So, what is the number one thing that prevents men from being really great dads?

The answer may surprise you...

Moms.

Now, all of you put down your rocks, there will be no stoning today. Allow me to explain.

Moms and dads have different roles. In many homes, dads are the primary breadwinners in that they leave the home during the day due to some kind of external employment. Moms stay home and run things on the domestic front, caring for young ones and tending to their every need. Both different responsibilities, but both absolutely necessary for a functioning household.

But staying home does have it's advantages in the relationship field.

Jenny is an incredible mother. She spends more time caring for our little ones than anyone I know. She feeds, changes, and nurtures our children so they are healthy and happy. She provides quality time and experiences with the kids so that, in turn, they adore her.

What do dads do?

Well, in many cases, dads come home from work and, if they are good fathers, they will play with the kids for an hour or so, then it is time for dinner and bed. Children know and like their dads, but not like they love and adore their moms. They just haven't invested the time like moms. Sure, dads may pitch in with the care-giving every now and then in that they give a bottle before bedtime or perhaps change a diaper or two, but it is nothing compared to moms.

Not to mention we are built differently. Moms come with the "Equipment" to feed the babies, and really, this act of service from mothers provides a bond that will remain unshaken during the infant years. Dudes can't touch this.

When my first tow boys were little, I thought they were great, but I couldn't wait for them to get older. I wanted to throw a football with them. I wanted to "play" with them. I didn't want to just sit there and hold them. Boring. To be honest, I didn't' even really like them when they were little. Jenny would sit and swoon over them. I would happily hand the baby over, of course only to help realize her desire ;)

When Alex got older to where he could actually do stuff, I started becoming interested. We played sports together. We have season sports tickets together. We would read books together. He became one of my best friends. So when Isaac was little, I would always take the older Alex so Jenny could focus her attention on baby Isaac. In reflection, I didn't have much to do with Isaac when he was little because I had Alex and Jenny did everything for the littlest one.

Moms raise babies in such a way that they don't really need dads. When babies cry, they want mom. When they need comfort.... mom. Hungry.... mom. Dads can provide some relief to moms every now and then, but the need is nothing compared to the mother. As a consequence, dads are forced to play catch up in the relationship game later in life or they always remain the distant parent.

If moms allowed/forced dads to do more in the earlier stages of a babies life, then relationships between babies and fathers would be stronger and they would be closer in later years.

Enter Daxton and Elsie.

About 8 months ago, we had twins and everything changed.

The major difference between having one baby and two is that DADS ARE MOMS as well! Mom can't care for two babies all the time so dads are forced to step up their game in the mom category. I rock a baby to sleep every night. I feed a baby at every meal. It seems like I don't ever stop changing diapers. I get a baby dressed in the morning. Wherever we go, I am carrying a baby. I am always responsible for one of them. There is no hand off. There is no break. There aren't many dads who can say this.

Every day.

I am mom.

As a result of my invested time, I adore these babies. I don't want them to ever grow up. I can't wait to see them, to play with them, to hold them. And in return, I think they adore me to! When they cry, they want me. When they are hungry, they want me. When I walk in the room, they climb up on my leg. A smile always breaks across their face when I look into their eyes.

And this is the greatest reward.

I'm sure mom still has me beat, but at least I come in as a close second.

And that is fine with me!

I love this time of year. But this year, I love it for some different reasons.

I love Fall because it is the season of college football, and if you know me and my family, we LOVE the Cougars. But Cougar football is not what this post is about.

Fall is also the season for two of my sons PLAYING football. I can't think of anything I enjoy more than going to games and practices and watching my boys put on the pads/flags and get out there and have fun!

I have even subjected myself to being the coach of said teams. Last year, I was the head coach and offensive coordinator for Alex (10) and this year I am the offensive coordinator of Isaac's (6) team.

On Thursday at Isaac's game, things went really well for our team. We jumped off to a quick lead and we were totally owning our opponents. I felt like we could do anything against these guys. We put different kids in different positions. We ran crazy plays. Everything we attempted ended up in a touchdown.

The other team: nothing. Our defense continued to shut them down, play after play. In seeing the discouragement on the other teams' coaches and players faces, I determined that this was nothing new for them. It was obvious they hadn't seen much success throughout the season. It was tough to see other 6 year olds feeling a little discouraged.

So, towards the end of the game, I met with our team's other coach, and we decided we were going to help the other team out. We met in the huddle with our boys and asked if they were having fun! "YES" came the unanimous yell. We then discussed that we didn't think the other team was having as much fun because they hadn't scored (we learned later they hadn't scored all season). We asked the boys how they would feel if we helped them score a touchdown. EVERY boy shook his head in agreement that this is an idea they could support. They didn't care about the score. They were having fun and they wanted the other boys to have fun as well.

Operation "Don't pull the flag" was about to begin.

I walked over to the coach of the other team and I whispered to him, "Just run the ball."

I turned to Jenny. "Watch this."

The ball was snapped. The clumsy 6 year old handed the ball off to the closest guy. He started to run towards the outside. Our defense swarmed him like they had done all day, but then, something special happened. One boy dove purposefully towards the runner but obviously missed. The rest of our team collapsed on the runner, but instead of pulling the flag, they surrounded him and, not knowing what else to do, ran WITH HIM down the field. Our defense was the running back's own personal escort.

