Periodic Pyrotechnics

"Did you know that fifth graders are tested on the Periodic Table?" I asked my son. Though he is home-schooled, he still takes the state's standardized tests each year, mostly to make the charter school that supports our home-schooling efforts look better.

"How am I supposed to know the periodic table?" he asked feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

"Study it," I said. So he did. That's the beauty of homeschooling. No classroom, no rows of desks. Just enjoyment of learning. His studies started online and eventually led him to his favorite place on Earth, the library.

One Saturday afternoon I drove him to his home-away-from-home where he was greeted by name and handed his stack of books without even asking for them. With his favorite physical location being the actual library, his favorite cyber location must be the library website where he reserves books ahead of time so he can pick them up several times a week.

On this particular trip, he filled his basket with about 30 books with names like "He" and "O" and, his favorite,  "Uuo." "Did you get one book for each element?" I asked looking over his pile.

"No." he responded. His face already buried in a book, though he was still standing at the counter.

"So how did you decide which ones to get?"

"I just kept picking books about different elements them until my card was full."

"Makes sense," I said more to myself than to him since he was reading. "Don't you think we should check out those books?"

The librarian, sitting behind the counter glanced up, hands on the keyboard, and said, "What's your card number, Zach?"

With his face still in the book, Zach began reciting the 15-digit number. "00327426...." Frantically typing, the librarian recorded all the digits and started scanning bar codes to assign the books to him.

Some people might wonder if he actually absorbs what he reads if he's getting all those technical books at once. Well, I have evidence that he absorbs everything.

A few days ago while we were in the car, Zach piped up with one of his seemingly random questions. "If I held a flame up to a fart, would it burn?" he asked with genuine curiosity evident in his voice.

"Actually, yes," I replied. "What made you ask that?"

Now here's the part where I know he understands what he reads. Most kids these days would say something like, "This kid at school told me because his big brother did it." Others might say, "I saw it on YouTube." Not my son.

"Well," he began. "In a book I read about hydrogen it said that farts were made out of hydrogen sulfide. Since hydrogen is really flammable, I figured farts must burn."

"That makes perfect sense, but don't try it," I warned rather sternly. "You really don't want to get burned that way."

Then we switched to the sulfide part and talked about why they stink. You gotta love homeschooling!

What kind of random bits of information do your kids like to discuss? Let me know in the comments below.

Plumber's But

I have two items at the top of my "Least Favorite Chore List." They are in a dead tie and have remained firmly fixed in that position for at least the last 25 years. I developed a dislike for digging as a result of digging one too many holes for my dad as a teenager and I learned to hate painting the first time I tried it and realized the mess I had to clean up at the end was uglier than the unpainted wall that I started with. I hate them both equally, so I have allowed the number one spot on the list to remain a tie all these years.

Just below the coveted number one position held by painting and digging is number two: plumbing. Plumbing is best defined as a series of messes that result in mistakes which result in more messes. And that's what I got to do last weekend. Our kitchen faucet has been dying a slow death over the last few months. It's decline began with a few small drips. Then the fatal illness advanced to a stuck handle and finally to the low water pressure phase. Its fate was ultimately sealed a few days ago when my wife was shopping for food at Costco and found a new faucet. Right about now, the Costco faithful are all saying, "I know which faucet you got! We saw it in the coupon book last week." And you'd be right.

And that brings me to my story. Last Saturday I got to climb under the kitchen sink and try to put wrenches where wrenches don't fit as I forced my arms to bend at unnatural angles while water spontaneously poured down on my face.  I called upon my now eleven-year-old son a few times to help hold things up top while I turned things down below (usually the wrong way because I was disoriented lying on my back.) Did I mention that plumbing was number two on my "Least Favorite Chore List?" As I struggled with a non-compliant nut on the old faucet, I must have been grunting because my wife walked by and asked, "Do you need Zach to help you again?"

