Recently in family

It all happened much more quickly than Sara and I had expected. We put our 1993 Volvo 240 Wagon on Craigs List last week, and within two hours it was sold. In addition to the guy who bought the car, three others called to ask if they could check it out. It got me wondering about the psychology of selling. What is the right amount of time or effort for the sale of something like a car? If it sells too quickly, you think you've priced it too low. If it sells too slowly, you've priced it too high. But what is too quick and what is too slow? I don't know, but I bet some economist does.

What I do know is that I also seriously underestimated the effect the sale would have on our kids. When Edgar—that's the car's name, of course—pulled out of the driveway for the last time, the kids cried. They cried hard. They cried for 15 minutes until we managed to stop them with the bribe of watching a video during dinner.

Sara has been sad about Edgar's departure, too, with good reason. It was a very cool car—the last of the boxy Volvo station wagons, with a third seat that faced the back. Sara drove that car a lot and didn't seem to mind much that one door handle broke off so that nobody could open it from the outside and another door couldn't be opened from the inside and the CD player didn't work when the weather was cold and the driver's side speaker was sitting, unattached, in the front passenger's seat and the cruise control was busted and the air conditioner didn't work and the engine was weak and the car shook at high speeds. It was still, believe it or not, a fun car to drive.

I wish I had been more aware of the rest of the family's attachment to the car. We needed to get rid of it, regardless, but I regret not realizing that I needed to prepare the kids for it. Next time we sell a car, I'll approach it as if we're putting a dog to sleep. Maybe that way I'll act with enough sensitivity.

I started writing this thing a month ago with some lame generalization about how kids behave radically differently from one minute to the next while they all pretty much look their age. But I couldn't sustain the thought, and I'm not even sure I believe it, so I'm just going to relate a little anecdote about Ben and Sara that occurred earlier this summer.

Ben eats an apple every night before bed. He never misses a night. Never. And who ends up cutting the apple for him? Sara. So one night, Sara told him that she was going to buy an apple corer and teach him how to use it.

Sara: Ben, I'm going to buy an apple corer so you can cut these things yourself. Do you know what that is?

Ben: What?

Sara: You know, an apple corer?

Ben: Yeah, I know an apple corer. I mean, I'm not best friends with it, but I'm "familiar" with it. [he actually did the air quotes.]

Sara: Oh, Ben. You're such a wiseguy!

Ben: [still riffing] I also know the muffin man. Do you know the muffin man?

That's often how conversations devolve in our household--with one person getting sillier and sillier until the other one gives up. Of course, I'm never the silly one.

Some people like to propose marriage in a public way—a banner pulled by an airplane, a radio call-in request, an electronic marquee at a ball game. When I asked Sara to marry me nineteen years ago, I chose a more private setting: the front steps of the dormitory where we had first met. The actual proposal was merely a formality anyway, since we had discussed getting married for the previous eight months or so.

My attitudes about self-revelation have changed quite a bit over the years, and the change, I admit, has coincided with the Internet Age and its ubiquity of online information about everything and everyone. But here is one thing I know I'd want to shout from the rooftop of my house if I didn't have this virtual rooftop:

Sara, marrying you eighteen years ago was the best thing I've ever done. I love you now more than ever. Happy anniversary.

If it weren't for my father-in-law, I'd have no idea that Ralph Nader is running for President of the United States. That's right, folks: Nader is running again, he's on the ballot in 45 states, and my father-in-law is a supporter. After reviewing the Vote Nader web site, reading about his views on a number of issues, and watching a handful of videos of him speaking, I have to admit that Nader almost has my vote. He at least has me thinking more about some of the issues that I care about, such as civil liberties, education, healthcare, and opposition to "preventive" war. That's more than I can say about the two major-party candidates, who either speak in platitudes or try to peddle fear and lies.

