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.