"Not unless he knows how to cuss," I replied. "Because that's all I need right now." Mom didn't send him. And that's when I realized what "Plumber's But" really is. Plumber's But, has nothing to do with ill-fitting pants. It's more closely aligned with Murphy's Law than with Levi Strauss. Plumber's But is the phenomenon that occurs when one is lying prone beneath a sink with arms entangled in a mass of pipes and suddenly realizes, "I had the nut ready to thread onto the bolt, BUT I dropped it" or  "BUT I was sure I left that wrench lying right on my belly so I could reach it easily the next time I needed it." Or my favorite, "These nuts were all standard sizes when I installed them ten years ago, BUT now they're all metric!"

There are a lot of BUTs that occur while one is plumbing, but the most frustrating one is "BUT I thought that connection was tight enough." Anyone who has ever been under a sink knows all about these inevitable annoyances.  As far as I'm concerned there really is no way to avoid Plumber's But. The best a man can do is hope the But doesn't rear its ugly head too many times as you lie on the bottom of a cabinet thinking this job is a real pain in the...neck.

What kind of chores are on your "Least Favorite Chore List?"

Blue Dress Socks

There comes a time in every man's life when he knows he is getting old. For some it comes in the form of gray hair showing up around the temples. For others, it might be a bald spot making its presence known. For others, it's when children hit significant milestones in life. I checked all three of those off my list a long time ago and still didn't feel that old, until last week. This was the week when I realized that I really am getting old.

The weather has been nice and the days are getting longer. Along with that, the yard maintenance hiatus I enjoyed during the winter has ended and spring is in full bloom. That means the lawn needs regular mowing and hedges need their semi-annual trim. One day last week I came home from work ready to tackle some of these pressing issues.

One of life's greatest joys is coming home at the end of the day and climbing out of the stuffy attire required in the workplace and into a comfortable pair of jeans. On this particular day, I picked a well-worn pair that would allow me to work freely in the yard without fear that my wife would scold me for ruining another pair of new jeans. It was as I was changing that I realized I was indeed old. One sign of old age that I haven't yet mentioned is that you start to care more about function and ease than about fashion.  That's why you see elastic waistbands and velcro shoes in vogue at IHOP between four and five every afternoon.

With the jeans in place and a t-shirt on, I glanced down at the dark blue dress socks that still remained from my previous attire and thought to myself, "Who cares?" No one was going to see my socks while I was trimming hedges so why bother changing them? Wearing blue dress socks with jeans and running shoes doesn't make you old. Not being embarrassed about it does. I must be old.

So, thirty-seven years into my life I can proudly and publicly say that I am not ashamed of my blue dress socks! Are you confident enough in your own manhood to join me in this? Will you stand up to all the trendy soccer moms and travel-ball dads and tell them that after five o'clock, fashion doesn't matter. It's my home and my yard, and, doggone it, they're my feet and I'll do with them as I darn well please. Long live the blue dress sock!

Exasperated

With five kids in the family, life can get hectic at times, but between my wife and I, we do a pretty good job of managing things. As a matter of fact, our household, with all its quirks,  runs more smoothly than many smaller households, primarily out of necessity. Even though our family works very well together, there are still days when Mom and Dad are just plain worn out. 

We were experiencing one of those worn out days last week. As we sat down to a lively dinner after a hectic flurry of activity that had dominated the day I playfully announced to the family that the parents were tired and that we were invoking the Proverbs 32 rule. If you are wondering what the Proverbs 32 rule is, well it can be found in Proverbs 32 and it says, "Parents, ignore your children in the Lord for this is right." 

"You can't ignore us!" four-year-old Justin said with a big grin. 

"Oh yes I can. I'm the dad," I replied. 

"I think it sounds like a great plan," Mom said. "I'm tired and want to pretend there are no kids tonight." 

"It doesn't say to ignore us," six-yer-old Cami said with a suspicious grin. 

"Sure it does," I replied. "Look it up." With that, our oldest son, Zach, jumped up and made a run for his Bible. 

"Hey!" he shouted from his bedroom. "Proverbs doesn't have a chapter 32. There's only 31 chapters!" Then he came out to the living room and turned the pages for a minute until he found what he was looking for. "Here it is," he said. "Ephesians 6:4. Fathers, do not exasperate your children."