Don't get me wrong. I admire Barack Obama and am generally supportive of the general themes of his campaign, at least what I've been able to ascertain through the media filter. But I was deeply disappointed that he chose to vote for the FISA legislation granting "retroactive immunity" for telecommunications companies who broke the law on the government's behest—after he had said he would support a filibuster of it. And I respect what John McCain did for the country 30-some years ago (in Vietnam as a soldier, not afterwards when he traded in his first wife for an uninjured model). But I'm not impressed with his voting record over the past eight years, and I don't respect his sleazy, lying campaign ads, and I'm not interested in having four more years of a fear-mongering, bellicose president in office.

So, how is it that Ralph Nader, who has gained enough supporters to be placed on the ballot in nearly every state in the country gets absolutely no press coverage at all? Why did the mainstream media completely ignore Nader's 3,000+ rally during the Democratic Convention but still manage to mention Ron Paul's gathering? Why won't the two major parties allow him to participate in the presidential debates? Nader calls it "political bigotry," and I'm inclined to agree with him.

For those who like to claim that a vote for Nader is a "wasted vote" or that Nader is responsible for Gore's loss in the 2000 election, you ought to watch this (running time 2:45).

Last year I bought a little gift for my wife, Sara: a domain name and free web development services. Two days ago she used it for the first time, writing about the kids going off to school in her brand-new blog, Dining with Squirrels. It was well worth the wait.

Sara has the enviable gift of being able to write with the effortless grace of a figure skater. There is nothing forced, nothing strained in her prose. I could read it for hours without growing tired. And that's not just because she's my wife.

Read Don’t ask me what I’m doing now that my kids are in school.

Now that the brunt of the holiday chaos is winding down, I thought I'd pause a moment to capture some of the past month's moments that I told myself I should jot down.

Ben and Lucy have been learning to skate with "Uncle" Paul LaGrand at the local hockey club. Last Saturday I decided that it was about time I tried to learn a little myself, so in a few days I'll be joining them.

A few weeks ago while decorating the Christmas tree during a particularly warm and fuzzy family afternoon, Ben turned to Sara and said, "I'm having a moment — a moment of happiness like a bear who ate all the honey from the bees."

Ben and Lucy and I were sitting in the car in the grocery store parking lot, waiting for Sara to buy some milk and apples (almost sounds too wholesome to be true, doesn't it?). Lucy and Ben were jabbering away in the back seat while I was up in front, trying to listen to NPR. I have no recollection of what was on the radio, but I distinctly recall Lucy complaining to Ben about hitting her imaginary friend, some character that she hijacked from one of her favorite books. Ben apologized and explained that he didn't see the friend. Then he went on to say, "I have an imaginary friend, too. But he lives in Chicago, so I don't see him much. His name is Pea Brain." I'm pretty sure Ben's friend didn't come from a book.

The past few days we've been playing a game called Blockus that Sara got me for my birthday. Unfortunately, most games that my kids can play are terribly boring for me. Blockus, however, is a blast. Even though it requires a fair amount of strategy, Ben and Lucy have been holding their own against me and Sara. Fantastic.

The kids' favorite line from the dramatic reading at the Christmas Eve service last night was King Herod's, "I am the king. And I intend to stay the king!" They had a fun time repeating that about 100 times last night.

Ben asked me what "geek" means yesterday. The timing was a little odd, since he has been calling me a geek for the past year or so. Anyway, I naturally tried to put a positive spin on it: "A geek is someone who is smart — someone who is usually good at...umm...umm." When he saw me sputtering, Ben interjected: "Psychological warfare?" Well, no, that isn't exactly what I was about to say.

It's my birthday today. I'm 40 years old. And I feel surprisingly young. When I got home from work this evening, Sara presented me with the best birthday present I've ever received — a stack of emails from friends in response to one that she had written to them. Here is what Sara wrote:

Karl turns FORTY next week and I was wondering if you might help me celebrate him, if you'll pardon the expression. If you have time, would you mind emailing me a few kind words that I could share with him on the 20th? I was thinking you might share your earliest memory of him, or your fondest memory, or maybe just one of the things you like most about him. I myself can think of several! :)

Thanks all. I really appreciate it.

