As the weather forecasts converged on last weekend, the possibility of an historical Virginia snowstorm began to grow. Weather models pumped out predictions of snow that threatened to swallow our 4 foot tall kids whole. Area meteorologists and weather geeks even tossed around the "B" word: Blizzard.
Tossing that word around was a sure way to get my weather attention. I'd already experienced a blizzard in my lifetime - one of an historical nature. It was long before The Weather Channel started personalizing storms by gifting them with their own names - like Jonas - so I simply recall it as the blizzard of 78. More clearly, I recall waking up to a howling wind, looking out my bedroom window to see nothing but a sea of whiteness. It was like someone had covered the outside of the glass with a white sheet. The power had long been lost. Compounding that predicament was the reality that our wood pile was situated a hundred yards from the house and was impossible to find. Even if we could find it through the blinding snow, the mountainous snowdrifts between it and us were impossible to navigate. My dad problem solved by building a small tent village out of blankets connected to the fireplace and burning pieces of furniture in the house to keep us warm. (Fortunately we were rescued before he got much further than wood shop furniture in our basement). In defense of my dad, in 1978 we didn't have access to weather models that predicted a storm of this magnitude days in advance. If the storm hadn't been a surprise, I know the woodpile would have been moved closer to the house before the storm. I also know I was intimately involved in the permanent relocation of that pile once the storm subsided - never to be outwitted by a winter storm again.
This is a classic historical photo of that 1978 blizzard. This isn't from my home town, but I vividly remember our roads looking identical to this for many weeks to follow.
Jonas turned out to be a relatively kinder, gentler storm. I don't believe our power so much as flickered. My prioritized list of which furniture to burn first became useless - (thank God, I know Katie really loves that green chair). I remember during the blizzard of 78 how difficult it was keeping up with storm updates without electricity. Huddled together in our tent village we gave it our best to monitor a local radio station with a battery powered transistor radio. Our efforts were futile. The constant static made conversations with ET sound more lucid. Keeping up with Jonas was much easier, though. With uninterrupted power, a dozen working screens, and multiple social media platforms, not only were we able to keep up with the current storm track, we also monitored the exploding snowman population and sledding parties breaking out throughout the county. All this as whiteout conditions promised to bury vehicles beneath colossal snowdrifts for many missed work days to come.
At the height of the storm on January 23rd, it became hard to see from one end of our neighborhood to the other.
The name Jonas is actually a Hebrew baby name. One meaning attached to it is "a gift from God." I know there were tragedies and major disruptions attached to this storm, but there were also opportunities to see it as a gift. Our boys had never experienced a storm of this magnitude. The adventure in their eyes as Jonas plowed through our area was fun to experience. Imaginations are at their wildest when we share the stage with life's biggest scenes.
We have no hills in our neighborhood, so the boys took turns dragging one another - dead weight and all.
They even let their mom in on the action.
For a little added adventure they borrowed the ramp up to our shed.
I also have to mention Fritz. This was his first blizzard too. And frankly it probably disrupted his world more than all of ours combined. I seriously doubt any of us have ever been surprised to find the spot we routinely and always uneventfully use to piddle suddenly buried beneath several inches of a foreign and very cold white substance. If Fritz has ever favorably considered leaving us to return to the shelter, it was during those initial moments of finding that Jonas had dumped a frozen load on the spot he formerly believed was his own private dumping ground..
Fortunately, Fritz overcame his shock and, with some help from the rest of the boys, found a way to join in the winter fun.
It wasn't long before Fritz was bouncing up and down in the snow like he'd been playing in it all of his young life.
Fritz did play long before returning to his affectionate side.
And pose for the camera. (Photo credit: Katie Cartwright Photography)
Today, January 28th and 5 days after the storm, the boys finally went back to school. I guess that brings an official end to Jonas and the blizzard of 2016. But if Jonas is anything like the blizzard of 1978, it's a storm that will live on in my memory for many years to come.
Final snowfall map for Jonas - The Blizzard of 2016
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Last week Ian was watching videos on the iPad. He called me over to watch one he clearly found interesting. I hesitated. Minecraft how-to videos quit exciting me about five seconds into the first one I ever watched. If not earlier. But there was something unusually pleading in Ian's request, something very non-Minecraftish. So I joined him in front of the small screen.