Uh-oh, time to think fast. With no quick response forming in my head, I resorted to childhood rule #37. That's the rule that every kid learns on the playground while playing dodge ball: When something is coming at you hard and fast, get out of the way. 

"Are you sure there's no Proverbs 32?" I asked dodging the exasperation comment. "Maybe it's in First Hesitations."

"Daddy!" Cami moaned. "There's no First Hesitations, I learned that in Awana."

"Well, there should be," I said. "And it should say something about parents ignoring their children every once in a while."

"You can't ignore us," Justin reminded me with the grin returning to his face. 

"Somehow, I think you're right," I said. "Although sometimes it sounds like a good idea. How, 'bout Plan B?" 

"What's Plan B?" the kids asked. 

"Tomorrow night, you go to Grandma and Grandpa's for dinner while Mommy and Daddy go out to dinner with no kids!" And with that, the whole family was happy. 

-----

Ephesians 6:1 - Children, obey your parents in the Lord for this is right. 

Ephesians 6:4 - Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord. 

She Did it Again!

Last week I told the story of how my nine-year-old daughter, Maddie, made the most of a difficult situation. If you haven't read Packing Heat yet, you may want to do that before reading this post because she's done it again.

You know that she loves her new pocket knife. She won't go anywhere without it, but those darn dresses and the lack of pockets make it a challenge. This week she kept the knife hidden from me all through church, but she did manage to show Grandma at some point.

After church we went out for pizza with Grandma and Grandpa. An elderly lady, a long time friend,  came with us. As we were wrapping things up, Grandma said to Maddie, "Show Roberta what you got for your birthday." And this is when she again gave me great pause.

Immediately her left hand pulled the collar of her dress out while her right hand plunged deep inside. Now, I've seen women do this move before and they usually pull out a cell phone or roll of cash, or something else that needs very safe keeping, but I know my little girl and I know what's she's not wearing under her dress, so I was momentarily baffled by her storage strategy. Sure enough, seconds later she pulls the little blue Swiss Army knife out and hands it to Roberta. And then I saw how she had done it.

Her particular variety of knife is the keychain version. Maddie had capitalized on this aspect of the design and cut a length of blue yarn to loop through the ring. She then tied the ends together and slipped the yarn around her neck with the knife tucked safely away inside her dress. The best part was that the yarn upon which she attached her knife was light blue, the same color as her dress.

If she grows up to join the FBI, I'm sure she will be the first to create a line of girly shoulder holsters that can be mixed and matched to properly accessorize any outfit.

Reckless Abandon

Pop culture is full of passing fads. When I was a kid back in the early 90s all the cool kids had their pants tightly rolled up at the ankle. I was convinced that this was not a passing fad and that I would likely get married in red Reebok high tops with my tuxedo pants pegged as my suspenders hung uselessly by my legs. A few years later, those same kids were buying pants that were five sizes too big and were wide enough at the bottom to fit a few friends inside. Looking back now, it was all stupid, but it seemed so important back then. Except for the Reeboks. Those would still be cool. 

As a homeschool family, my kids are somewhat sheltered from the whims of cultural change. Social opportunities abound, but peer pressure is at a minimum. My kids aren't dorky, but they don't know what the cool brands are, nor do they care. On the upside, they will never look back at old photos of themselves and wonder why they ever had that mullet and Z. Cavaricci pants. They don't crave the latest style fads and they don't idolize teenage pop stars who glamorize lives of narcissistic stupidity. 

The latest fad to hit the elementary school where I work captures the culture of today's youth perfectly. We all know the YMCA and the Chicken Dance. Most of us are familiar with the Macarena. This most recent craze is known as the Harlem Shake. On the surface, it appears harmless enough. Boys and girls aren't even dancing face-to-face and the kids are having a good time. Some are more animated than others, but none have rhythm. Others stand innocently on the sidelines watching the action, thankful that the bystanders will never have to deal with a future love interest finding them on YouTube. 

What bothers me about this particular dance is the loss of control that it symbolizes. In order to perform the Harlem Shake, the dancer throws his shoulders back and lets his arms go completely limp. He then begins to shake his shoulders back and forth as his arms flop about like a fish dying on the deck of a boat. Again, this sounds innocent enough, but, at the risk of sounding like a prude, I'm going to examine it further. 

