"Taking Care of Little Girls Is a Lot of Hard Work"

Lot's of things happen around the house when Mom's (Victoria) out of town for a few days. Some of those things I won't post about here because, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas", if you know what I mean. Everything's legit, of course, but... there are just some things that Dad does (or does not do) that Mom wouldn't ordinarily do, none of which are things to be necessarily proud of. For example, I noticed that Victoria gingerly wiped Willow's sticky face last night after she'd eaten dinner. Did I ever once think to do that while Victoria was in San Luis Obispo with Annie? No, not at all. I did take the girls to the pool to go swimming however, so I figured that dunking would suffice to clean their skin off well enough over a four day period. Listen, I even took some shampoo to the pool house with me so I could wash their hair. Thinking ahead, I am.

Every time Victoria goes away for an extended period of time I have a new appre- ciation for her, and all mom's (or stay-at-home dads) for that matter. The task of raising little ones is non-stop, and exhausting work at that. Even Poppy can see and acknowledge what's only obvious to me in the heat of the moment when she will say to Victoria every once in awhile, "Mommy, taking care of little girls is a lot of hard work." Victoria always gets a chuckle out of that innocent, but sincere observation. There's little time to do much of anything at all when caring for Poppy and Willow but ensure the girls don't destroy the house, harm themselves, get overly aimless or aggressively hungry. One request leads to another, one intervention leads to another, one meal leads to clean-up and then another, one question leads to another, one changing leads to another, and one potty break leads to another. I don't think there's anything more sacrificial than being a parent. No one sees what you do, there's little appreciation, and minimal glory. These are what I love most about being a dad and a parent to five kids.

But there are things I want to do too, things that simply cannot be done when the kids are around. I have needs, I have desires, and I have goals and objectives. ("Yuck! I hate the way that sounds! O' please, you're making me sick, Tom.") In fact, I have this project that I'm currently working on that has a deadline set to it. The only time for me to work on it is in the late evenings after all of the kids are down to bed and Barret's studying for school (although he does need help with homework from time to time), and by that time I'm thoroughly exhausted. This weekend while Victoria was gone I decided I'd try to work on the assignment in the middle of the day when the girls were napping and Barret was at a high-school football game. No sooner had I sat down to get settled in than Poppy got up from her nap to ask me to help her go to the bathroom. After that was finished and I settled back down again, she got up to tell me she couldn't fall asleep. I told her that was fine and that she could read some books, which she did... for awhile. She then came out and said she was out of books, so I told her she could work (play) on the computer. I got her situated, and then sat down again to work on my goal. A few minutes into that, Poppy yelled out to tell me that the computer was broken. I got up to "fix" it and pull up her website for her (www.Disney.com). Now, after the umpteenth time, I reframed my thoughts and started to gear up again on my objective. Not more than a few minutes later Poppy walked around the corner into my eye's view and said that she was thirsty. At that moment I looked up at her, put my hands behind my head, reared back and gave a great big sigh pushing enormous volumes of air through my mouth so as a create the sound of a rushing wind. Poppy looked down at the ground, turned around and slowly walked away. My heart sunk and I instantaneously realized that I was completely in the wrong, o' selfish one that I am.

Some might think that I was too lenient in the first place. I know Poppy's intentions (or at least I think I do), and she wasn't asking for anything unreasonable for a four-year old. I sat there in my chair for awhile and decided to shrug it off and get back into my project; I figured she was going to be out of sight for awhile now that she finally got the message that she was messing with my time. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't concentrate and my conscious, the Spirit of the living God, tugged on my heart to reach out to that little forlorn girl and give her what she needed the whole time, her Daddy. I packed my things, closed everything up, and found Poppy sitting at the computer trying to enjoy her on-line game. I knelt on two knees, turned the volume of the computer down, steered the chair in my direction so we were facing eye-to-eye, and asked her, "Did Daddy hurt your feelings?" She affirmed what I already knew was the case, and nodded up and down while gazing at me with those big, brown Chinese eyes of hers. I sullenly said, "I'm so sorry, Qiao Qiao. Daddy was selfish, and you didn't do anything wrong. Will you forgive me for thinking of myself before you?" Silent at first, she eventually said, "I forgive you, Daddy." I hugged her while she reciprocally squeezed my neck and I said, "I love you, Poppy". She said, "I love you too, Daddy". We then gleefully played together the rest of the afternoon.

I cherish these tender, humbling moments. I learned more in that brief exchange and interlude with Poppy than I could have ever learned had I been granted uninterrupted quiet time to complete my task at hand. It's good to be a parent. Who am I to be the most fortunate man on earth? (The project sat on the shelf the rest of the weekend until Victoria returned, right where it should have remained the whole time.)

Needfully instructed by a four-year-old ("Thank you, God!"),

Tom

Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair

Annie's about to start another quarter of school at CalPOLY San Luis Obispo on Monday. Victoria decided it might be a good idea to spend some stress-free time with her before studies steal her mind for the next ten weeks. I gladly agreed to stay home and take care of the Willow and Poppy, and of course Barret. I love these special times with the kids because we're able to connect in a different dimension than when their mother is around. Don't get me wrong, I am a far cry from a substitute for Victoria, and all three kids remind me of that in their own special way, especially when it comes to meal times. (Dad's cuisine is always a lot simpler than Mom's.)