Ian pushed play and together we watched what Ian introduced as "a cool experiment." The gentleman hosting the clip filled a glass halfway up with water, dropped one end of a dry rag into it, then dropped the other end into an empty glass next to the one containing water. Ian informed me, somewhat doubtfully, the water would be transported through the rag to the empty glass until both glasses contained equal amounts of water. When the video ended, Ian asked me if we could try the experiment. I told him I was busy cooking dinner, but we'd try it later. I'll confess, it was one of those "laters" I believed and hoped would never come. Wrong. Ian didn't follow up with me after dinner that night. But the next night, as soon as we were done eating, he asked, "dad, is it OK if we try the experiment now?" Now I've never been a big science experiment guy. Just let me read the results in a publication or have someone throw them up in my face during a heated debate, but don't make me actually do the experiment. But this was my 6 year-old with new found enthusiasm for something academic. So to the kitchen cupboard we went. Two glasses, one filled halfway up with water, and one old rag. Clearly the experiment wasn't hard to set up. It was the waiting that was hardest. Ian somehow thought that old rag would transport the water from one glass to the other with the force of a firehose. Not the case. But, after a good night's sleep, he got the results he was looking for:
It was great to see Ian's first experiment work out the way the guy on the video said it would. It was also startling.
It's the time of the year when I'm reminded just how much and how fast our boys are growing up. School starts up again and they advance another grade. They have their birthdays in November and December and age another year. And they start showing interest in things you couldn't have imagined a year ago. As startling as it can be, it can also be very humorous. A few weeks back Katie and the boys took Fritz to participate in a doggy Halloween costume contest. Long story short - Fritz won. He's strutted around the house ever since like he's the next coming of Lassie or something. Victories CAN go do a dog's head. But that was actually the subplot to the story in my eyes. You see, Fritz dressed up as Batman. And everyone knows Batman needs a Robin. That's where Elliott came in. I'll always remember exactly where I was sitting - what football game I was watching - when Elliott came around the corner wearing underwear outside of his pants. It was progressive enough that Elliott was actually wearing underwear (he's a boxers guy), but wearing it on the outside of his pants for all the world to see?? Elliott doesn't open himself up to the spotlight. Maybe he didn't realized it when he donned this costume, but some of the brightest lights in the world shine on people wearing their underwear as outerwear. Or, maybe like Ian, Elliott is growing into new ideas and experiments. Maybe he's growing into a more confident boy. I don't know, but this was the final result:
Our kids are such a gift. The greatest part of that gift is having living room seats to watch them change and grow. To remember where they were, and to wonder, sometimes with fear and at other times with great laughter, where on earth this is all going. (For some reason at this moment I'm imagining a mad scientist who wears underwear outside of his lab pants).
I'm grateful for the opportunity to shape them. I'm humbled by how much of their development was preordained before we ever laid eyes on them. And I am suddenly a big fan of green underwear.
This time last week the boys were starting a new school year. Ian started first grade. Elliott started third in a brand new school, Gandy Elementary. The first thing I noticed when Katie shared the first day of school pictures above was their hair. It looked like the boys had actually devoted time shaping it into something. I don't know exactly what that something was, only that whatever it was wasn't what it used to be: get out of bed and rush off to school completely unaware and unconcerned with where their hairs might be hanging out that day. Or if they'd even brought them along at all.
It can't be a good sign can it? Surely this means they've set their eyes on one of the little girls in their classes who over the summer suddenly became worthy of a comb and some styling gel. And next weekend their sights will be set on my car and fifty bucks. I don't mind admitting that's where my mind raced off to. That is until Katie sent me this text message below:
The "in" in her text refers to Siri's misspelled and clearly soon to be expelled Ian, a quote Katie captured while driving Ian to school on just the second day of the new school year. Nothing brings you back to the here and now quicker than realizing your 6 year old son isn't dreaming about girls at all, but instead formulating the true meaning of getting kicked out of school. As if the length of the sentence is the part of getting kicked out of school he most needs to understand. Or fear.