To the 15, the 10, the 5, touchdown!

The sidelines erupted.

The parents of the other team jumped to their feet cheering hysterically! Then our parents started to understand what had happened and they joined in the cheering. The other coaches ran to their players and embraced all of them. And then the players.... they celebrated like they just got every Christmas present they ever put on their wish list.

And our players just sat and watched. And smiled.

I glanced over at Jenny who understood what just happened. She had tears in her eyes.

I never thought one of the best moments as a coach would be watching another team score on our defense.

It was definitely something special.

Holy cow it has been a long time since we blogged. Sincerest apologies. This is what summer does to us in this house. Fortunately, things are settling down a bit and you will hear from us more often.

Last week, Happily Ever After Video and two weddings at the Logan temple on one day. Neither had receptions attached, so we decided to load the whole family up and spend the night in Cache Valley. Well, with a name like that (Cache Valley), we decided it was an omen to discover our 100th cache here.

For those you who don't know about what I speak, here is a short explanation. My family is totally addicted to geocaching. Geocaching is a high tech form of treasure hunting utilizing GPS navigation, hints, maps, recent logs, etc. all to find hidden treasure planted by fellow cachers all over the globe. It is a super fun activity that every member of the family can enjoy.

So, below is a tribute of some of our favorite caching adventures!












Our first cache placement.
First Geocoin!

So do you know where you want to be buried?

I do.

Morbid? Maybe...

Every family has their favorite vacation spot...

Ever since I was a little boy, my family has annually visited Island Park, Idaho. It started out just taking trips to Yellowstone to see the animals and geysers. But over the years, our travels to this part of the world have become a tradition and a staple which I hope are never exhausted.

In the beginning, we would simply overnight it in a local West Yellowstone hotel. Today, our family (mom and dad) own four, wonderful condos at the Island Park Village Resort where we experience every luxury. The resort has a pool, tennis courts, golf course, a variety of rental programs, racquetball, and even ping pong. My kids also engage in the weekly craft gatherings to the playing of every board (bored) game under the sun.

Island Park is a heavily wooded, mountainous area which experiences perfect 70 degree temperatures in the summer. Here, streams around every bend meander their way through one pristine meadow after another. Animals such as moose, deer, elk, and even bear wander freely and uninhibited. Fishing is ideal. ATV'ers are spoiled with trails that lead everywhere and nowhere. The air is crisp and fresh, which, when accompanied with the surreal Island Park surroundings, rejuvenate the soul.

One could simply sit on the porch and watch the sun set and feel.... overwhelmingly.... satisfied.

Complete.

I love it here. I want to grow old in this place. And yes, I want Island Park to house my final resting spot as well!

This last week we finished up another successful vacation as a family at Island Park and like all our vacations, the days went by too fast. I need this place to be a little more permanent!

I guess it's back to counting down the days till our return next year.

Thanks mom and dad, for introducing me and my family to this part of the world and enabling our frequent return. Island Park is a legacy you have fostered which I intend to share with my family and we will always be grateful to you for the many wonderful experiences you have facilitated.

You will always be remembered for your loving generosity. We love you!

(Matt here)

Adolf Hitler was kind of a trouble maker.

In 1923, Hitler attempted his first overthrowing of the German government. He was unsuccessful and his attempt landed him in jail for "political crimes". While imprisoned, he decided he would document his struggles in an autobiographical book titled "Mein Kampf", which is German for "My Struggle". Simply put, it is in this book that he laid out his agenda for all that he deemed good, how to realize such euphoric goodness in his surrounding environment, and finally, how to terminate that which didn't quite fit into his Utopian game plan.

His Struggle.

He wrote a book on it.

So what is your struggle? Could you write a book about it?

Hey! One big whine session! Fantastic...

So, this post today is entitled "Mein Kampf" because I am going to let you all in on a little piece of my psyche.

I had a friend a long time ago. A dear, dear friend. I haven't seen this friend now for quite some time. This friend was special because he always made me feel so good about myself. I wanted to spend all day with this friend, once I really got to know said friend. It wasn't easy at first, but after a while, this friend and I REALLY hit it off. If I went one day without seeing this friend, the day was just all the harder and I couldn't wait to see said friend as soon as possible.

Don't you wish you had such a friend?

Well, so do I. Again, I haven't seen this friend for ages and I desperately miss this friends company.

So, who is this friend you ask?

Said friend's name is: (drum roll.........)

Exercise.

There was a time about a year ago, I was running everyday. I never felt better! I lost a lot of weight and things were going my way. I ran a 10k. I was actually fitting into my pants and even having to go buy skinnier ones. I cared about what I ate and meals didn't simply consist of everything. I had time to go to the gym.

The hard work was really quite blissful and I have never felt better.

I guess thats what feeling healthy does to you. I hardly remember. It has been too long...

So what is your "Mein Kampf"? Well, mine is exercise. I need to get back on the horse. I need to rededicate myself. I need to make it happen and become reacquainted with my long lost friend that could prolong my life so I can spend more years with my grandbabies. I mean, seriously, is there anything more important that that?

So, I am not sure where this post is going from here, but I will say that I am going to call my old friend this week and see if said friend wants to get together sometime....

I'll tell said friend you said hi, that is, if this friend will take me back.

