To unbridled...
And from shy...
To eventually gung-ho, with some gentle prodding.
One thing is for sure though—it's an experience we all look forward to watching, together!
Showing posts with label tres. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tres. Show all posts
Thursday
Chocolate Cake - A Tradition
At our house, celebrating your first birthday means that, in addition to receiving tons of extra coo-ing attention and dozens of presents, you get to stuff your face with chocolate cake while people watch and snap photos.
Past reactions to this occurrence in our family have ranged from tentative...
Evacuate!
We were so happy to get to take a family trip to Walk Disney World in Orlando Florida this fall. The older three had been anticipating it for a long time, and we surprised them when we decided to go ahead and book a trip and leave Cuatro (still only two) at home.
The flight and arrival at our hotel went without too much fanfare, and so on the first morning, bright and early, we made our trek into the Magic Kingdom.
After a few rides like Mad Hatter's Tea Cups and Dumbo, we were all ready to upgrade. We hurried to our next planned destination, a fun kid-sized coaster with some decent hills and speed called Goofy's Barnstormer.
There was only a 15-minute wait, so we got right into line. The kids were very excited since none of them (believe it or not!) had ever ridden a roller coaster of any size.
After we curled our way up through the aisles and approached the loading area, we broke up into groups of two (and one, me) and got strapped into our seats.
As we launched out of the loading barn, I commented to Tres in the seat in front of me, "Here we go! Your first roller coast- ..."
As the words came out of my mouth, we ground to an abrupt halt.
There was nothing obviously wrong with the ride: No trains stuck in front of us, debris on the track, etc. We just sat there, unable to move an inch.
In a few moments, the frazzled and bewildered Disney staff began to trickle out of the loading area and down to us, as we sat helpless in our seats. They seemed to be as just clueless as we were regarding the stoppage.
Twenty minutes later, Orlando firefighters arrived with ladders to humorously evacuate us from the ride. We were escorted out a back exit, and given free Fast Passes good at any attraction in the entire Disney resort complex.
The kids would have to wait till later in the day to ride their first coaster. We returned back to the exact same ride right after lunch—just as the pent-up rain finally began to fall in buckets, completely soaking us to the bone as we zoomed around the track!
It's safe to say none of us will ever forget those two infamous rides on Goofy's Barnstormer ever again.
The flight and arrival at our hotel went without too much fanfare, and so on the first morning, bright and early, we made our trek into the Magic Kingdom.
 |
| Goofy's Barnstormer roller coaster in Disney's Magic Kingdom. |
 |
| Entrance to The Barnstormer. |
There was only a 15-minute wait, so we got right into line. The kids were very excited since none of them (believe it or not!) had ever ridden a roller coaster of any size.
 |
As we launched out of the loading barn, I commented to Tres in the seat in front of me, "Here we go! Your first roller coast- ..."
As the words came out of my mouth, we ground to an abrupt halt.
There was nothing obviously wrong with the ride: No trains stuck in front of us, debris on the track, etc. We just sat there, unable to move an inch.
In a few moments, the frazzled and bewildered Disney staff began to trickle out of the loading area and down to us, as we sat helpless in our seats. They seemed to be as just clueless as we were regarding the stoppage.
Twenty minutes later, Orlando firefighters arrived with ladders to humorously evacuate us from the ride. We were escorted out a back exit, and given free Fast Passes good at any attraction in the entire Disney resort complex.
 |
| Uno being evacuated from the ride. |
 |
| Dos being helped off. |
It's safe to say none of us will ever forget those two infamous rides on Goofy's Barnstormer ever again.
Tuesday
In a Tight Spot
I'm blessed to have folks who take us all on a week-long family vacation every summer. Odd-numbered years we visit the ocean. Even-numbered years we trek deep into the wilds of Appalachia. The Bluegrass State is the setting for this next story...
The name of the competition was simply entitled "The Squeeze Box."
A device vaguely resembling a Middle Ages torture chamber was waiting in the center of the concrete slab. And, as the park ranger calmly explained, it was designed to test out how tight of a spot you could squeeze through. It is often employed in caving training, used to gauge just how thin of a passage you can reasonably expect to pass through once you actually are in action.
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| Waiting for the competition to begin. |
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| Dos was chomping at the bit to have her shot. |
The contest worked this way: Each child would make an attempt to navigate the 8-foot long passageway at a specific height. Those who succeeded would proceed to the next round, when the height would be lowered again slightly and everyone would go through again.
Think: limbo for the non-claustrophobic!