But that's our Ian. Where Elliott seems to just generally accept getting kicked out of school is a road you don't want to go down, Ian seems to pause and say, "not so fast on ruling this idea out brother." Let's at least allow ourselves the opportunity to collect all the information before we rashly dismiss a possible extension to summer vacation. And lest you think I favor one of these ways of thinking over the other, when I read this text, much before I could stop and then ultimately scold myself, I was smiling with a bit of a warped sense of pride in Ian's "thoughtfulness." The truth is both boys are very capable of examining the "what's in it for us" angle of life. I remember coming home earlier this summer and finding both boys excitedly engaged in some form of slightly organized and mostly productive chaos throughout the house. I was so confused by this, Katie had to translate the scene for me. "They're doing chores." "Why," I asked, appearing as dazed as if I'd just met a Mike Tyson uppercut. Katie answered, "I told them if they demonstrated they could be responsible, the chances of you letting them get a dog would improve." I asked her if they were afforded full disclosure, that even if that was remotely true, the chances would only improve to be on par with the chances of Vegetarian Times Magazine featuring me on its cover. Katie assured me they were aware of this. What she didn't assure me was that my opinion carried any weight at all in this adventure. (The kindest one-word description I can offer for what eventually took place). Little did I know at the time Katie was doing what she does so well. Researching and shopping. The internet is the greatest enemy of any salesman wanting to unload a foolish sale on my wife. Then, once she identifies the perfect buy, she goes all in. And in the case of the dog she and the boys had been searching for - very quietly I might add, and with every effort to avoid the word secretly - they chose to go all in together a couple of weekends ago when I went out of town. That's when Katie posted the photo below. The photo of Fritz. The rescue dog she and the boys had quite coincidentally planned to visit while I was out of town. And just to make sure she had plenty of support for the Fritz visit, she posted this picture on Facebook. What ensued was a flood of support for the puppy and a tsunami of borderline harassment toward the dad that was resistant to bringing a dog into our lives.
The next step was less secretive. It had to be. When the rescue organization wants to meet the dad of the soon to be rescued's family you sort of have to tell dad their coming to visit, even if for no other reason than to make sure he's fully dressed and not sprawled across the couch watching Cujo when they show up.
You know how this story ends. Fritz and handlers came to visit. Dad was dressed. Television off. Two boys made over a puppy in a natural way that made it impossible to call our house anything other than the perfect home for Mr. Fritz. Saturday Elliott came to me and says, "Dad, when you heard Fritz was coming to visit, you didn't seem too excited, but now that he's here you seem OK with it." You need to understand, Elliott is always very in tuned with people's feelings, either because he's reading them or concerned for them, which will one day develop into a wonderful gift I know will touch lives. In this case, I think it was more out of concern than perception. So I had no choice but to tell him the truth. I told him that nothing ever equals the kind of smiles I saw on his and Ian's face when they were playing with Fritz. And if Fritz was the source of those smiles, it was very hard not to be excited about him. Elliott took that in like he always does, with a fair amount of contemplation. Then, with a face filled with child-like sincerity, he said, "Thanks dad." You're welcome buddy. You too Fritz!
I snapped the picture above while driving the boys to Ohio last Friday to spend the week with Papa Hoss and Gigi. Like many pictures I take, I thought it would be a cool scene to capture and share with friends and family on social media. I'm not ashamed of that. I love it when friends share snapshots of their lives. It's a great way to stay connected with people you haven't seen for a thousand years and probably won't see for a thousand more. It's also a great reminder that you're not the only one in the world who has some pretty cool things going on.
The real risk with sharing snapshots, though, is mistakenly thinking your picture is nothing more than a mirror image of a random second in your day. Thinking that way doesn't deprive the rest of the world of much; they are perfectly content consuming our lives in small doses. We the snapshooters, however, that's another story. We risk missing out on the hidden gems in those moments. When I shared this picture on Facebook, my friend Chris noticed the stuffed animals. He knew my family had recently visited Yellowstone. Having been to Yellowstone himself, he knew many of the hotels there leave stuffed animals on your bed hoping you - or more likely your kids - will fall in love with them and pressure you to purchase them on the way out. Chris wondered out loud when commenting on my post if we'd been taken in by that marketing scheme like he had. (He's a gentle soul and it didn't surprise me at all to learn of his love affair with stuffed animals). The answer was we nearly were victims of that scheme. Thank God my wife, Katie, can smell a sales ploy a mile away. She quickly convinced the boys Amazon.com stuffed animals are far more lovable (and to me cheaper often does equal more lovable) than these Yellowstone