In case you missed the smoking-gun evidence, I have the coolest wife in the world.

So, Sara read a few of the email responses to me before dinner, and I'm about to read a few more. I'm trying to savor them, even though it feels a bit like reading about some vaguely familiar person whose name I can't quite remember (my difficulty with accepting praise is something my therapist insists I overcome).

My deepest and most heartfelt thanks go out to all my kind, sweet, loving friends and family members who responded to Sara's request. The many wonderful people in my life are perhaps the most tangible evidence of God's presence in my life. Thank you all for blessing my life with your love and friendship.

Since none of my own words are worthy of blogging these days, I thought I'd at least give you an idea of what Ben and Lucy have been saying. They're a lot more entertaining than I am, that's for sure.

A couple weeks ago Ben explained to his mom why he likes to watch Pokémon:

Mom, do you know why I like Pokemon so much? Because it has so much violence in it. I really like violence.

And why he doesn't like Barney:

Barney, unlike the Wiggles, is a foul git.

After playing a computer game called Nanosaur with me and Ben, Lucy had this idea, based on the game:

I think for my birthday I'd like to have a "burst of speed" party.

She also offered reassuring words to me one day while we were doing a little craft together:

Daddy, you did a fine job with your first snowflake!

Wanting to be able to gloat to Lucy about his experience without having to suffer the consequences, Ben devised a plan:

Ben: I'm going to tell Lucy I went to McDonalds for lunch.
Mom: Oh, Ben, don't. Let's not make her feel bad.
Ben: It's okay. I'm going to tell her I had a horrible time.

Over the weekend, Ben's fourth baby tooth fell out. Apparently, I was more excited about it than he was:

Me: Ben! You lost another tooth! How cool!
Ben: Oh no! Now everybody is going to worship me. I don't want everybody to worship me!

Last night Ben said he was playing with his invisible friend. When Sara asked what his friend's name was, Ben said, "Pathetic."

Tonight at dinner neither Sara nor I would play "the quiet game" with Ben, so he said he would just have to play it with his invisible friend. "What is your friend's name this time, Ben?" Sara asked.

Ben answered, "Tonight his name is Stupid."

Sounds to me like Ben is running with the wrong crowd.

Here we go again with the proud father routine. I can't help being fascinated by the art that my kids create. It's such a clear indicator of their development that I look in awe as their little drawings and paintings and sculptures become more mature and sophisticated as they get older. Somewhere along the way, they'll probably stop creating visual art, just as 99 percent of current adults have done. But for now I'll revel in these manifestations of their imaginations.

Lucia was particularly proud of this circle drawing when she completed it a few months ago:

Benjamin named this next drawing The Heart Machine, "because it's a machine that makes hearts."

This one is more of an abstract piece, but I like the detail. Ben sometimes gets absorbed in the minutiae of his projects.

My friend's 8-year-old son Earl drew this picture of George W. Bush. In case you can't read the caption, it says, "See the Lier lier pants on fier Bush."

Art like this deserves a wide audience, don't you think?

A few months ago, I started reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone to my son, Ben. When we finished, I thought that we could go back to smaller, more manageable books. But Ben was adamant: "Daddy, let's read the next one." So we did.

During scary parts, I would pause and ask Ben if he was scared and if he wanted me to stop or continue, to which he would usually reply, "I'm not scared. Well, maybe just a little scared. But keep reading, Dad. Keep reading!" So I kept reading. And reading. We just completed book 6, The Half-Blood Prince, a couple weeks ago.

The books were such a joy to read to him, even though at times I wasn't sure if Ben was old enough or mature enough to hear about what was going on in there. I did skip over little bits of the book, The Order of the Phoenix, because Harry's incessant whining became intolerable to me and all the characters' use of words such as "stupid" and "bloody hell" was not something I wanted to repeatedly inflict on my son. And I had to be especially careful during those times when Lucy would come into the room from time to time for her three-and-a-half-year-old dose of Harry and friends. All in all, though, the books were surprisingly suitable.

