut my mobile phone off and take the land line off the cradle.  It is a bit unconventional in a world of instant communication.  Some of my clients would be very irritated, but it is usually in an effort to keep my important clients happy.

Long uninterrupted spans of time are needed for important work to get done.  Anyone who tells you they can multi-task is telling you a lie.  Or they are talking about modes of work that are so simple that they were automated as part of the industrial revolution.

So on one or two occasions, I have had so many voice mails that I just deleted them all.  The pangs of guilt only last a few days.  When you realize that you have shaken the yoke of phone tyranny, it actually becomes empowering.

Cast your mind back to before we all had voice mail?  Conversations went something like this:

Person A:  I tried to call you the other day.
Person B: Really?
Person A: Yes.  I called a few times and there was no answer.
Person B:  Oh yeah, I was away for the weekend.  What did you want to talk about?
Person A:  You know?  I can't even remember any more.  It must not have been important.

And that was it.  If this happened often, you were known as one of those people who is never home and were difficult to get in touch with.

I am re-thinking how I use this mode of communication.  It used to be discreet stories that told you what we were doing.  Often revolving around some tooth ache inducing sweet thing one of our children did.  It may still be that.  But it will more or less be vignettes of things that I want to remember.  and if you and I were in the kitchen drinking coffee, I would probably have brought these things up as a topic of conversation.

Also, I might just end a post abruptly because I am done talking about a particular thing.

like this.

Currently listening to: Thelonious Monk - Riverside Recordings, Volume 8.

Semantics

Text from Mary this evening-

Mary:  Cole, please stop arguing with me.
Cole:  I'm not arguing.  I'm just thinking the opposite of you and saying it.