I hate the feeling of regret.
Coming up on two years ago, I had a bad dream about an old friend. I spent several days worrying about this person before I finally googled their name, thinking I might be able to find an email address or some way to get in touch with them. I wanted to make sure they were okay. I wanted to tell them I was thinking of them.
The very first result Google gave me was a link to this person's obituary. They had been speeding around a sharp curve in the dark of night and died instantly when their car failed to make the turn and hit a tree. It had happened only a few weeks earlier.
It took me a long time to get over that.
Last night I had another bad dream. It was terrible actually. In my dream, another old friend from my high school days was strung out on drugs and tried to kill me. This person was someone with whom I used to be close, someone I loved, but I had lost touch with them when I moved away from my hometown.
You can understand why I checked Google immediately when I woke up this morning. As far as I can tell, my friend is still alive. After my initial relief, however, the regrets came pouring in. Why didn't I keep in touch? Why wasn't I a better friend? Why can't I protect and take care of and save the whole entire world? Why, why, why?
Sigh.
This leads me to the message I'm trying to internalize today. Actually, there are two messages, and they are directed at myself, but maybe some of you can relate so I will share them with you all as well:
1) You are not in control of the world. God is.
2) Don't think you'll get another chance. Sometimes you don't.
It's kind of a downer of a message but maybe that's appropriate for a cold, dreary day like today. And maybe it's to be expected after a long night of bad dreams. But I don't want to keep looking back and having to wonder: Why? Or worse: What if? Do you?
If you have someone in your life you've been meaning to reach out to or something you've been meaning to say or do - don't put it off any longer. Don't keep waiting for the perfect opportunity. Because there's nothing worse than regret.
Mom of the year
This story is about ice cream. In order to fully appreciate the story, we might have to go back to the beginning.
My dad was a tall, lanky Dutchman with a hard-working attitude and appetite to match. His family of tall, lanky Dutchmen was rough around the edges and maintained a tenuous (at best) relationship with civilized people.
My mother and her parents, on the other hand, were diminutive people who had a sitting room and ate ice cream in tiny little bowls with all the manners required of polite society.
In 1980, when my mom and dad were dating (how that came about is a different story), he would drive 30 minutes to her house to see her after working all day on the farm. From what I've been told the 30 minutes were like seconds in his mind because of his great love for her. But that's beside the point; this is about ice cream.
My mother's parents would dutifully serve my dad a little dish of ice cream as they visited courteously and he would accept it with the utmost graciousness, eating it in two bites. Then my mom and dad got married.
Did I mention my dad's farm sold its milk to Darigold? Well, my parents got married and Darigold products soon filled their home. Milk, of course, but also sour cream, butter, and...ice cream. Now that the vows had been recited and the deal had been sealed, my mom got to see a different side of my dad. A side that scoffed good-naturedly at tiny dishes and could eat a whole carton of ice cream in one sitting.
And so it was that I grew up learning the ways of the ice cream lover. I took to the habit with natural skill and can, to this day, also eat a whole carton of ice cream in one sitting...almost. Now, our budget doesn't allow for frivolous dairy purchases, nor can our waistlines accommodate it, but we do tend to stock our freezer with a decent variety of ice cream. My favorite is anything with lots and lots of chocolate in it.
So that brings us to a parenting moment that might not win me any Mother of the Year Awards, but it is one that I have no doubt my dad would understand, if he were here today.
After dinner, I occasionally let my kids have a cup of ice cream from my stash. However, there'd been a carton of ice cream in my freezer for awhile that I was having trouble finishing off. In fact, it had been mocking me. I rarely meet an ice cream flavor I don't like but I just wasn't a fan of this one (it will remain unnamed because I don't have the heart to call out a dairy product that has done nothing wrong). So, my kids had done a good job eating their dinner and I had an idea.
The fact that it was close to bedtime did not deter me, nor did the fact that the kids had dentist appointments coming up. I took out the unwanted ice cream, which was freezer-burned almost beyond recognition, and scooped them out big, heaping bowls. I mean, I piled it on. This carton was not going back in my freezer.
My kids were delighted and didn't even question why I wasn't having any myself. Not being ice cream connoisseurs, they didn't notice the weird flavor or the freezer burn and I let them enjoy their moment. Then I happily threw the carton in the garbage and got the kids ready for bed. Can anyone guess what happened next?
As soon as the ranks were in their respective beds and the lights were off, I went back to the freezer for my own ice cream. Something more to my liking. Double Triple Chocolate with Fudge Swirls and Peanut Butter Cups or something like that. I didn't bother with a bowl, I just took the carton and a spoon and sat down on the couch.
As often happens, one of the boys came back upstairs a little while later to go the bathroom.
"You're eating ice cream without us?" he asked, half asleep but awake enough to be incredulous.
I took another huge bite of chocolate goodness right in his fact and snickered. "You already had yours."
My dad was a tall, lanky Dutchman with a hard-working attitude and appetite to match. His family of tall, lanky Dutchmen was rough around the edges and maintained a tenuous (at best) relationship with civilized people.
My mother and her parents, on the other hand, were diminutive people who had a sitting room and ate ice cream in tiny little bowls with all the manners required of polite society.
In 1980, when my mom and dad were dating (how that came about is a different story), he would drive 30 minutes to her house to see her after working all day on the farm. From what I've been told the 30 minutes were like seconds in his mind because of his great love for her. But that's beside the point; this is about ice cream.