I am addicted to facebook. I admit it. I check my phone for updates all the time. I love seeing what other people are doing and I enjoy all the sarcasm and humor.

However.

Some people don't get it. They don't understand what facebook is. Or what the purpose is. It is where we publish superficial tidbits about our lives for those around us. That's it. Girls night out is a better place to discuss the disfunctionalities of our lives. Not the world wide web. I sometimes wonder if some people realize anyone could be reading their comments...

So I wrote a list to help. Here it is. Take it or leave it.

1. Thou shalt not whine.
OK. We all have bad days. Crappy things happen. Fine, tell us. We're your friends and we want to know. This is for those people who continually post their woe-is-me status updates day after day after day... you know the type.
2. Thou shalt not publish thy dirty laundry.
Facebook is not the place to tell the world about the fight you're having with your husband. Period. Call your therapist.
3. Thou shalt not call names.
Are we really in Junior High again? C'mon. (Of course, name calling in jest or when funny is acceptable, but if you're not sure, don't do it)
4. Thou shalt not publish your bedroom escapades.
Need I go into this one?
5. Thou shalt attempt humor once in a while.
Now I am neither funny nor witty, but I try. In this arena, go for it. The standard "I went to the park. I love chocolate. I am a mom. I work at Zions Bank.." Boring. Jazz it up a little. Give it a whirl. With practice, you may become that funny person you always wanted to be.
6. Thou shalt publish a variety of topics.
At the risk of offending someone, I have some friends who post about the same thing every day. I don't even read their posts anymore. Move along. Next subject.
7. Thou shalt comment on other statuses.
You don't have to comment on everyone. But some statuses sometimes. We all like to be acknowledged. It only takes a minute so just do it.
8. Thou shalt use caution in publishing personal information.
This is the world wide web. Be smart. No phone number or address listings.
9. Thou shalt have a facebook account if your kids do.
Now this is mainly for parents of teenagers. Just another way to spy on your kids. Don't act like you don't want to.
10. Thou shalt not accept all friend requests.
This is more of a rule than a commandment. It's OK to say no. You don't know the person? You don't like them? Say no. It's all right.

So there it is. I got that off my chest. Whew. I feel better now.

My cell phone rang. My friend, Kelly, was on the other line. "Clark's house is on fire."

Clark is the owner and primary photographer of Swensen Photography. I have worked with him for over a decade and he is truly a wonderful guy. He is genuinely funny and his photography is exceptional. He has been very successful in marketing his artistic ability and I enjoy every opportunity I get to work with him on a wedding.

"Clark's house is on fire."

When I heard this devastating news, I rushed to his home, I wasn't sure why, but I went anyway. Outside his residence, I found hundreds of Clark's friends and family all trying to give him comfort and show support, but failing in the ability to formulate such emotions. There just weren't words.

I was standing next to Clark when the fire chief approached him and declared, "There isn't a lot of time, but if you want to try to get something out of the house, now is your chance." He and Clark scurried towards the house and a few minutes later, out he came with two soaking wet computers and 8 TB of storage. In four hands rested years of his work. Hundreds of shoots. Thousands of images. All threatened by the flames that had destroyed Clark's home and the world wide headquarters of Swensen Photography. Clark handed them to me and a few others and pleaded "See what you can do." Back Clark went to do whatever one does when one's house is burning and we went to work, happy that we finally had something to do.

Long story short. The pictures were salvaged.

But Clark's images aren't what this post is about. Not really anyway.

When I first arrived on the scene and saw Clark. I didn't know what to say. I simply walked up to him and gave him a hug. As I searched for words of comfort that would mean anything at this terrible hour, Clark, in his happy-go-lucky way, asked, "So, how are the twins?"

You're kidding me.

"WHO CARES!" I wanted to yell at him! My twins? Who cares about my twins!? Your house is on fire. Everything you own is burning to the ground. Everything. 100% loss. And you are wondering how my twins are? Hello!?

But then I thought, how amazing is Clark for thinking that. When all was lost, he inquired about me and that which was important in my life.

There is more.

As I watched Clark for the next few hours on that night he consistently remained upbeat. He smiled at family and friends. When new people arrived, he was genuinely happy to see them. I stood and watched in awe as Clark hugged and greeted everyone around in the foreground of utter devestation. It was truly amazing.

How would I respond? How would I react. When the fire chief approached me, what would I say or grab? What do I consider my most priceless possessions? Clark grabbed images. Not just his own, but all his clients, who, in a way, had become part of the Swensen Photography family. For Clark, nothing was really THAT important. He knew his family was safe, and it was this knowledge that was the glue that, I believe, kept Clark from falling apart on that night. We can lose everything, but when we have family, we can overcome anything. Clark showed me this on that night.

It has been a week and I had the opportunity to shoot with Clark again today. His happy-go-lucky self emanated through every action and word. The fire hadn't phased him a bit. Of course, it had caused a few speed bumps in the life of Clark, but when asked how he was doing...
his response FLOORED me....

"It has been the best thing that has ever happened to us."

I was stunned.

He went on to say, (paraphrasing) "There have been so many miracles that my family has witnessed. We have had so many family and friends offer their love and support, it has just been an amazing experience to be the recipients of everyone's acts of love and kindness. My family and I will never be the same."