In the name of fun, kids are being taught to let go of their inhibitions as they let their arms just go where they may. While engaged in the Harlem Shake, kids aren't responsible for their actions. They don't know exactly what their arms will do, and it's socially acceptable at that moment. In fifth grade it's a simple dance, but how far is that from drinking alcohol to knock out inhibitions? Or taking drugs? 

I know it's a stretch, and this isn't meant to be a condemnation of a dance. Rather, this is a commentary on culture. One dance isn't going to turn kids into drug-fueled alcoholics.  Nor is it likely to significantly alter the course of anyone's life. What the Harlem Shake is, however, is a picture of all the messages kids are receiving from peers, the media, their music, and all that the world has to offer. "Just do what feels good. Let your inhibitions go. You're not responsible for your actions." These are the messages that bombard our kids everyday. 

Our duty as parents is to shield our kids from such messages when possible, and to guide them through a logical and godly analysis of them when it's not. I’m not a perfect parent and my kids aren’t perfect kids, but I can hold my head up high and say that I am proud of what I have taught them and what they, in turn, have taught me.  Maybe it's time we all take a closer look at what the rest of the world is teaching our kids. 

Packing Heat

Switzerland is not presently known for its military dominance, but their army has given the world a gadget that has infiltrated many a pocket. Since its inception in 1891, the Swiss Army knife has become about as ubiquitous a tool as the hammer or screwdriver.

Several months ago, my son completed the requirements to carry a pocket knife as part of the Cub Scouts.  Though he was only ten years old, we felt that he was responsible enough to be trusted with one and, as a homeschooler, we wouldn't have to worry about him making national headlines for bringing a knife to school.  When Christmas rolled around, Zach was presented with his very own Swiss Army knife. As we expected, he has used it carefully and has never had a problem with it.

As is true in many families, the eldest often serves as the trailblazer. Once the knife trail had been blazed, followers were needed. My oldest daughter, Maddie, quickly stepped up to the plate. "Daddy," she began, "I want a pocket knife for my birthday."

"I responded the way any normal father would. "Mom and I will discuss it," I said. So we did and in the end, our sweet little nine-year-old girl got her very own Swiss Army knife.  A pocket knife is easy for a boy since jeans have pockets. Girls, on the other hand, have some difficulty as their dresses and skirts aren't always equipped with the prerequisite pocket that is necessary for a pocket knife to fulfill its function. Not to worry, my artistic daughter quickly fashioned a wrist purse out of scraps of fabric and ribbon that was just big enough for one knife. 

Today at church I noticed that she was wearing a new birthday dress, but didn't have her handy purse on her wrist. "Oh, well," I assumed. "She must have left her knife at home today." How wrong I was.  It all became clear partway through the sermon, when I noticed that she had repurposed her bulletin and made it into a flute. The flute, however, wouldn't be complete until it had holes in the top of it. Being the resourceful girl she is, she hiked up the left side of her new dress, ran her hand all the way up her thigh and pulled out a shiny Swiss Army knife. 

I've seen that move in spy movies before when the leading lady pulls out a hidden weapon during the party at a foreign embassy, but this was my daughter! My mind immediately started thinking about thigh holsters and hidden scabbards.  What other surprises did my little girl have hidden? She knits. Did she have knitting needles taped to her leg? She likes to bake. Could there be a rolling pin somewhere? "Where did you have that?" I whispered, maybe a little too loudly. 

"In my pocket," she said innocently as she revealed the shorts she had put on underneath her dress. 

"Don't do that during church," I said turning my attention back to the twenty-third Psalm. "And if you have any other gadgets in there, leave them alone."

By the time we got home, the knife was tucked safely back in its pocket, hidden from view by the dress and the flute was complete with all the necessary holes. I know Maddie wants nothing more than to grow up to be a mommy, but for a brief moment today, I feared she might pursue a career in covert affairs. Perhaps this is God's way of telling us it's time to add to the family again, just to ensure that her maternal instincts don't grow stagnant