Ever since we started the series, Ben has, perhaps understandably, become obsessed with all things Harry Potter — listening to the books on CD, playing with Harry Potter action figures that his Auntie Tash got him from Good Will, watching the movie versions of the first four books. He even borrowed a costume from his older cousin and plans to go trick-or-treating as Harry Potter. (Lucy is still trying to decide between Hermione and a princess).

On a completely unrelated note, I've decided to start writing my own novel. I plan to call it Harvey Porter. In this totally original book, a young boy grows up with his mean neighbors after his parents die in a suspicious murder until one day he gets a letter at age 12 telling him that, as a superhero, he is invited to attend a special school for superheroes. Astonished by the news, he walks through the kitchen wall, soars thirty feet into the air and trains his x-ray vision on his next-door neighbors' house to see if the children who live there are playing some kind of practical joke on him. Seeing that they are safely ensconced in their beds, he floats back to earth, throws his few belongings into a duffle bag, and strikes out to Pigfarts school of superheroism and gallantry. And that is where the adventure begins.

Sara and the kids took the bus downtown with me on my Friday morning commute, just for fun. The kids had a fun time riding in a moving vehicle without seatbelts, and Sara enjoyed meeting the few other regular commuters with whom I share the ride and shoot the breeze each weekday morning. All in all, it was a pleasant little trip for the family.

On the ride back home later that morning, Sara and the kids sat all the way in the back of the bus, where a young African-American man wearing baggy shorts and a hooded sweatshirt (in 90-degree weather) struck up a conversation with Sara, asking about the kids — How old are they? Where do they go to school? — the usual small talk. Then he nodded toward Lucy and asked, "She mix?" Sara paused, and then replied matter of factly, "No, she's not mix."

  *  *  *  *

Lucy is a martianWhen Sara recounted the story to me Friday night, I was shocked. Shocked! How could anyone possibly suspect Lucy of being "mix"? I mean, I thought we had taken every precaution not to let the general public in on our little secret. But somehow, this perceptive young man was able to peer beneath the human-like exodermis that we had developed for her and see what nobody else before him had ever recognized: Our daughter is a human-martian hybrid!

Now that the secret is out, I am mustering all the courage I have and announcing to the world our alien ancestry. If you hover your cursor over the photo of Lucy, you will see, perhaps for the first time, her "true colors." Please, dear friends, don't despise us just because we're different. Look deep within your hearts, I beseech you, and find some compassion for the likes of us. If President Bush believes "that the human being and the fish can coexist," then can't interplanetary species just get along?

Last December I wrote about turning Sara's handwriting into a font for a little Christmas present. People loved the sample so much that, with Sara's permission, I made the font available as a free download.

However, it turns out that some people have had problems getting it onto their machines, so perhaps instructions are in order. Here are two links to the font, one au natural and one compressed into a zip file:

• Sara-script.ttf
• sara-handwriting.zip

If you're using Internet Explorer on a Windows PC, click the right mouse button on one of the files and choose Save Target As... I'd recommend trying the ttf file first, as you won't have to "unzip" it after it's downloaded.

If you're using Firefox or Safari, click the right mouse button (or on a Mac, hold the Control while clicking) on one of the files and choose Save Link As.... Again, try the ttf file first.

Then, find the file on your hard drive where the web browser downloaded it, unzip it if it's the zip file, and move it to the fonts folder (usually c:\windows\fonts on a Windows PC and [user name]/library/fonts on a Mac)

Finally, open a Word Processor or other program that allows you to choose a font and look through the font list for "Sara's Handwriting."

That's it. Any questions? Any suggestions? Any problems? Let me know, and I'll try to help out.

On Sunday we spent the afternoon with two of my former students and current friends, Kevin and Christina. It's always fun to watch our kids interacting with adults, and this time was no different. After lunch, Ben took Christina up to his room to show her his latest Lego creation. He was explaining to her some of the finer points of building cranes, when he paused and looked at her with a very serious look on his face.

