Family Life

I found out today that my web service provider had secretly added a “service” to track all my web pages, all my visitors. They did this by tacking on some code at the end of every page. At first I thought someone had hacked into this blog, because the addition completely killed the WordPress admin pages used to manage the blog. Things were a bit tense for a while because I couldn’t get in to examine things behind the scenes, couldn’t log in to fix it.

So I turned to the NoScript browser plugin to discover where the offending code was coming from, and to block it. Now I could log in to the blog admin pages. After some searching I found … nothing. Everything was as it should be. How strange. I remembered that Google is your friend for all things technical, and did a quick search to find other irate customers with the same problem, and hence to a solution. So it’s all fixed. For now.

The more general issue is that my service provider should never have done something like that in the first place, especially without telling anyone. On the other hand, it’s a free service, and I guess you get what you pay for. I often get the urge to move to a more reliable, more reputable provider. But that would cost me money, of which I have none in these hard times.

Photo note: Macabre sculpture outside the prison tower at Prague Castle, Czech republic.

Some nights the kids get to play in the bath. Tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight it was assembly-line style. Daniel, the oldest, was ready first: into the tub, dunk, lather, rinse, haul out onto the mat, dry, pajamas, done. Daniel was at the haul-out phase when Joel wandered into the tub, and he was well and truly done by the time baby Micah got plonked into the water.

I washed Micah last. He asked what soap Daniel had used, since he hadn’t been there to observe first-hand. We currently have three different baby soaps, and the boys are very particular about which one gets used on who. I pointed out Daniel’s soap and then offered him a choice from the other two. But no, Micah wanted to use the same soap as Daniel–he wanted to be the same as his big brother. The little toddler adores his wise, knowledgeable, mature, five-year-old brother.

Casting back to memories of many years ago, my mother warned me to be careful in what I did because my little sister looked up to me and would imitate my behaviour. Oblivious as I was to most things outside myself, I paid no heed to her warning. I hope I didn’t lead you astray too much, Rachel.

Last night I went out after dinner to take a photo of the International Space Station as it went overhead. NASA’s website told me when to expect it and what path it would take. I’d been watching the schedule for several days, but overcast skies prevented any actual viewing. Last night was the final opportunity for a couple of weeks, and to my delight it was a beautifully clear evening.

I bundled up against the cold and took camera and tripod out to the back yard, wading through knee-deep snow. I pointed the camera toward where I thought the satellite would appear, and waited. NASA told me the spacecraft’s track was from North-West to South-East, but that it wouldn’t appear visible until it was directly overhead, coming out of the earth’s shadow. Sure enough, a new star winked into existence right on schedule, a little ahead of where I’d anticipated. I took several 30-second exposures while it made its stately way across the sky, until it vanished just above the horizon. In the three minutes it was visible it had traveled 1,300 km.

It was just a twinkle moving across the sky, but it was my first planned, scheduled, photographed satellite sighting. It was exciting to think there were three people up there, maybe looking down as the sun set across the planet and they briefly moved from darkness into sunlight and back into darkness again.

I came in from the cold to thaw out. I fired up the computer to look at the photos and found an email from my brother, waxing poetic about his very first snowfall–a record 8 inches in London. Our family is no stranger to snow (see here, for example) and I’d just come in from stomping through at least twice the London depth, but it was refreshing to see a first-timer’s perspective, the delight and wonder and sheer exhilaration of going out to play in the new snow. The beauty, the whiteness, the quiet.

We have our own first-timer. Micah is enjoying his first winter where he’s aware of his surroundings, where he’s tall enough to see out the car window, and where he’s able to comment. We went out for a drive after the first snowfall of the season and he was exclaiming non-stop about the snow: Snow on cars! Snow on trees! Snow on houses! Snow on the road! Such excitement!

The ground has been covered with snow for months and it’s kind of old hat to Micah now, but for a couple of weeks after that first snowfall he would pull himself up on the furniture every morning to gaze out the window at the snow.

Last night proved to have some surprises for us, the winter veterans, who have supposedly seen it all before. During the night the temperature dropped quickly from about -5

I started to tidy up the Lego last night, clearing the floor in anticipation of vacuuming. Rather than throw everything into a box, as usual, I decided to do a more thorough job and take everything apart first. To understand how much peril this involved, you’d have to understand the rules of Lego.

Rule #1: Each boy’s creations are sacrosanct–they must be put away intact, undamaged, unchanged, to be brought out again later with equal care.

This is a crucial rule. It prevents all manner of sibling rivalry erupting into fits of rage and rampant destruction. (Yes, I have angelic children, didn’t you know?) Nevertheless, that rivalry required a second rule.

Rule #2: Any child may use parts from the general pool, but parts must be taken specifically for building models. Parts must not be privately stockpiled or hoarded.