There's another very practical way in which I could never make up for what Victoria does, and that' combing the girl's hair. Poppy's is easy; it's short and bobbed, so a few strokes of the comb and it falls right into place. The biggest challenge I have with Poppy's hair is making sure I put the clip in the right spot. Even then I don't think it's placed as perfectly as Victoria's.

Now Willow's hair is an entirely different matter. Whenever she wakes up from her sleep, whether night-time or a nap, we always say she looks like a dark version of The Adam's Family character "It". You can hardly make out her face with all of the hair covering her features, and it's usually a matted mess. Now "It" on The Adam's Family also had hair that covered "its" face, but it was always neatly groomed. Not Willow's. So one of my biggest fears about being a stay-at-home dad when Victoria's gone is having to take Willow out in public without her hair looking as cute as the perfect pig-tails Victoria pulls; you know, the symmetrical kind that flare out and bounce every time Willow takes a step? I'm tellin' ya, she doesn't get much cuter than that. But as Clint Eastwood once said, "A man's got to know his limitations", and I certainly know mine when it comes to the girl's hair. So I don't even try to mimic Victoria's fashion style on Willow, and I just go for the simplistic look. If I could, I'd let it flow down naturally with a little clip near her forehead to keep the hair out of her face. But that doesn't last too long with a bouncy Willow-tree, so I had to come up with a different solution. Combing the hair is hard enough because I hurt her poor little scalp with every stroke. She's brave and doesn't cry, but I know she's writhing in pain from my less-than-delicate manly ways of getting tangles out of that matted mess. Once all of the hair is knot free, I have the challenge of figuring out what I'm going to do next. Since pig-tails are out, I decided I'd try something new this weekend and I put it in a ponytail. It wasn't a ponytail made with a rubber band, but rather one pinched together with one of those ponytail clips that squeezes tight and then snaps into place. I figured I finally came up with a good solution to dealing with Willow's hair in Victoria's absence, until... she got in her car seat and decided to put her head back on the rest thereby catching the clip and pulling her hair all out of place. I give up, and have decided that she's going to have to look ragged while Mom's out. She'll remain my signature poster-child for why dad's (especially me) just can't make up for the wonder and the beauty of a mom.

Poppy's handling Victoria's absence fairly well in contrast to previous departures, but she did exhibit a morose affect when going to bed tonight, knowing it would still be another 24 hours before her favorite person in the whole wide world walked across that threshold of 15 Hartwood Court.

"Hurry Home, Sweetie! I can't comb one more head of hair."

'Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair

Flow it, show it

Long as God can grow it

My hair."

Love,

Tom

Let's Get Married!

I've always been one of those dads that wants their kids to get as much out of life as possible, and as long as they're in my home and I can have some influence over that I will encourage them to explore just about anything their minds can imagine (within reason of course). I guess that's because I grew up in a similar environment. My dad always challenged me to reach for my dreams and he wasn't afraid to stretch my boundaries beyond most parents' comfort zones, especially my mom's. By way of example I was scuba-diving on solo overnight excursions near remote Philippine islands when I was 14 and sky-diving by the time I was 16. Every time I walked back through that front door after testing my limits I know my mother breathed a sigh of relief. How any of us survive childhood is a miracle in and of itself, and certainly a testament to the grace of God.

In that same vein, for many years I have imbibed the cultural phenomenon that it's better to wait a long time before children get married. Never mind my own example by marrying Victoria when I was but 23 and she 24 (yes, she robbed the cradle). I wanted my kids to go for the gusto, reach for the stars and get as much out of life's experience as possible before settling down with a spouse. Deep down I know my children knew I felt this way. We even joked about it from time to time (they were joking to see if I'd crack, but I wasn't joking at all). I bought our cultural indoctrination hook, line and sinker without really giving it a critical thought. I've since come a full 180 degrees on that position.

Here's my rationale for changing my mind, and I'll start with myself:

1. Looking back over the last 27-plus years of my married life, they've been better than all the exhilaration I collectively experienced before I got married. Sure, free-falling at terminal velocity with your face toward the earth and nothing between you but the passing distance of air that gets squeezed with each fleeting second is extreme, but what's that momentary pleasure compared to an endless bounty of love standing by your side? It's incomparable. And who am I fooling to think that there's just as much, if not more to life than being single and selfishly indulging myself over giving myself over to someone else? What a fool I was.
2. And then there's the whole sex-crazed cancer that has infiltrated the minds of most young people that men and women must "test the waters" before settling down with only one. What is that? That's all the more reason young people ought to consider getting married much earlier than the statistical norm, to avoid the temptation of doing precisely what the tempter dressed in sheep's clothing would have us do.
3. Finally there's the whole notion that men and women must be financially secure before they enter into matrimony. So just when does that happen? I'm no more financially secure today than I was 27 years ago. Sure, I have more money, but that doesn't make me financially secure. Life is a risk, and every day I wake up I walk by faith that God will supply all of my/our needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus (cf. Philippians 4:19).