"I don't mean to be critical," he said, "but I just farted."

Christina could barely contain her laughter.

We're not sure where he picked up that expression, but we think he meant to say "crude."

Like all proud parents, I love watching as my kids develop into curious, independent creatures. It's pretty clear to me that the bromide about kids being sponges became a cliché for a good reason.

Recently Ben has been learning more and more from others—pre-school teachers, neighbors, friends—and eagerly bringing home his newly discovered information.

A couple weeks ago, he let me in on the secret of Spiderman's origins:

Ben:

"Hey Dad, do you know what? Peter Parker turned into Spiderman when he was bit by a deodorized spider!"

Last night he told me about a new superhero—one that I must admit I'd never heard of before:

Ben:

"Daddy, Sideboard is a superhero who is half human and half computer."

Me:

"Ah, cool! Do you think his name might be Cyborg?"

Ben:

"No, it's Sideboard. I know it because Andrew Henry told me, and he knows a lot of stuff about superheroes.

But it was on the day after his tonsillectomy that Ben surprised me the most:

Ben:

"Daddy, you're magical."

Me:

"Aw, thanks, Ben."

Ben:

"Not the real kind of magic, like in Narnia, but the magic that's love."

Never mind that he was doped up on post-surgery pain killers. I'm going to treasure that moment anyway, for as long as I live.

Thanks to all who offered thoughts and prayers during Ben's surgery today. Everything went well. What was supposed to come out came out; what was supposed to go in went in. Post-surgery involved the usual nausea and sleepiness, but he was able to leave the hospital by 5pm. His throat will hurt for a while, but we're hoping that the meds will continue to work their magic.

While Sara and I spent the day with Ben, Lucy had a splendid time with her friend Zoe and "Auntie Tash," who was generous enough to take her for the whole day.

Thanks again, everyone, for the well wishes and concern. We've been passing on your messages to Ben.

On Monday Ben goes in for a little surgery to have his tonsils and adenoids removed and a new set of ear tubes inserted. He's excited about all of the popsicles and juice boxes he'll be allowed to have afterwards, but I don't think he's quite understanding the pain that he'll be experiencing. And I'm glad for that, since knowing will only compound the problem by adding a few days of emotional anguish in front of the week or more of physical suffering.

Ben's kind ENT doctor gave him a cartoonish book to help prepare him for the surgery. In the book, Doctor Lawrence and Benny's sister Susie shrink to Lilliputian size, hop aboard a miniature spaceship, and fly into Benny's mouth. Thus begins their T & A journey, full of exciting adventures through exotic locales such as The Tonsils! The Adenoids! The Eardrum!

The book is crammed with scintillating dialog, such as this exchange between Dr. Lawrence and Susie:

"Here we are. Can you see the fluid by Benny's eardrum?"

"I see it, Doctor Lawrence. Wow!"

As the T & A journey draws to a close, Susie pushes the GROW button just in time, for Benny, though a little dizzy and nauseated, awakens from his "special kind of sleep" and greets all of his loved ones at his bedside.

But wait! Was it all just a dream? And whose journey was it, really? No, it couldn't be real! Benny is just about to shrug it all off when, in a shocking narrative twist worthy of Law & Order, Dr. Lawrence hands Benny a — drumroll please — toy spaceship!

Oh, and by the way, hats off to the many consultants and contributors listed on the back cover who approved the title. It seems that while for many the T & A journey is a brief operation, for others it's a lifelong process.

I've always loved my wife's handwriting—and not just for sentimental reasons. It has a fun and sassy kind of look to it that is clearly distinguishable as hers. Ever since I learned about font creation software a few years ago, I've been determined to turn Sara's handwriting into a font of her own. Unfortunately, I never got around to doing it. Anyway, the software programs require more patience than I have and most are too expensive.

But a few days ago I discovered a really cool website (via somebody's blog, but I can't remember whose anymore) called Fontifier that automates most of the work and produces a custom font almost instantaneously.