... in a good way.

I guess life entails happiness, but then we will all face difficulty and even tragedy. I have learned something invaluable from Clark today. Regardless of what happens to us or how difficult things can sometimes get, it is important to keep one thing in mind...

Perspective.

One Year Later....




May 26, 2009

I don't know why I call him "Frax". Maybe just the rhyme. Probably the rhyme.

Of the two, Dax is the youngest. Elsie made her way quickly and effeciently into this world after three or so good pushes. She cried for a minute. Then she pretty much just chilled thereafter.

Dax was different.

Many have read the story from this previous post but to sum things up, Dax had a pretty rude introduction to this world. After being literally yanked out of his peaceful home, nearly breaking arms and legs (he was delivered breech), and then not being able to breathe for a good couple of minutes after extraction, Daxton's welcome was much less inviting than that of his sister's.

It has been four months now I am amazed at how much they have grown.


So how would I describe Dax a' Frax today?

Well, first. He is all boy.

Daxton has an insatiable appetite, but maybe that is just a Baker attribute. One thing is for sure, he has definately acquired the Baker belch. Alex and Isaac like to be in the room whenever Dax is nursing because like the consistency of Old Faithful, there is always a wall-rumbling belch of satisfaction after every feeding!

Another Daxism is although his intake is great, it seems his output is even greater! Daxton is a leaky, leaky faucet. Drool of all sorts is constantly seeping from his mouth which causes multiple daily outfit changes accompanied with constant carpet scrubbing. I am stunned at how he can spit up all that he has eaten and then immediately produce the cutest, big-eyed smile which instantly enables the holder to see past what has just occured, and reflect a heart-felt greeting in return.

Elsie likes to smile but one has to work for it. Daxton doesn't seem to stop smiling. His bald head and toothless grin is the perfect recipe for parental joy and is the antidote for any bad day. Frax's grunt laugh can brighten any room and it's contageousness is overwhelming.

Among so many other things, perhaps my favorite Frax attribute is his snuggleability. When the day is done and Frax is bathed and fed, I love to take him in my arms as he snuggles his head into my elbow pit, shielding his eyes from any sliver of light. He often falls asleep quickly and during those quiet few moments, I acknowledge how lucky I am to have such a joy in my life as Dax a' Frax.

Even if I have to change my shirt from his drool after I am done.

Those of you who know me, you know that I loathe getting my haircut.

Don't get me wrong, I love having a fresh do and enjoy the ability of hearing because my hair is no longer lopping over my ears. I simply hate the process, not the end result.

Allow me to explain.

Normally I walk into a salon and am greeted by this:


Next, he/she (whatever that is above) takes me back to a chair which belongs to Tenequa, The Hair Goddess (at least she thinks she is). This is Tenequa.


I tell her what I want, but I don't think she is really listening. She is completely engaged in a conversation with Opal (the stylist next to her) speaking in a language I don't understand. Not that I could understand anything because the music is so loud I can't hear the whining clippers assaulting my scalp... When they do try to talk to me and make polite conversation, I cringe and pray to find just the right answer that will disengage any need for further dialogue... She can just keep talking to Opal about who is pregnant now...

...just cut my hair.

She completes my "style", I drop a $20 on the counter, and I thank goodness I don't have to do that for another two months (or hopefully longer)!!

Well, today, something different happened.

I took the boys to school, and on the way home I noticed a shop called "Our Barber Shop". It is located on 10907 South and State in Sandy. The Phone is 801-576-5651. My wool had grown quite long and uncomfortable so I decided to give it a try.

The first thing I noticed was how busy it was. Lots of old, old men. The youngest patron was in his 70s. Instead of Tenequa, I was greeted by Harold. He must have been 75. His partner in crime, Raymond, had plenty of life experience as well. There was old fashioned music playing and everything seemed to move just a little slower. It was a breath of fresh air.

I sat down in a super comfy, black chair. Harold inquired how I liked my hair and I told him "just make it look nice" and off he went. It was wonderful! He told me about how things used to be. That you could eat at Chuck-a-Rama for $2.50. He told me about his military days. We discussed interesting things. It was like talking to my grandpa whom I miss dearly.

I knew I had arrived when every new/old comer entered the clingy door with the same greeting from my barber... "How you doin', Harold?" His response, "Still on the green side of the grass!"

And then the haircut... He cut all the normal things when I get my haircut, but then the real fun began. He heated up some shaving cream and began applying it to all those annoying places like my neck and around my ears. With quick, professional precision, he whipped out the biggest razor I had ever seen, and commenced his slaughter of all my pesky, unwanted follicles. At first, my heart began to beat a little faster, after all, he is a little advanced in age and one slip meant my jugular, but after a few minutes I just sat back, relaxed, and enjoyed the shear and shave.

And then came the old-man trim. He razored my burns, neck, plucked my ear hair, trimmed my bushy eyebrows, yanked out my nose hair, and he even took care of those filler hairs attempting to bridge the gap between my eyebrows creating my ominous unibrow. Well, not not today...

...not under Harold's watch.

After a final dash of aftershave, I was done.

I felt like giving Harold a hug.

Today, I am definitely happy I am "on the green side of the grass!"


PS... All for $10!

Last game of the season...