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| Uno attempts to pass Round 1. |
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| Dos works the small space in an effort to pass Round 2. |
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| Success for Dos in Round 2! |
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| Tres had to be evacuated from the chamber in Round 2. |
As each round came and went, the number of contestants shrank until only a handful remained. Uno and Dos were among the finalists. At the 6" mark, Uno had to bow out along with several others. She received a round of applause, and sat down satisfied that she had made her best effort.
Dos and one other adventurous (and thin!) girl were the only ones left standing for the 5 1/2" inch round.
The buzz around the picnic area was palpable as the finalists prepared to enter the Squeeze Box at a seemingly impossible height. The park ranger announced that this dimension would be the lowest ever recorded at the park. It was hard to imagine how a human skull could even pass through a spot that tight. And, that was indeed the case for the first of the two finalists. She gracefully retired from the competition after only a few seconds.
When the moment of truth arrived, Dos passed from one end of the chamber to the other like a greased pig. The outcome was never in doubt, and as she triumphantly emerged with a huge grin on her face, she was presented with a prize shirt, congratulations from the park staff and a rousing applause from all the observers!
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| Dos was the Squeeze Box champion! Here she is wearing the trophy shirt prize to prove it. |
Friday
Aquaphobia
For Tres, aquaphobia started early.
At 18 months old, he found himself face down in about 3 feet of water. I had taken all 3 of my kids at the time to a public indoor pool in the dead of winter by myself. That head-shaking decision alone is worthy of another droll blog post.
One moment he was sitting next to me safely on the side of the pool. The next, he was in it.
He was only submerged for a few seconds, but I believe it has taken a year for each of those eternal seconds that he was under for him to recover.
As time passed, we started to realize the aquaphobia was quite real when he refused to bathe. He simply would not get his head wet. For any reason. The mere mention of a shower would elicit shrieks.
Summer vacations were a bit of a drag for him. Most of them surrounded swimming or various water activities, and despite many attempts at easing him back in, he contented himself by loitering at the edges and playing by himself.
One year at the Outer Banks of North Carolina, I forced him into the outdoor shower with me to rinse the caked sand from his body. My extended family still describes the screams that drifted upwards into the living area from the first floor of our beach house with wonder.
-----------------------------
It all came to head a year ago. We had returned to the ocean for yet another week of fun and blistering temperatures, complete with loads of beach equipment, umbrellas and toys. We employed our refined tactics to once again try to cajole Tres into the water. Not much ground was gained, if any.
At one point on the last day, I grabbed him and physically carried him out with me into the waist-deep waves, wearing his full-body Spiderman swimming suit — complete with flotation devices inserted into every possible crevice to try to assuage his fears.
Let's just say the entire population of Duck, NC stopped to observe. As the cries and erratic moans echoed up and down the shore, I realized the optics of this attempt were not good. I got several looks from strangers ranging from disbelief to pity.
-----------------------------
This past fall, we enrolled our three oldest, reluctantly including Tres, in swimming lessons. As fate would have it, we returned to the exact same pool where the unfortunate incident had occurred several years prior.
What ensued may well be the first instance of swimming lessons where the participant emphatically refused to even enter the water.
-----------------------------
And then, after years of attempts, the breakthrough happened. My wife and I had slowly given up on the effort to immerse Tres in the rewarding activity of actually getting wet. And, as it happens so often with kids, that is when progress really began.
Out of nowhere, Tres began to jump into the water. In a matter of a week, he was doggy-paddling himself around in areas he could not touch. He started giving himself showers, and shampooing his head - himself.
Today, he is back in swimming lessons for a second time—and loving every minute of it. The aquaphobia is finally gone - but the memories and stories will last forever.
At 18 months old, he found himself face down in about 3 feet of water. I had taken all 3 of my kids at the time to a public indoor pool in the dead of winter by myself. That head-shaking decision alone is worthy of another droll blog post.
One moment he was sitting next to me safely on the side of the pool. The next, he was in it.
He was only submerged for a few seconds, but I believe it has taken a year for each of those eternal seconds that he was under for him to recover.
As time passed, we started to realize the aquaphobia was quite real when he refused to bathe. He simply would not get his head wet. For any reason. The mere mention of a shower would elicit shrieks.
Summer vacations were a bit of a drag for him. Most of them surrounded swimming or various water activities, and despite many attempts at easing him back in, he contented himself by loitering at the edges and playing by himself.
One year at the Outer Banks of North Carolina, I forced him into the outdoor shower with me to rinse the caked sand from his body. My extended family still describes the screams that drifted upwards into the living area from the first floor of our beach house with wonder.