You just print out a template and fill it out with upper-case and lower-case letters, plus a bunch of symbols. Then you scan it and save it as an image. After that, upload the file to the website, fill out the credit card info, and for 9 dollars, you have your font.

This is what Sara's looks like:

I had Sara fill out one of those templates, and I did the rest. Then, within minutes I presented her with her own font for a little early Christmas present. Not much of a surprise, but it was fun to do, and she seems to like it.

Update: For those of you who think Sara's handwriting looks cool and want to use the font for yourselves, I've made it available for download. Just right-click (control+click on a Mac) on the "download" link and choose "Save Target As..." in the menu that appears. Enjoy!

Ever since Ben attended the neighborhood Art Camp run by Ms. "Superwoman" Peri, he has become addicted to drawing. His implement of choice is a set of washable markers, which is a huge relief to his parents, because he isn't just drawing on paper. No, drawing on paper would be too sensible. Instead, he's been creating designs on his legs, and his face, and the bedsheets, and the shades, and the carpet, and the walls—basically, anything that isn't moving.

At least he seems to be getting a lot of enjoyment out of it. And the Art Camp helped him advance considerably from just a couple months ago, when he wasn't doing much more than a scribble here and a scrabble there. Now look at what he's up to:

Robot

Mommy

Okay, so maybe I'm a little biased. But I think these drawings are kind of cool.

Sara had just sat down with Ben and Lucy. The wedding was about to begin—an informal yet elegant evening ceremony on the beach of Lake Michigan. Ben leaned a bit closer to Sara and pointed out toward the horizon where rippling lake met sunburned sky.

Ben said, "Look at that, Mommy."
"Yes, I see it."
"You know what that's called?"
"What?"
"Breathtaking."

The family took a trip down to Chicago this past weekend to celebrate nephew Michael's high school graduation. We had a terrific time seeing family, catching up, eating good food, looking at Michael's stellar photographs, doing the family thing. On Sunday we went to the Brookfield Zoo, which is probably the nicest one I've ever seen (I've never been to the San Diego Zoo, which I hear is spectacular).

On the ride back to Grand Rapids Sunday afternoon, Sara and I asked the kids what their favorite parts of the trip were. Lucy said, "Kakalooka," or some other nonsense word. Ben said his favorite part was swimming in the pool at the hotel.

Then we asked what their favorite animal was at the zoo. Ben said, "I liked the ducks!" Lucy said, "Yeah, the ducks!" Great. Next time, maybe we'll save the $40 and just drive down the street to Reeds Lake.

If you were wondering why things have been quiet on the blog for the past week or so, it's because I was on vacation with my family in San Francisco. A great time was had by all. Thanks to our hosts, Andy and Pamela and Shoshana and Isaac, for a wonderful time.

More photos to come.

Yesterday my son, Ben, asked if I would write down some stories in his little book as he told them to me. Here are the three that he came up with—in their raw, unedited form. I think you'll notice his literary influences right away.

Curious George Went to the Museum

George saw a fire lever. He pulled it right down.

The firemen thought there was a fire, but when they came down, they didn't see any fire. But they knew that George had pulled the lever, so they put him in prison. He never came out, his owner never found him, and soon the watchman came to let him out.

The End

Mary Poppins's Ideas

When Mary Poppins came, she was kind of sad because she missed her family

Mary Poppins goes in the picture. Mary Poppins, with Jane and Michael, has very fun in the picture. They went to a little merry-go-round, and then they went to a restaurant, and then—what happened?—they were in the horse race. Then what happened but they were in the Mexican restaurant.

They came out of the picture.

The End

Go fly a kite
Out in the atmosphere.
Let's go fly a kite.
When you send it up there,
Your heart's so gared (it's a French word that means fun).

Untitled

Pooh was walking over a bumpy sidewalk, and then he felt something hard. It was Piglet!

And then they went to a Mexican restaurant. They loved it very much. Then they went to Pooh's house.