creatures shamelessly throwing themselves at us in various hotel rooms throughout the park. Until Chris mentioned the stuffed animals, I hadn't noticed how tightly the boys were snuggled against their furry friends. It brought back instant memories of our last two summers out west, and how badly each of the boys longed to see the real life versions of the animals they were now clinging to. I looked at the picture and wondered if they might have been dreaming of the moments when they each, after persistent and often frustration-filled hunting, finally spotted and celebrated the sightings of a river otter and a male bighorn sheep. Upon closer inspection of the photo, I also noticed the pillows Elliott and Ian's heads rested on. They were gifts from friends - coincidentally friends from Ohio - who I met online and have come to love very much offline. The Outlaw family has taken such an interest in our family, especially our boys, and these pillows from a couple of Christmases ago have become a staple of every road trip we take. They fit magically into the peaceful image captured in this single second of our boys' lives. There's also the larger pillow Ian has, wrapped in the wild west pillow case Aunt Mollie made for each of the boys two summers ago when we visited her in Montana. I am reminded of how several years ago "Aunty Mo" bravely packed up and traded her Ohio life in for a brand new adventure out west, and how it's afforded our guys, even at their young ages, the chance to already have a bit of cowboy in them. And in Ian's case, maybe a little more than just a bit. And oh yes. I also see the McDonald's chocolate milk in the cupholder between them. I'm not sure we've ever had a road trip of any length - in fact, I'm not sure we've ever had a single day of any length - that didn't include McDonald's chocolate milk. Last of all, I see two boys who could probably much more comfortably be leaning their heads against their own back seat doors, but are instead opting to butt heads together on a cupholder in the middle, trading away comfort for togetherness. In the end, it's a very cool snapshot. But gratitude makes it much more than that. Every second of our lives are indeed just moments in a grander journey. If we'll just stop and give them a second glance, though, those moments are often filled with much more grand of their own than we originally thought when we snapped the picture. Today, take your own snapshots. Share them. But more importantly, give them a second look. And truly uncover the bigger story in the snap.
Elliott's been a sports nut since he was old enough to hold a ball. Doesn't matter what sport, when he steps on the field his face growls with intensity and his throttle gets shoved just as hard as he can shove it into blastoff mode. Ian's been right there beside him tackling many of the same sports. Only, Ian goes about it with a little less intensity, unless you count his late inning surveys of the bleachers hoping to identify who brought snacks this week. That isn't a bad thing. Just different approaches.
That's why when late this past spring Katie presented the idea of Ian joining the swim team this summer I couldn't help but envision something that resembled an out of control game of sharks and minnows waged by a few hundred 6 year olds in lifejackets. Swim team sounded way more organized and purposeful than I'd ever witnessed Ian pull off in water without soap and shampoo. But hey, go for it I told her. So June came and Ian started going to swim practice. He and the rest of the sharks and minnows. Katie started delivering reports that Ian was loving it. I figured it had to be because he'd found a buddy who could make bubbles rise in the pool as good as he could. But Katie said, no, he's actually learning basic swim strokes and he's serious about it. I bit my tongue. Then, last Wednesday, Ian had his first swim meet. And there it was. Standing tall at the head of the lane where the program indicated Ian Cartwright was supposed to swim the first race of his life was the face. It was on a little boy I barely recognized, growling with intensity. My double take was interrupted as Ian shoved himself off the starting blocks and sailed into the prettiest looking backstroke I'd ever seen. Please don't stop me, I'm well aware it really wasn't the prettiest backstroke ever - I now know those ropes not only mark the lanes but also herd errant 6 year old backstrokers - but in my eyes, the olympics have never offered anything so unexpectedly beautiful. Ian confessed to being really nervous before the start of his races. But aren't our kids so often the example of overcoming nerves by simply diving in? Ian would swim the freestyle later that evening and got surprised with a cool sixth place ribbon out of the deal. It's amazing what a ribbon can do for you confidence. He had found his sport. Ian looked forward to this week's meet with an excitement I'd never seen out of him toward anything athletic. I swear he was practicing his strokes in his sleep. Ian picked up a ribbon in both of his events at their second meet this week, but more importantly, and this is the cool thing about swimming, he beat his times from the previous week by about 6 seconds in each event. It's nice to be a part of a sport where you compete against others, have an opportunity to help his team - the Ashland Barracudas - but ultimately compete against yourself with a drive to always improve. For me it's been fun to watch. I love watching our guys do things they're passionate about, which is obviously the case with Ian and swimming. It's the only possible reason he's not once asked "who brought the snacks this week."