-----------------------------
It all came to head a year ago. We had returned to the ocean for yet another week of fun and blistering temperatures, complete with loads of beach equipment, umbrellas and toys. We employed our refined tactics to once again try to cajole Tres into the water. Not much ground was gained, if any.
 |
| Tres in his infamous Spiderman body swimming suit. This rare dip in the hot tub was the pinnacle of his water activities for the entire week at the ocean. |
At one point on the last day, I grabbed him and physically carried him out with me into the waist-deep waves, wearing his full-body Spiderman swimming suit — complete with flotation devices inserted into every possible crevice to try to assuage his fears.
Let's just say the entire population of Duck, NC stopped to observe. As the cries and erratic moans echoed up and down the shore, I realized the optics of this attempt were not good. I got several looks from strangers ranging from disbelief to pity.
-----------------------------
This past fall, we enrolled our three oldest, reluctantly including Tres, in swimming lessons. As fate would have it, we returned to the exact same pool where the unfortunate incident had occurred several years prior.
What ensued may well be the first instance of swimming lessons where the participant emphatically refused to even enter the water.
-----------------------------
And then, after years of attempts, the breakthrough happened. My wife and I had slowly given up on the effort to immerse Tres in the rewarding activity of actually getting wet. And, as it happens so often with kids, that is when progress really began.
Out of nowhere, Tres began to jump into the water. In a matter of a week, he was doggy-paddling himself around in areas he could not touch. He started giving himself showers, and shampooing his head - himself.
Today, he is back in swimming lessons for a second time—and loving every minute of it. The aquaphobia is finally gone - but the memories and stories will last forever.
Glam Rock Band Dress Up Session
My kids love to dress up. Plus, they have always had good imaginations. We encourage that interest by having a large trunk in the basement full of fun items, like cowboy hats, doctor kits, lace princess gowns, fireman boots, etc.
But sometimes - playing dressing up can go to a whole new level.
One Saturday, while trying to steal a few minutes alone in the living room so I could down a cup of coffee, some strange characters drifted in.
These bizarre individuals introduced each other as members of a new band. I wish I could remember the actual name of the band, but the pictures below speak for themselves.
But sometimes - playing dressing up can go to a whole new level.
One Saturday, while trying to steal a few minutes alone in the living room so I could down a cup of coffee, some strange characters drifted in.
These bizarre individuals introduced each other as members of a new band. I wish I could remember the actual name of the band, but the pictures below speak for themselves.
The Minnesota Stomach Bug Caper
The trip was planned. The bags and cartopper were all packed. We were heading out on a 700 mile road trip to visit my wife's sister and her new baby in the morning.
Little did we know what wonders were in store for us...
-------------------------
The evening before we left, I found myself watching old Batman episodes with the girls on YouTube. During the scene where a gigantic fake felt spider catches Robin in some sort of fishing-net-sized web, Dos asked us to pause the show and excused herself to the bathroom.
The rest is history.
Stomach flu is a horrible thing to have personally. It's worse when half a dozen people get it. It's a nightmare when it hits everyone in a daisy chain effect - and you're far from home.
We finally decided to go anyway the next morning. Only one of us was sick, right? My wife really wanted to see her new niece and have a chance to catch up with that entire side of the family. Plus, if we DIDN'T go, everyone would end up being fine. That's how these things work.
The trip was going decently well until Victim #2 was struck in Wisconsin. The staff at CVS would have been dismayed to learn the true use of the Toy Story Easter bucket we paid for as we ran back out to the car and resumed the trip.
Victim #3 decided to wait until the dead of night at a Super 8 in Janesville. The poor little guy spent most of the night awake—and since we were all stuffed into a 10 ft x 10 ft holding cell together—we all did.
The next day we arrived in Minnesota, exhausted but relieved. We had agreed to stay at a hotel for a while instead of crashing my wife's sister's house and spreading our family plague.
The three recovering victims hung out at the AmericInn hotel, watching TV and lounging around. A couple days passed and we began to breathe easier. The virus appeared to have died out. We had tempted fate and come to a draw.
We had some fun at a park with the cousins, and even ventured a visit to their actual home.
Victim #4 was my wife. She spent the next 24+ hours in agony, alone in the hotel. She was hit the worst and really was out of commission for the next few days.
The time came for all of us to face the reality of a return trip. Kids bounce back fast and by that time, the illness was just a happy memory for them.
I was feeling nearly invincible by this point. If I hadn't contracted the bug during a week of close quarters in the car and the hotel, I was pretty much good to go, I reasoned.
States fly by in the rearview mirror and we neared home. As we slowed to a halt in a Chicago traffic jam, that unmistakeable feeling dawned on me with all its fury: I was going down for the count, right there on the highway. I was Victim #5.
A quick perusal of my road atlas bore the startling news that there was not a rest area anywhere in our near future.
-------------------------
Late that night we were all safe at home, relieved. I lay on my back on the floor in our darkened living room and smiled weakly through the cramps, knowing that the Michigan Welcome Center would never be the same.