Then Pooh said, "Piglet, sit in my rocking chair."

Piglet said, "No thank you. I have to go home and cook dinner. It's already past my bedtime."

"Owww!" Piglet was going higher and higher. He was flying like a kite.

The End

A young artist has just burst onto the scene with this stunning work of mixed media. The sophisticated blending of natural elements with manufactured confections is suggestive of early Marcel Duchamp, while the STYROFOAM™ base clearly represents a breaking away from 1990s neo-expressionism.

Look carefully and you'll notice the ironic juxtaposition of artificial color and natural tones, symbolically exposing society's ambivalence toward the technological. The seemingly haphazard angles belie an underlying geometry of provocation.

Want to weigh in on this masterpiece? Post a comment.

My son Ben has reached the age—four years old—at which many children become aware of death and try to come to terms with it in one way or another. For me, death was a major source of anxiety at that age, so I've been especially careful about how I respond to his inquiries, hoping that he may be able to avoid pricey therapist bills in the future if I say the right things now. We've talked about death already, and the whole family recently attended the funeral of a dear uncle, so I wasn't completely caught off guard when Ben broached the subject again over breakfast this morning. But I was a little surprised by his conclusion:

Ben: "Daddy, when we die, will new people live in our house?"
Me: "Well, yes, Ben, I suppose so."
Ben: "And when they die, will new people come in and live in our house again?"
Me: "Yeah, that's right."
Ben: "Well." (pauses) "That's just how it goes." (shrugs his shoulders) "Could you read me a book?"

I have a feeling my boy is going to be okay.

Today is the birthday of my father, Paul D. Swedberg. If he were alive, he would be 78 years old.

A hard-working, generous man, my dad would snow-blow the sidewalks of everybody on the block and lend his tools as if they were library books. I got the feeling that he sometimes bought tools just so the neighbors across the street could borrow them someday. He was a good father who usually expressed his love by what he did rather than what he said. He never let his poor health keep him from attending my brother's and my sporting events or concerts.

My dad died 13 and a half years ago, after suffering from his fifth heart attack. I still miss him.

Here are a few pictures of his younger days. Note the pocket protector in the third photo. Now you know where I got my geekiness.

Thanks to cousin Josh Byers for the photos.

The kids (and Andrew) had a blast on the hill behind Andrew's house on Boxing Day. Here are a few pictures of the fun:

Just when the Christmas season started to feel like a burden rather than the joy that it should be, my kids came along and restored in me a sense of wonder. Here are a few highlights from this season:

• Ben's Number One hit: We wish you were Mary Christmas
• This song has been getting heavy rotation in Ben's brain the past few days: O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, your branch is light now, that's the book for me.
• Trying to sing himself to sleep tonight, Ben started riffing on the O Christmas tree song, coming up with his own verses:
  Oh Stocking, Oh Stocking, Oh you so are beautiful.
  Oh light, light, light, you are so bright. Oh yes you are.
  Oh Christmas card, Oh Christmas card, I so love you, I so love you.
• After learning that her dad, not Saint Nicholas, was the one who put candy in her shoes, our friends' daughter told Ben: There's no such thing as St. Louis.

Sara was in the kitchen, making herself a latte. Ben sat at the kitchen table and drew a picture of only he knows what.

"Momma," Ben said, still rubbing the crayon hard against the pink construction paper.

"Yes, what is it, Ben?"

"When I grow up, I'm going to be a workerman, a teenager, a lady who serves food, a doctor, a nurse, and a person who sits at a desk at a library."

Sara smiled.

Sara called me at work a few days ago to tell me that the mystery of the vanishing bat had been solved.

One night last year while Sara and Lucy were on a weekend vacation, I heard Ben yelling from his room, "Daddy, daddy, there's a birdy in here!" My first thought was that he had been struggling to fall asleep and decided to come up wth a creative way to quit trying. When I arrived at his room and asked him where it was, he said it flew away—a response that normally would have increased my incredulity, yet there was no guile in his visibly shaken mien. He was genuinely terrified. So I told him I'd look around.