So here's to Austin and Meagan, married at almost the exact same age as Victoria and me, and here's to all of those other young people who have chosen to marry young by contrast to American standards. I know I'm swimming up-stream on this one, but that's where I feel most comfortable. (So what else is new?)

I'm journaling about this to go on record and set the record straight with my children, not to mention that I ask for their forgiveness for impressing upon them a random expectation that has nothing to do with a Biblical worldview. May God erase my wrongs, and permit my children to live in the liberty of what's good and right in Jesus.

Getting this off my chest,

Tom

What Would We Ever Do Without Willow?

"What would we ever do without Willow?", Victoria asked Barret and me yesterday as we sat in our backyard enjoying some of her infamous bruschetta (one of Austin & Barret's favorite "Mom-recipes"). Behind Victoria in my immediate view was Willow bouncing like A. A. Milne's Tigger of Winnie-the-Pooh. As I got up to rotate some chicken on the BBQ both Barret and I said almost simultaneously and in unison, "I don't know what we'd do without her." "Life just wouldn't be the same, would it, Honey?", asked Victoria. "Not at all, Sweetie. Not at all," I said.

Yesterday was Willow's day, her birthday that is. Three years old (give or take a day or two here or there). Somewhere around this time over a thousand days ago in Wu Wei, Gansu, China, Wu Hui Xuan was left on the front entrance of the local orphanage, no doubt with the hope to be found and promise for a different life. Cleft lip and pallet exposed, she became a ward of the State with a future unknown. By that time we had already had Poppy for about four to five months, and adopting another was quite the furthest thing from our mind as we already had our hands full with a dramatic change in lifestyle.

But God was already at work, orchestrating and crafting a union that would occur 19 months later with a strange family from Lafayette, California. That first encounter was frightening for all of us, but most of all Willow. Her cautious and pensive spirit exhibited during those first hours and days have all but vaporized today. The girl we came to know in a foreign hotel in Lanzhou is not the same girl we know now. Either way, either girl, we would have been thrilled, but God keeps unfolding layers of her onion that reveal precious jewels unseen at first glance. Her joyful charisma, independent confidence and loving, tender sensitivity are blossoming right before our very eyes. She's brought a dynamic to our family that is difficult to imagine ever being without. In fact, it's almost hard to remember what life in the Kruggel home was like before she came into it.

Yesterday Willow opened numerous gifts that brought just as much pleasure to Poppy as they did her. But in a very real sense it was our birthday because her gift to us is unmatched by anything anyone could purchase. We honestly don't know what we'd ever do without Willow.

Happy Birthday Our Little Willow-Tree,

Dad & Mom (& Austin, Meagan, Annie, Barret & Poppy)

25 Years

Twenty-five years ago today I timidly walked into an opulent high-rise office building in the Emerald City wearing my fresh, newly purchased Nordstrom navy blue pinstriped suit, stiffly starched white shirt, red power tie and black wing-tipped shoes. Broke and in debt from my un-Tom Kruggel-ish apparel purchase, I was both petrified and exuberant at the genesis of my new job with Hines. Completely outside of my element, a relatively recent social services post graduate was entering into the juxtaposed realm of corporate America. Having no idea what I was doing or whether I belonged, I said to myself, "I'll give this six months, and if I don't like it I'm outta here. Besides this couldn't possibly be where God wants me anyway."

Last night, although exhausted I couldn't fall to sleep. I always figure those are moments when the Spirit is particularly active in my heart and I must pause and listen. To what? I don't know, but I usually start talking to myself. Sulking in a moment of "quiet desperation" (Henry David Thoreau) I began to ask, "Is this it?" "Yes, and no", I believe He says. My life-long paradigms of myself are completely shattered. God's awfully good at that and constantly in the business of reframing my sense of purpose. I can't help but wonder if there's more. In a weird sense, I sort of like this tension. I get bored when I'm comfortable.

Actually, I'm quite content knowing that God has sovereign- ly put one foot in front of the other, day by day, week by week, month by month and year by year. He's led me to and sustained me in this place called Hines. If it were not for Jesus, I might believe that this is Nirvana because I'm confident no other place like Hines exists for those desiring best in class real estate experience with some of the finest people that walk the face of the earth. And provisionally, they've cared for me like none other. To this day I still feel overpaid.

But where I'm not content is believing that this is it. There's more, much more, but I don't know what it is. Victoria, Austin, Annie, Barret, Poppy, Willow, and now Meagan are my greatest joys more over and above Hines, but there's still yet more. So, I'm compelled to keep working, to keep pushing, to keep striving and to keep investing with a glimmer of faith and hope that I'm accomplishing something of eternal value even though I don't see it.

I'm taking today as a gift from God, and I'm asking for more, that my heart would be broken by the things that break His. And in that broken estate, I'm asking Him to make me courageous enough, brave enough to do something about it.

At 25 years, I either get a Rolex watch or a paid vacation. I'm taking the vacation with the love of my life, Victoria. Who needs another watch?

Twenty-five years and counting,

Tom