The first rule favours Daniel, who’s a builder. He’s very protective of his creations. The second rule hinders Joel, who’s a hoarder. So we ended up with some unintended consequences. Daniel will have two or three models at any one time, carefully and patiently designed and built. He only has two or three because by then he’s run out of parts. That’s because Joel hurries to build as many models as he can, as fast as he can, using as many parts as he can, preferably wheels, propellers, and other things that articulate or move. Once those parts are locked into a model they are HIS. Ha! See rule #1. And so Joel circumvents rule #2 and satisfies his little consumer heart, surrounded by a dozen or more bulky devices reminiscent of Dr. Seuss.

So last night, while pretending to play with Micah, I surreptitiously took the blandest, most nondescript of Joel’s models and took it apart. It had no wheels, no propellers, no moving parts. He’d never miss it. I tipped the loose pieces onto the general pile. See the photo for an idea of what that pile looks like.

Joel wandered into the living room. “What are you doing, Daddy?”

- “I’m putting the Lego away.”

There’s a moment of silence.

- “YOU BROKE MY ROCK MONSTER!!!”

Oh. So that’s what it was. “Yes Joel. We’re taking everything apart and putting it away. How did you know?”

He pointed an accusing finger at the general pile. “All the pieces are there!”

See, he still had a dozen or so models left. He hadn’t noticed that one individual model was missing, just that pieces that were “his” had been put back into general circulation. That caused him to take a careful inventory of his remaining models, where he discovered the heist.

I gave a more detailed explanation of what I was doing, and why, and Joel grumbled a bit but sat down and was soon playing happily.

Over the next fifteen minutes I would pick up another of Joel’s models on the sly and take it apart. By the time he realized this hadn’t been a one-off event, that Dad meant everything must go, his inventory was down to half. Joel sank into a dark depression. With the declaration, “I’m going to break everything apart” he started to break the mini-men down to their component pieces (hat, head, torso, legs) and spread the pieces throughout the pile.

- “No, no Joel! Don’t take the men apart! Leave their heads and legs attached!”

Those are small pieces, few and far between, hard to find in the big pile. Joel retorted,

- “You said we had to take everything apart. So I’m taking everything apart.”

Sigh. Oh well. At least he was getting the job done, albeit for the wrong reasons.

Panic set in when we got down to the last remaining model. By now there was a large pile of treasured parts up for grabs, that anybody could get their hands on. Joel reversed direction and started to build, fast and furious. He knew that as soon as I finished it would all get tipped into the box. In the time it took me to take the last model apart he had built four new ones. He was still adding parts to the fourth model when I closed the lid on the box. It reminded me of the mad scribblings of a student when the instructor calls Time’s Up! on an exam.

Why did I take everything apart?

I wanted to foster innovation, new ideas, invention. With most of the pieces locked up in existing models there wasn’t as much opportunity to try something different, to experiment. Daniel got it straight away. I explained, and he took all his models apart immediately. He had more to gain with such a scheme. Joel had more to lose.

It reminded me of Jesus’ words in the sermon on the mount,

Do not accumulate for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But accumulate for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Matthew 6:19-21 (NET)

We all hold on to our stuff a little more closely than we should. We all want to get more stuff, new stuff. We struggle to find places to store it all and mourn over its loss. We share in Joel’s troubles.

But Jesus calls us to a different perspective. To quote Michael W. Smith,

So let it go and turn it over to
The one who chose to give his life for you
Leave it to me
I’ll lead you home

On Friday Debbie made white bread in the bread maker. That evening we had thick slices of fresh bread, liberally spread with butter, dipped in savoury home-made vegetable soup. What a delightful meal for a cold winter’s night.

Daniel had his first swimming lesson for the season, and it was the usual rush to finish dinner and get out the door. He managed to eat his soup in time and brought the rest of his bread to finish in the car. Three blocks later he remarked, “That was good bread, Daddy! Thank you!”

I reminded him that it was, in fact, Mummy that baked the bread and made the delicious soup, and wasn’t it good that Mummy made such yummy food? There was silence for a minute. As we pulled into the parking lot, Daniel (who’s four) commented, “You know, Daddy, when I grow up my wife will be able to bake yummy bread.”

- “That’s good Daniel.”

- “And she’ll know how to sew.”

I saw where this was going. Debbie has made curtains and pillows and comforters with her sewing machine. So I asked, “Will she have a piano?” A leading question on another of Debbie’s abilities.

- “Yes! And I’ll teach our children how to play. They’ll have their own [music] books and everything.”

Pause.

- “Daddy, you’ve never played the piano, have you?”

- “No, son, I haven’t.”

- “I could teach you! Wouldn’t that be funny? A kid teaching an adult!”

And with that he skipped happily off to go swimming.

You can see Daniel’s ranking of talents in the family: Mummy reigns supreme in pretty much every area that matters. Daniel is pretty cool because he can play the piano. And Daddy? Well, he can drive the car.