It didn't take me long to find the "birdy." It was a bat, and it was perched on the picture rail in the upstairs hallway just above the bathroom door. I quickly closed Ben's door, assuring him that I would get rid of the birdy. No sooner did I turn around than that bat swept through the hallway, nearly flapping in my face and fully freaking me out. It plunged down to the first floor, and I tumbled down the stairs after it. I grabbed my racquetball racquet and crouched down, waiting for its next offensive maneuver.

But the bat didn't come back. I grabbed a flashlight and searched every room. Still no bat. I scoured the basement—the cobwebbed corners, the darkened nooks, the cluttered dry-goods shelves. Nothing. After twenty minutes or so of good bat hunting, I trudged back to Ben's room to give him the less-than-satisfying explanation that the birdy must have flown away all by itself. I fully expected, of course, to see the bat again, if not the same night, then at least within the week.

So, how did Sara end up seeing the bat more than a year later? She scheduled furnace maintenance. The service technician replaced the furnace filter—and removed one very old, very dry bat.

Last week's iTunes update included a recording by the rapper Lil Wayne. The name got me wondering: How many other Lil' Rappers are there out there?

By doing a simple artist search in the iTunes store, I came up with this lil' list:

Soon there will be a new one to add to the list: Lil' Swede is being groomed to take the rap world by storm.

In a surprising display of street sensibility and hip-hop mentality, Andy "Grampa" DeBoer proposed the Lil' Swede moniker for the artist commonly known as Ben. Then, to capitalize on the buzz generated by the sobriquet—and to test-market the young rapper's revolutionary new style—Karl "Big Daddy" Swedberg released Lil' Swede's first single in May, 2004 (cf. Ben and Dad Sing "Good Night").

Fans/parents of Lil' Swede, who was recently spotted wearing his first Swedish shirt, gave the rising star not only a "shout out" but also "mad props." Meanwhile, player haters have been put on notice. Whatever that means.

A couple days ago Ben was testing out the playground equipment at the preschool he's going to start attending this fall. I wasn't there to witness it, but Sara assures me that he did a beautiful back flip before his faceplant into the wood chips. I guess he was pretty shaken up after the fall, but not nearly as much as he was once he got a look at his face in the mirror.

Of course, I'm frightened every day when I look in the mirror, but no child should have to go through that kind of trauma. It's a good thing that even with the scrape Ben's face doesn't look nearly as bad as mine does on its best day.

It wasn't until after I recorded us singing this Beatles song that I went back to the original to see just how far we had strayed from it. Oh my. Let's just call our version a whole new song.

Here's the RealAudio version, if you want to hear it streamed over the web: Listen Now

Here's the MP3, if you'd like to download a copy: Download (768 KB).

Ben is confident that the song will top the "Mommy Daddy Grandma Grandpa" charts. I'm sure it's destined to be a classic.

Ah! Spring is here, and Ben is taking some time to smell the tulips. It's great having kids to remind me to get outside and revel in the warm, soft smells of spring.

The other day Sara was reading a book to Ben about a bunny who later becomes a daddy. Sara asked Ben if he wanted to become a daddy, too, when he grew up. "No," Ben said, "I want to be a mommy. A grumpy mommy."

Benjamin went back to the hospital this month to get a second round of ear tubes. Apparently his hearing in his left hear was 1,000 times worse than in his right ear. So maybe he hasn't been ignoring us after all when we've asked him to pick up his toys or get off the kitchen counter or stop hitting his sister. Maybe he just couldn't hear us.

Lucia has been expanding her vocubalury as of late. Now, in addition to saying "dadda," she can say "hallo" and "putuboo" (peekaboo). She also has started giving those open-mouth kisses that only a parent could love.

Sara is going all studly on us now with her new membership to the Grand Rapids YMCA. Other than the general health benefits, the best thing about this deal is the free child care while she works out.