Thirty seconds to go with the score 7-6. We just scored a touchdown, and the coach decides to go for two.

We want the win.

3 months ago, Alex swaggered onto the football field where he knew no one. His coach, Tito, welcomed Alex to the team with his big bear voice. We later learned this team had played together during tackle season for Hilcrest and Alex was not only the newcomer, but the only stranger on the team.

Practices went well and the coach discovered that Alex was a good student of the game and had a pretty good arm. Alex started taking snaps and overnight replaced the former quarterback which so happened to be the coach's son. Alex embraced the QB1 position and became a rallying leader on the fledgling team.

From the sidelines, I watched in awe as Alex did things I never dreamed possible. He took snaps, negotiated runs, drilled passes, and led his team to a 6-2 winning season. From completing deep bomb passes to 50 yard rushing scrambles, Alex did it all.

I know this sounds like a parent dotting over his son and could one be more tainted? Well, if you don't like it, go read seriouslysoblessed or something...

Anyway.

3o seconds to go till the end of the season and our team is going for two and the victory.

It's either euphoria or devastation, well, at least until Alex's TV time when either feeling will be forgotten.

30 seconds...

The play is given to Alex and it is a fake handoff bootleg pass/run, whichever is available.

Alex takes the snap.

Fakes to Jordan for the run. He bootlegs right (ladies this means he runs right).
Both receivers have double coverage and Alex is facing up to the linebacker. I look in Alex's eyes and they glow with intensity and determination. Alex bears down, tucks the ball and with all his strength and the weight of the teams hopes and success on those little nine-year old shoulders, he rushes for the end zone.
The linebacker closes in. Alex lunges and....

SCORES!

Victory.

Perhaps the best thirty seconds of my life.

After the celebration from the kids and parents on the sideline, the coach gathered the players around him and started handing out trophies and pictures while the kids displayed as much excitement about their Oreos as their tremendous victory. The coach recognized the players for their accomplishments but then I noticed he had four game balls, which he personally purchased (what a stud), laying at his feet.

The first player received a ball for his defensive abilities. The second player as well. The third for being one of the best rushers in the league. And then finally, my heart stopped. He brought Alex to the front. The coach, again in his big, bear voice yet smoothed with compassion said, "When I saw Alex's name on the roster, I wasn't sure what we were going to get. I hope he's good!" He lauged. "But a team is only as good as it's QB, and I believe we have the best QB in the league. Alex, this game ball is for you and it has been a joy to have you on our team!"

The players and parents erupted with applause.

I passed out.

Go to bed after the news (sometimes six o' clock). Bear your testimony. Hug your children. School projects sometimes last until the early morning hours. Strawberries are yummy. Sunday dinner includes rolls. Get up with the sun. Do your visiting teaching barefoot. Always have cookies on hand. Call your mom. Plant a garden. Go for a walk. Pee before you jump on the trampoline. Don't waste. It's ok to read to your high school Senior. Singing is a form of worship. Don't leave anyone out. Play board games. Visit your parents. Scripture study before sunrise. The car is a good place to talk to your children. Listen to music. Attend as many of your childrens' activities and sporting events as possible. Elvis is still the King. Keep your Mothers Day cards. Feed the ducks (unless the sign says not to). Eat fruit whenever available. Get a job as soon as you are old enough. Go to college. Pray. Plant flowers. Hold your babies. Accept church callings and do your very best. Be positive. Serve others. Be kind to your mother-in-law. Take pictures. Love your husband. Eat leftovers. Shoes are only for winter. You can't take peanut butter on an airplane. Treats keep your kids and their friends at your house where you can watch them. Watch musicals. Keep the laundry going. Live on a budget. Smile often. Wash the dishes. Cold food is nasty. Don't swear. Enjoy the moment. Do your family history. Don't forget your reading glasses. Canning in the fall. Play. Family comes first. Your momma is your momma and you love her no matter what.

Thanks for all you've taught me mom. I love you. Happy Mothers Day!

3 boys.

Every dad's dream come true. Alex is nine. He loves sports and action. Isaac is six. He loves to wrestle and play video games. Dax is four months and I am sure it will be more of the same.

Pink.

I never thought there would be any pink in my house. I was pretty happy about that. No girly stuff. Only macho, tough stuff. Jenny was a lone woman in our house. For those of you know her, she isn't much of a pink gal.

No dolls. No dresses. No princess outfits. No dance recitals.

All fine with me...

Pink...

Tonight I shot a reception with a wonderful bride and groom. We had a great time at the temple and the party that evening was a hit as well. When the time came for the daddy/daughter dance, the dad walked across the floor, offered his hand to the cutest bride ever, and escorted her to the floor. And they danced....

Now, I am a wedding videographer and I see this all the time, more than 1000 times. But tonight was different. They played a new song that I hadn't heard before and you should all go listen to it. It is called Cinderella by Steven Curtis Chapman. As the dad took his little girl in his arms, I began listening to the music. I watched the dad closely as a tear fell down his cheek. As they rotated, I saw the bride crying as well.

Then suddenly.... I couldn't see.

Yep. I started bawling too! I tried to keep my composure, but holy crap I couldn't see the dance and my eyes were leaking! A couple of the bridesmaids noticed and they started to snicker and I couldn't believe what was happening.

I was imagining that dance with my little Princess, Elsie.


