The Legend of The Claw

Macy, my middle child, is sneaky smart.  What I mean by that is that she has mastered skills that in older people would be considered ‘street smarts’ but having had little experience with the streets, street smarts doesn’t quite fit.  

In this example, Macy wanted a new pet.  She had a fish, Skeletor, who moved onto the great fishbowl in the sky and her class was celebrating “Critter Week”.  Not that Skeletor would have made an appearance, Macy saw an opening to repopulate her bedroom’s pet population.  

Her speedbump was her old man.  

The kids have a dog and a cat and to me that is more than enough.  Macy clearly disagrees.

“Daddy, can I get a hamster for Critter Week”

“No, honey.”

“What about a bird?”

“Nope”

“How about a turtle?”

“Uh-uh”

“A frog?”

“Not a chance, France”

Exasperated, she finally relented.  But remember, the kid is sneaky smart.  She knew that I would be out of town for a couple of days, and when it came to pets, my wife is a much softer target.  I thought she gave up, she merely bided her time.  

The second evening that I was gone I received a text, a video to be specific.  It opened with a small shell, sitting there innocent enough but then it sprouted legs and began crawling towards the camera.  I have seen a creature like this before, in my youth, the hermit crab. 

The adventure was just beginning.

When asked, I was told that the newest resident of Macy’s room was named ‘The Claw’.  Admittedly, I liked the name and warmed to the idea of our new, fantastically titled pet.  I said good night to the girls and went about my business.  Then next night I would get a much different phone call.

“How was Critter week?” I asked.

“Fine I guess.” Macy answered.

She didn’t sound fine. 

   

“Bad news, Dad” Macy reported. “The Claw escaped.”

I would go on to find out that the top of the cage was not clicked in properly, that “The Claw” was an excellent climber and that he/she hadn’t been seen in many hours. “The Claw” was free in my home.

48 Hours later I would return home, the hermit crab didn’t.  I helped Macy tear her room apart but deep down, I figured that a crab without water for three or four days didn’t stand a chance.  

Then another problem reared its head.  Otto, our dog was having severe stomach issues.  Perhaps the kind of stomach issues one might have if they ate raw shellfish and bits of shell.  Not sure but it seemed to fit.  

Macy must have assumed the same. She hung a sign on her door.

Do not enter

Crab Eaten

Very Sad

She asked me if I thought that Otto may have eaten the crab.  I said I didn’t know but I admitted that if he weren’t eaten, I would still assume him to be an ex-crab.

She asked if we could replace him.  I said that we could.  A couple of days later we went to the pet store and purchased a replacement that would come to be known as “Mister Crab”.  We discussed the cage and safety for the crustacean and returned home.  As we walked Mister Crab up the stairs to his new home, something stirred at the top of the stairs.

“The Claw” was literally making his way out of my bedroom and back into Macy’s.  The resilient little bastard had hung out in my house, unnoticed, for nearly a week.  I have to give it to “The Claw”, I was impressed.  The dog, the cat, starvation, dehydration, an accidental trip down the stairs, no misfortune befell my new little friend.  

The lesson here girls?  I don’t know, really.  Go behind my back and you can get what you want.  That’s not great.  If you ask nice enough I’ll replace an animal that you were super careless with?  I don’t suppose that works.  I know.  I’ll go with resilience.  What “The Claw” showed us is what resilience is.  He endured when his chips were down.  He persevered against the odds and in that he wound up making a friend.  I know that this lesson is razor thin, but I like the story and come to find out I like “The Claw”.  He is my leading candidate for house mascot, sorry Otto. 

Riot Act (Or How To Ruin The First Day of Spring Break)

I was prepared for this post to be about Disney fun and California adventures.  The best laid plans of Mickey mice and men.  Some weeks I look at my kids and think “my goodness, I know a little something about being a dad, I’m actually pretty good at this”.  This was not one of those weeks. 

So much so that Adrienne and I just finished up a “come to Jesus” family meeting with the girlies.

Let me begin with saying that a lot of readers will let me know that a lot of what happened this week rests on my own shoulders.  To which I agree, but it doesn’t make me feel any less “strangle-y”. 

It all started on Monday when Avery announced that she had an Amelia Earhart presentation due on Tuesday.  

One day left, both a key to this story and a theme for this post.

 It is a project called the ‘wax museum’ where the kids put together a display to accompany a report they had written for class.  I asked Avery what she had left, and she stated that she had the display board to put together.  I would discover that she had two weeks to complete this project and she hadn’t started it yet.  Admittedly, I think there is a family gene that sets a fairly high standard for clutch performance after extended procrastination.  Both of my siblings and myself thrive in the last few hours of a semester.  Avery handed me the paper describing the project which is where I discovered that the wax museum was not just a display board but kids in character as well.  I spent a good deal of my Monday assembling a 1930’s women’s pilot costume.  Ugh, but doable.

Next came Macy’s immigration presentation.  She was prepared, but only by dumb luck.  The presentation was Wednesday but only because it had been delayed by a week.  Macy discovered that fact the previous Wednesday, in the car, on the way to school, where I heard a desperate voice from the back-seat begging “Dad, I have a presentation today.  I need to dress up as the Statue of Liberty.” Adding that she also had lines to memorize for the part as well as needing to write a paragraph about where her family came from. 