Yesterday, our little neighborhood streets were lined with cars as family and friends from all over joined in high school graduation celebrations. In a moment of reassuring jubilation, I reminded myself our guys still have a decade or so to go before those cars unload in front of our house. Reassurance is always fleeting, though, and in the very next moment I was tormented by old man time, who, in caring wisdom, or maybe out of a sick sense of fun, made sure I felt like it was only days ago that we were changing diapers on our future graduates. I fly by quickly, he said.
A dear friend of mine recently went on a cruise to the Western Caribbean. In her reflections after the trip, she offered these two points as part of her recap: 1. Life is short. Take the trip! 2. When you take the trip, get off of the boat! Explore the surroundings! It's a beautiful world out there! Her words got me to thinking. As our boys continue to hold up first and last day of school signs, they are really flagging us down, human ports, calling us to get off the boat, explore our surroundings, pause long enough to take a few pictures. One of life's greatest tricks is in giving us an inflated sense of control over this collective journey we're all on. How many of us are clinging to fake steering wheels, motoring forward with a delusional belief we have some meaningful say in where we're actually going. I know there are days I go to sleep with a white-knuckled grip on that wheel. And those are the days I fail to see and exercise the control I really DO have. To let go of the wheel and grab a camera, get off the boat for a minute and explore my surroundings. So excuse me life while I get off the boat for a few moments. I promise, I'll be right back. Elliott just finished up second grade and will now move on to a new school to start third grade. I remember 3 years ago when one parent friend after another told us how much we were going to love Henry Clay Elementary School. They told us how much the teachers and administration and staff there cared about kids. And after Elliott's three years there, all I can say is: WOW. Were they ever right. At this weeks school award ceremony, Elliott received recognition for getting good grades. (I didn't even know you could get "grades" in second grade). We're certainly proud of him for that. I have to confess, though, when I look at the picture of Elliott holding his certificate, I don't get nearly as emotional, nearly as proud, as I get when I reflect on the number of times his teachers have told us the last several years that Elliott genuinely cares about his classmates. Because the way I see it, if you have a heart for the people you're sharing a journey with, you'll probably have a lot more opportunities to see it's a beautiful world out there. You'll likely take more pictures.
Now don't get me wrong. I do value our kids learning. When Ian headed off to Kindergarten this year I knew he could learn. I just wondered how excited he would be about it. Or, should I say, I just wondered if he'd be as excited about learning his spelling words as he would be about learning what makes each of the friends in his class laugh.
On one of Ian's early report cards this year he got a satisfactory in all areas but one. Talking. I asked Ian about this, "Ian, you know how to talk, why would this say you need to improve on your talking?" Ian, with a mixture of pride and a little don't worry I've got this dad, told me, "my teacher says I'm a great talker, I just need to learn when to do my talking." Oh. The truth is Ian did get excited about learning this year. A lot of it is trying to keep up with his older brother. But Ian loves showing off how much of a street sign he can read or how quickly he can solve simple math problems in his head. A spark has definitely ignited. I guess that will always be my measuring stick for the boys as far as academics go. The spark. Not how much they are learning or the grades that reflect how well they are learning, because believe me, grades are one of those delusional steering wheel things that make kids and parents alike feel like they're in some sort of control, but rather how excited and motivated they are to learn. Even if it means I have to listen to Ian warn me of the inevitability our family will be eaten by a Megalodon on our next beach vacation. So it was a great school year. I'm glad graduation day isn't right around the corner. I'm even more glad the corner we're currently on is such a beautiful world to explore. It's true, I can't stop life and plant myself on this corner, but I can tap the brakes. And take a few pictures. Once you do something as a family for the 2nd consecutive year it becomes a family tradition. Therefore, today we can officially say we took part in the family tradition of running in the Tiger Trot. At least the boys can. The race benefits the Henry Clay and John M. Gandy elementary schools in Ashland - both boys go to Henry Clay. The race was scheduled for last Saturday but was moved to today because of snow and ice on the roads. Today we simply had a chilly rain. Both boys decided to run the 1-mile run. Several of Elliott's friends tried to talk him into running the 5K. He showed as little interest in those invitations as he shows for broccoli. Ian spent a lot of pre-race time frightfully wondering how he'd know where to go over the course of the 1-mile run, so I'm sure the 5K offered him little temptation. Elliott ended up finishing 6th or 7th depending on who you ask. That's a couple of spots better than last year. Ian came charging home next to the Tiger mascot, which was much further back than Elliott but equally entertaining to watch. As part of the tradition, Papa Hoss and Gigi were here from Ohio to watch the race. The boys put on a great show for them. In This Corner |