What will she look like on her wedding day. Which song will she choose for our dance? Will I be able to keep my composure? Probably not since I am bawling at a strangers wedding. How will I EVER be able to give her away? How could I ever expect or hope that another man will ever be able to take care of her or love her like I do? What will our dance be like?

So I pulled myself together, finished the reception, rushed home, and crept into Elsie's room where she lay sleeping peacefully. I reached into her crib and took her little hand in mine...

I reflected again on the song lyrics: Have a read...

She spins and she sways to whatever song plays,
Without a care in the world.
And I'm sittin' here wearin' the weight of the world on my shoulders.
It's been a long day and there's still work to do,
She's pulling at me saying "Dad I need you!
There's a ball at the castle and I've been invited and I need to practice my dancin'"
"Oh please, daddy, please!"

So I'll dance with Cinderella
While she is here in my arms
'Cause I know something the prince never knew
Oh I'll dance with Cinderella
I don't wanna miss even one song,
Cuz all too soon the clock will strike midnight
And she'll be gone

She says he's a nice guy and I'd be impressed
She wants to know if I approve of the dress
She says "Dad, the prom is just one week away,
And I need to practice my dancin'"
"Oh please, daddy, please!"

So I'll dance with Cinderella
While she is here in my arms
'Cause I know something the prince never knew
Ohh-oh ohh-oh, I'll dance with Cinderella
I don't wanna miss even one song,
Cuz all too soon the clock will strike midnight
And she'll be gone
She will be gone.

Well, she came home today
With a ring on her hand
Just glowin' and tellin' us all they had planned
She says "Dad, the wedding's still six months away
but I need to practice my dancin'"
"Oh please, daddy please!"

So I'll dance with Cinderella
While she is here in my arms
'Cause I know something the prince never knew
Ohh-oh ohh-oh, I'll dance with Cinderella
I don't wanna miss even one song,
(even one song)
Cuz all too soon the clock will strike midnight
And she'll be gone"


Pink.

Not too fast, Baby Elsie... Your daddy is suddenly a big softie and he needs some time to build up to this... so please, for my sake...

Take your time.


Click HERE to listen to the song. Better grab a Kleenex...

Nine years, 7 months, and 17 days ago I became capable of murder.

This is the day my Alex was born.

I looked into his eyes and I knew I would never be the same. I vowed then and there no one would ever hurt my boy. Ever.

Fast forward nine years.

Today I came into the kitchen and saw Alex sobbing. He told me some older neighborhood kids were bossing him around and hurting him. They'd make him fetch the ball when they kicked it. Then they'd wrestle. One would hold him while the other kicked his legs out from underneath him.

I saw red. I mean blood red. The boys are nowhere to be found. Figures. I'd run if I knew I was coming too.

I want to cradle my Alex's almost five foot body into my arms and make all the hurt go away. I want to promise him it will never happen again. I want to find those boys and... well, I won't go into that.

Herein lies the problem: it will happen again. Someone else will be mean. Someone else will hurt his feelings. His heart will probably get broken. What can I do? No one told me being a mom means sometimes you can't fix it. No one told me my insides would feel like they've been run over by a cement truck when I see my child hurting.

Now how do I teach my son to stand up for himself? How do I teach him to sometimes walk away? How do I tell him it's going to be ok? There is so much to teach him, but so many of life's lessons have to be learned by experience. I want to protect him from all of it but I can't. He has to learn the same way we all did.

So for today I hold my boy. I tell him it's all going to be ok. I tell him he did the right thing by leaving when the situation got out of hand. And I tell him those boys should be afraid. Very afraid.

I'll deal with them tomorrow.

Check it out!

http://www.deseretnews.com/article/705299733/Video-biz-is-dream-come-true.html?pg=1

It's Friday night.

I just finished a reception and was feeling pretty good about a long day at work.

I enter the house through the garage door and this is the story conveyed to me:

Jenny leaves the boys in the nursery with crying babies and is in the kitchen frantically trying to put together a bottle as she listens to the babies screaming. After what seems like ages to the boys, she finally accomplishes this task and rushes down the hall. She opens the door to the nursery and this is what she sees:

Alex is on the chair, desperately trying to comfort a wailing Elsie. She has been sick for the past two days and is quite miserable. He's holding her tight. He's covering her eyes (she actually likes this). He's rubbing her head. Nothing is working. Unable to calm his little sister he bursts into tears crying, "she hates me!" Jenny then turns to Isaac and sees him hovering over a shrieking Daxton, doing everything to comfort him, also to no avail. Isaac then loses it because, well, everyone else is crying. He doesn't know what to do.

That's right people, this is the wailing room. Don't enter unless your packing Kleenex.

After a quick assessment, Jenny swoops in as "SUPERMOM" and snatches both babies up, comforts both, holds Isaac as well and talks down Alex, assuring him that he won't lose his status as awesome big brother.

After a few minutes, I enter a peaceful and quiet house.

I just missed the storm.

Funny. I didn't see the "Supermom" symbol in the sky. You know, like the one in "Batman". I guess we don't really need one...

She just lives at my house.

Isaac says to me, "mom, I wish we could have another baby."

I asked him "why?"

His reply, "so we could play our Nintendo DSs all night while you were having the baby again"

This is why six year olds are NOT in charge of family planning.