I don’t say ‘impossible’ very often, but I did during that car ride.  The only solution I had was for her to be ‘sick’ for the day.  She went to school without memorizing her lines or having the accompanying costume.  She was relieved to find she had seven more days to accomplish her tasks. She got lucky, for sure, but her scheduling issues did not go unnoticed for the purposes of our "come to Jesus" talk.

Wednesday night went without issue, but Thursday was another story.  Keeping in mind that I asked a day before if anyone had anything coming up, Darby, my youngest announced that she needed a costume for their “Colonial Festival” the next day.  Crap.  Then my older two followed with the fact that they had ‘twin-day’ the next day as well.  Of note: Avery is on the Student Advisory Board who came up with the concept of ‘twin-day’.  I feel like she should have had some concept of when it was. 

Like the Amelia Earhart costume, we made it happen.  

I picked up the girls after school on Friday for the start of spring break.  I let them have the evening to celebrate the beginning of the time off.  They were blissfully unaware of the trouble waiting for them just twelve hours later.  We began reading the riot act around noon, we finished around two. 

Truth be told, we lectured a bit, but voices never really raised.  The way my wife put it, occasionally a family needs a reset.  A reboot, to get away from old habits and reinstall better ones.  I suppose it was an upgrade for our children. 

And to what I said earlier about a lot of this landing on my shoulders.  It does.  There is an ebb and flow to parenting that can lull you to sleep.  You trust that the kids are doing what they are saying they are doing and what they are doing is what they are supposed to be doing.  You trust them because they always have done it the right way.  Coincidentally, they also got their report cards on Friday and are all doing pretty well. 

The lesson here?  There’s a few, actually.  First of all, we can all use a ‘reset’ from time to time.  We actually need it.  To take the time to take stock of what’s working and what’s not.  To ask what makes us happy and what doesn’t.  The second thing is about pride.  It’s tough to do a great job at the last minute.  Not impossible, but unlikely enough that it isn’t the advised method of operation.  The more pride you take in what you do, the less likely you are to put it off until the last minute.  It goes for everything.  Sports, school, work, whatever.  The more pride you take in something the better the results will be.  I can think of at least ten places where that applies to my life.  I’d better go for a run. 

Macy’s Razor (not one of those little crappy two wheeled skateboards either)

Occam's “Razor” is the stated principle that, all things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. This principle cuts away, or slices and leaves aside, a host of potentially competing conclusions or arguments, leaving the simplest and most likely conclusion in place. 
 

***

Yesterday morning I was driving two of my girls to school and Macy decided to take the front seat.  She had science-y questions for me.  She was wondering about the difference between “theory” and “fact”.  She didn’t like that some things that she thought were fact were considered theory.  She’s a bright kid and for the purposes of this blog, I will say that the theory she was talking about was Relativity as the one she asked about is slightly more controversial.  It should be noted that she has no problem accepting things you might learn on Sunday all the while acknowledging scientific principles.  Good girl.

In discussing “fact” versus “theory” she came up with an example: “My butt is warm, therefore my seat warmer is on. That’s a fact, right?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” I told her.  “Are there any other reasons your butt could be warm?”

“I guess,” she answered. She thought about it for a moment.  “My dress could be on fire.”  She thought for a minute longer, “Or I could have the flu and I caught it in my butt.”

I suppose not everything that comes out of her mouth is brilliant, but her responses did fit the parameters of the question.  She began to try to prove her hypothesis using her version of the scientific method.  She began patting the back of her dress and then looking at her hands, for ashes, I assume.

“Nope, not on fire.”

“Well, how are you going to know about the flu?  Your butt could still be sick.” I answered.

“I could wait until tomorrow to see if the rest of me gets sick.”

“That seems like a long time to find out if your seat warmer was on.” I poked at her.

She sat quietly.  We drove another five minutes.  I went from wondering what was going though her head to dwelling on all of the things dancing through mine.  By the time we pulled into the parking lot of the school I was already knee deep on what the rest of my day looked like.

“I’ve got it.” She burst out. 

“You’ve got what, sweetheart?”  I said startled by her ‘eureka’ moment.

“It’s Occam’s Razor.”  She blurted.  “The light for my seat is lit up.  It’s probably the answer.  It’s Occam’s Razor.”

I’m a dork, as it happens, and I had explained Occam’s Razor, but not to her, and not recently.  I remember talking to my eldest, Avery, about it years ago.  I asked if she learned about it in school, nope, from Mommy, nope, a friend, nope.  She wasn’t sure how she knew it.

She asked if she was right.  I told her that she was. 

She asked what was wrong.  I must have looked confused. I was, confused and proud.

Okay, so Macy, there is a lesson here.  Daddy was confused because of how smart you are.  How does an eight-year-old girl know how to apply a problem-solving principal that she heard about years ago and apply it correctly?  Hell, how does she remember the name?  How did her older sister explain it in a way that she could remember it? 

The lesson here is one that you will have to live with forever.  Daddy doesn’t want to hear “I can’t do it” when it applies to homework ever again.  You can.  The three of you are incredibly bright and you can do anything you put those oversized noodles to.  You are too smart to let yourself be held up by your own doubts.  I know a little something about that.  Mommy hates it.  But truth be told, nothing in life will hold you back more than the space between your ears.  That little voice in your head will be full of “no ways” and “forget its”.  Ignore it, mostly.  Don’t let it tell you that you can’t be what you want to be, but maybe give it a listen when it tells you that you can jump that ditch.