Little did we know what wonders were in store for us...
-------------------------
The evening before we left, I found myself watching old Batman episodes with the girls on YouTube. During the scene where a gigantic fake felt spider catches Robin in some sort of fishing-net-sized web, Dos asked us to pause the show and excused herself to the bathroom.
The rest is history.
Stomach flu is a horrible thing to have personally. It's worse when half a dozen people get it. It's a nightmare when it hits everyone in a daisy chain effect - and you're far from home.
We finally decided to go anyway the next morning. Only one of us was sick, right? My wife really wanted to see her new niece and have a chance to catch up with that entire side of the family. Plus, if we DIDN'T go, everyone would end up being fine. That's how these things work.
The trip was going decently well until Victim #2 was struck in Wisconsin. The staff at CVS would have been dismayed to learn the true use of the Toy Story Easter bucket we paid for as we ran back out to the car and resumed the trip.
Victim #3 decided to wait until the dead of night at a Super 8 in Janesville. The poor little guy spent most of the night awake—and since we were all stuffed into a 10 ft x 10 ft holding cell together—we all did.
The next day we arrived in Minnesota, exhausted but relieved. We had agreed to stay at a hotel for a while instead of crashing my wife's sister's house and spreading our family plague.
The three recovering victims hung out at the AmericInn hotel, watching TV and lounging around. A couple days passed and we began to breathe easier. The virus appeared to have died out. We had tempted fate and come to a draw.
We had some fun at a park with the cousins, and even ventured a visit to their actual home.
Victim #4 was my wife. She spent the next 24+ hours in agony, alone in the hotel. She was hit the worst and really was out of commission for the next few days.
The time came for all of us to face the reality of a return trip. Kids bounce back fast and by that time, the illness was just a happy memory for them.
I was feeling nearly invincible by this point. If I hadn't contracted the bug during a week of close quarters in the car and the hotel, I was pretty much good to go, I reasoned.
States fly by in the rearview mirror and we neared home. As we slowed to a halt in a Chicago traffic jam, that unmistakeable feeling dawned on me with all its fury: I was going down for the count, right there on the highway. I was Victim #5.
A quick perusal of my road atlas bore the startling news that there was not a rest area anywhere in our near future.
-------------------------
Late that night we were all safe at home, relieved. I lay on my back on the floor in our darkened living room and smiled weakly through the cramps, knowing that the Michigan Welcome Center would never be the same.
"Time to Shear the Sheep!"
That's what I text my brother-in-law whenever Tres needs a haircut. I think he has been conditioned to cringe slightly when that text comes through...
"Uncle A-A" has been cutting my boys' hair for years. It all started one October day when we finally noticed that our sweet 13-month-old could hardly see, because his golden white locks had grown so long. It had reached a tipping point.
AA came over to the house, we strapped Tres into his feeding chair and headed for the basement, knowing the debris would be substantial.
The second the clippers were fired up, we knew we in trouble. Tres began to violently attempt to get free of the chair, rocking back and forth and unleashing blood-curdling screams.
Repeated pleas and offerings of toys, treats and bribes were of little avail.
Thankfully we were surrounded by solid concrete block in the basement - the neighbors couldn't hear it, or we might have received an unwanted visit from the authorities.
With my wife and I holding him down, the majority of Tres' full head of hair was slowly but surely sheared off. The pile of fluffy white fur left on the ground looked like the disemboweled contents of a large stuffed animal.
Minutes later, the crying had somewhat subdued. As the clippers went back into the case and we all breathed a sign of relief, we stepped back and admired the results: A cute little guy who weighed a pound less and looked so much older!
"Uncle A-A" has been cutting my boys' hair for years. It all started one October day when we finally noticed that our sweet 13-month-old could hardly see, because his golden white locks had grown so long. It had reached a tipping point.
AA came over to the house, we strapped Tres into his feeding chair and headed for the basement, knowing the debris would be substantial.
The second the clippers were fired up, we knew we in trouble. Tres began to violently attempt to get free of the chair, rocking back and forth and unleashing blood-curdling screams.
Thankfully we were surrounded by solid concrete block in the basement - the neighbors couldn't hear it, or we might have received an unwanted visit from the authorities.
Minutes later, the crying had somewhat subdued. As the clippers went back into the case and we all breathed a sign of relief, we stepped back and admired the results: A cute little guy who weighed a pound less and looked so much older!
Thursday
Introducing My Four Awesome Kids
Yes, I'm probably a little bit overprotective, but oh well...
The kids you see are real... the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
They will be known on this blog as
Uno, Dos, Tres, and Cuatro
I look forward to sharing their hilarious stories with you from time to time. Stay tuned, make sure to follow this blog!
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