I haven't blogged in a while (because I've been soooo tired I can't see straight) so here goes:

These past two months since the babies were born have been amazing. It's really been a family effort to raise them. I can't do it all myself this time so everyone been pitching in. There is always someone to hold, someone to burp, someone to change... And it seems as though one of them is always awake. I don't get a thing done. But, oh well. I've learned from the boys that Elsie and Daxton will be big kids before I know it.
My boys love the babies! We've had to limit Isaac to only a couple of kisses an hour for the babies. And Alex is great. He can do anything from changing a diaper to getting someone dressed to rocking a baby to sleep.
Elsie has been such a joy. It's fun to have a girl around the house, especially when it comes to dressing her and to accessorizing. Alex is quite interested in what she wears and lets me know if he doesn't approve of her outfit. She is smiling and cooing and loves bathtime! Alex said to me the other day after Elsie cooed "mom, that is my favorite sound in the whole world".
Daxton is also a good baby. His rubbery bald head is now sprouting some soft fuzz. It's a good thing. We were worried he didn't have any hair follicles. He is so smiley. Anyone who looks at him gets a big open mouthed grin from our Dax. Dax also has an insatiable appetite. The boy's mouth is always open! Matt has started calling him Dax-a-Frax for some reason or another.
All in all, things are going well here on the home front. The babies just slept for 7 consecutive hours at the same time last night and we're hoping for more of that. Any kind of a schedule would be better than the helter-skelter flying by the seat of our pants routine we've been rolling with lately.
I think the best part of our new lives is how in love Matt is with the babies. When the boys were babies I just did it all and he didn't have to do much with them. Not so this time around. It's been so great to watch him love our babies and dote over them. He can't seem to get enough. He blessed them last Sunday and it was so special. The Spirit was very strong in the room and I could feel the intense love he feels for these two precious babies we waited so long for. But it's not just all about the babies. Matt also takes time to be with Alex and Isaac. He's currently reading the Lord of the Rings series to them (complete with voices) and they're all loving it. How blessed I am to be married to such a great man.So I know this blog has been all over the place without rhyme or reason but that's kind of how our lives are right now so it fits.

When Alex and Isaac were little, they would often take forever to calm down in order to go to sleep. They would fight and fuss until finally, after total exhaustion of exuding every possible effort to maintain consciousness, they would collapse into a deep slumber. But often it would take a minute... ok more like an hour.

So at night, there wasn't much I could do. I didn't have the magic juice that Jenny possessed which acted like a sleep drug for the babies. So, I would just sit there and hold them while they fought, squirmed, and cried.

One night, long ago, as I was trying to get Isaac to calm down, I decided to sing "I am a Child of God". I sang it quietly where he could barely hear it. But something happened. Isaac stopped squirming. He stopped crying. He just lied there... motionless. Like he was listening. I am not sure Isaac understood what was going on or maybe he thought I had a goofy voice... but I had stumbled onto something that enabled me to calm a crying baby, and I was very relieved... I sang that song often to him, almost nightly.

When Isaac grew older and just started going to bed, I didn't sing to him anymore. He just didn't need it, right? I doubt he even remembered that I used to perform this task to induce his sleep when he was a baby...

... until today.

I was in the bedroom and I heard Elsie start to fuss. As I approached the bedroom, Isaac had beat me to her. I rounded the corner and the sound coming from the room stopped me in my tracks. A moment later, Jenny approached from the hall where she stopped as she heard the sound as well. Isaac was singing, ever so softly. He normally 'sings' "Enter Sandman" or something from Rush, but today, his song selection was a melody that melted both Jenny's and my heart. He was singing "I am a Child of God." He sang softly. He sang lovingly. And Elsie not only stopped fussing but she drifted off to sleep. Jenny and I stole a quick nod and loving glance at each other, and then we went on doing whatever it was that was occupying our time before this little moment where time stood still.

Maybe they do remember...

So, new Blog template... new look. Hope you like it!

Since the babies were born, I have been noticing that Jenny and I are communicating much more effectively as of late. Fewer brawls... I know this is a strange thing to proclaim to the wide world of web, but it is true nonetheless. I like Jenny more lately. Maybe it is because she just gave me two beautiful children, or maybe because she looks smoking hot after three weeks, or maybe she is making all my favorite dishes which I immensely enjoy. It could be a combination of all those things, but the more I really think about it, it comes down to one thing...

Communication.

I think after 11 years she might actually be getting it. Or maybe something popped in her brain while pushing out those kids... I don't know.

I think she is finally realizing I am a dude and I don't think like her.

Example #1-- When we were in the hospital, I told her over and over that she needed to tell me "EXACTLY" what she wanted. Don't beat around the bush. Don't make me guess. Just tell me how it is, with no pork attached. If she needed water, she would say "I need water", and I happily retrieved a cup of the most delicious water I could find. She didn't smack her lips like she was parched hoping I would figure out how she was feeling about being dehydrated and then get her water. I would fail every one of those tests. She is just telling me exactly what she wants/needs. Our communication is continuing along this path and I think we are both happier.

Example #2-- She doesn't get mad or her feelings hurt when I do the same as she in #1. As a guy, I sometimes blurt out what I am thinking without much thought of repercussion. Many tell me that I am pretty bad at this and she is a saint for putting up with me. But I think she is really figuring it out! When I say things in guy language, she is able to un-emotionally decipher what it is I am communicating, still realizing I love her, and then we get stuff done! It is awesome and, trust me, it hasn't always been this way.

So how did we get to this state of communication bliss?

Who knows... We just say it how it is. We don't play emotional guessing games hoping the other spouse can solve the riddle. We just communicate.

Or maybe she blew an emotional gasket during labor...

Holidays are fantastic!  We love them all at our house.   In fact, we take full advantage of celebrating anything and everything.  If there is even the slightest reason to get a cake for anything, we go for it.  It would come as no surprise if we were to purchase a cake for the sole reason of not having had a cake to celebrate for a while.  We would go buy a cake and the inscription thereon would read "Happy Haven't Had A Cake In A Week Day".  That's how we roll.  

Well Matt told his side of the story just hours after the babies were born. I however, haven't been quite up to it. One week later, and before I forget, here's what I remember:

Friday, January 23rd Matt was over at his parent's house sleeping (he's been working a night shift at ARUP for a couple of months for their fabulous insurance) and I was just hanging out at home. I couldn't seem to make myself do anything due to the HUGE belly and aching everything. Not sure if I've mentioned it, but being 37 1/2 weeks pregnant with twins is awful. I mean it. Just plain awful.

OK, so as I was saying, I basically sat around all day watching movies with my kids and feeling sorry for myself. I had been having random contractions for a month or two but seemed to be having more than usual that day and they were slightly more intense. By 3 or 4 in the afternoon I started thinking I was definitely having more contractions than usual, but I got started with Alex and Isaac so I wasn't sure what going into labor on my own felt like. So I did what any modern mom does when she has a question: I googled it. Google said false labor would go away with excercise and real labor would get worse. So I had the boys put on their coats and we went for a walk (waddle) around the block. I ended up having to stop for every contraction because I just couldn't walk through them and this is when I really started getting my hopes up. So when we got home I got out a paper and started writing down when and how long my contractions were while I read to the boys. To my surprise they were about every five minutes and 30 to 40 seconds long, so I called the hospital. I told the nurse about my contractions and asked how bad they were supposed to hurt. She said that was irrelevant and to come in so they could check me to see if I was dialating. Irrelevant? OK, the U of U hospital is not right around the corner, but maybe they'd say I was in labor and keep me... maybe.

Then I got to do what I'd never done before and had always wanted to do, the whole "it's time, let's go the hospital". So I went next door where Matt was sound asleep and opened the door. I said "Matt, wake up. You need to take me to the hospital". He jumped out of bed and started freaking out. Not the most serene wake up call.

So all Matt wanted was to get pulled over and have a police escort to the hospital but the poor guy didn't get his wish. He was speeding down the freeway wondering what the fastest way to go would be. When we got off the freeway Foothill was foggy and jam-packed for what we assumed was a basketball game but really turned out to be a gymnastics meet. So all the way Matt is cursing the U basketball team to lose because of the traffic. Suddenly he decides to cut through the neighborhood and starts taking corners on two wheels (now this part may be a little exaggerated, but that's how it felt to me being in labor and all).

We finally did arrive at the hospital at about 7:00 and Matt wheeled me up to Labor and Delivery. They started by monitoring my contractions and the babies heartbeats for a while and I'm thinking "Could you please check me and see if I'm in labor? Please don't send me home. I will seriously cry my eyes out if you send me home." When the nurse came in to check me I told her Wednesday I had been dialated to a 3 and about 80% effaced and please, please don't send me home. She checked and said "Well, you are now dialated to a 6 and 100% effaced you're not going anywhere". I started to cry then. I was so relieved.
Matt documented the rest pretty well. The epidural only worked on half of my body so my right side wasn't happy, but the doctor did get it working OK right before the actual delivery so that was good.

At about 1:00 AM on January 24th we were told we were heading into the OR for delivery (standard procedure with twins "just in case"). So all 15 or so of us crammed in there and once I started pushing Elsie made her entrance into the world not much longer at 1:25 AM. Now I didn't know how they were getting Daxton out until that night. All along I had been assuming they would turn him but my doctor assured me it would go faster to just deliver him breech. What he didn't mention was that pulling him out was going to make me wish for death. Oh my word, having someone reach up inside me and pull my baby out is the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life. I was literally screaming in pain and the whole 3 minutes lasted for about 3 eternities. It was awful. I guess the one good thing about it was I had no idea Daxton was having any problems until Matt told me later. I don't think I could have handled it. So then the doctors took care of me and Matt went with the babies to the nursery where they continued to work on Daxton until he was breathing well. That was the night. It was one crazy ride.

One funny thing one of the doctors/med students/whoever said to me the next day was that the thing he remembered most from my delivery was as soon as I was done delivering the babies I asked for a sandwich, right there in the delivery room. I guess from his view it was funny, but I thought that was a legitimate request. I mean, I didn't have dinner and they don't let you eat at the hospital, who wouldn't be hungry after all that?

Now here we are, one week later. I already love my two precious babies so much and can't imagine our family without them. They are really good babies: eat, sleep, poop, repeat. And my boys have been great little helpers and love their brother and sister. All in all, life is perfect.