My mother's parents would dutifully serve my dad a little dish of ice cream as they visited courteously and he would accept it with the utmost graciousness, eating it in two bites. Then my mom and dad got married.
Did I mention my dad's farm sold its milk to Darigold? Well, my parents got married and Darigold products soon filled their home. Milk, of course, but also sour cream, butter, and...ice cream. Now that the vows had been recited and the deal had been sealed, my mom got to see a different side of my dad. A side that scoffed good-naturedly at tiny dishes and could eat a whole carton of ice cream in one sitting.
And so it was that I grew up learning the ways of the ice cream lover. I took to the habit with natural skill and can, to this day, also eat a whole carton of ice cream in one sitting...almost. Now, our budget doesn't allow for frivolous dairy purchases, nor can our waistlines accommodate it, but we do tend to stock our freezer with a decent variety of ice cream. My favorite is anything with lots and lots of chocolate in it.
So that brings us to a parenting moment that might not win me any Mother of the Year Awards, but it is one that I have no doubt my dad would understand, if he were here today.
After dinner, I occasionally let my kids have a cup of ice cream from my stash. However, there'd been a carton of ice cream in my freezer for awhile that I was having trouble finishing off. In fact, it had been mocking me. I rarely meet an ice cream flavor I don't like but I just wasn't a fan of this one (it will remain unnamed because I don't have the heart to call out a dairy product that has done nothing wrong). So, my kids had done a good job eating their dinner and I had an idea.
The fact that it was close to bedtime did not deter me, nor did the fact that the kids had dentist appointments coming up. I took out the unwanted ice cream, which was freezer-burned almost beyond recognition, and scooped them out big, heaping bowls. I mean, I piled it on. This carton was not going back in my freezer.
My kids were delighted and didn't even question why I wasn't having any myself. Not being ice cream connoisseurs, they didn't notice the weird flavor or the freezer burn and I let them enjoy their moment. Then I happily threw the carton in the garbage and got the kids ready for bed. Can anyone guess what happened next?
As soon as the ranks were in their respective beds and the lights were off, I went back to the freezer for my own ice cream. Something more to my liking. Double Triple Chocolate with Fudge Swirls and Peanut Butter Cups or something like that. I didn't bother with a bowl, I just took the carton and a spoon and sat down on the couch.
As often happens, one of the boys came back upstairs a little while later to go the bathroom.
"You're eating ice cream without us?" he asked, half asleep but awake enough to be incredulous.
I took another huge bite of chocolate goodness right in his fact and snickered. "You already had yours."
World domination
My two boys are lucky enough to have two good friends living across the street from them. The four boys have always liked playing together but recently their friendship has taken on a new dimension.
Now that they can read and write (sort of), they are able to make plans with each other through written communication. First there were maps detailing good hiding places and ideal locations from which to attack bad guys. Then there were descriptions of what the boys would do together when they grew up, such as "make a movie called Lego Movie Creature Attack."
Then I discovered a little book, made of computer paper stapled together. The title of the book was "Battel Plans" and it pitted the two older boys against the two younger ones. Thankfully, one of the "rools of battel" found inside was "use wepens carefelee." The book also made it clear that after a battle, both sides would shake hands and say "good battel."
Anyway, my second son was fascinated with this idea of making plans and apparently wanted to create some sort of response to the battle manifesto of the older boys. So yesterday I found him at the table with three or four sheets of paper spread out. He was making drawings of some kind but it was hard to tell what exactly they were about. His scheme for total world domination, I assumed. But I was too curious to settle for a guess.
"What are you doing, buddy?" I asked.
"Making plans," he said, without even looking up.
"Plans for what?" I asked. "For fortifying your strongholds?"
"No," he said, with disgust and disdain at my cluelessness. His pencil continued moving swiftly across his paper as he reluctantly told me what he was up to. "I'm building my umpire."
Now, I'm pretty sure he meant "empire," but either way I'm proud of him for thinking big and using his imagination. There's no limit to what you can do, buddy. Never forget that.
Now that they can read and write (sort of), they are able to make plans with each other through written communication. First there were maps detailing good hiding places and ideal locations from which to attack bad guys. Then there were descriptions of what the boys would do together when they grew up, such as "make a movie called Lego Movie Creature Attack."
Then I discovered a little book, made of computer paper stapled together. The title of the book was "Battel Plans" and it pitted the two older boys against the two younger ones. Thankfully, one of the "rools of battel" found inside was "use wepens carefelee." The book also made it clear that after a battle, both sides would shake hands and say "good battel."
Anyway, my second son was fascinated with this idea of making plans and apparently wanted to create some sort of response to the battle manifesto of the older boys. So yesterday I found him at the table with three or four sheets of paper spread out. He was making drawings of some kind but it was hard to tell what exactly they were about. His scheme for total world domination, I assumed. But I was too curious to settle for a guess.
"What are you doing, buddy?" I asked.
"Making plans," he said, without even looking up.
"Plans for what?" I asked. "For fortifying your strongholds?"
"No," he said, with disgust and disdain at my cluelessness. His pencil continued moving swiftly across his paper as he reluctantly told me what he was up to. "I'm building my umpire."
Now, I'm pretty sure he meant "empire," but either way I'm proud of him for thinking big and using his imagination. There's no limit to what you can do, buddy. Never forget that.
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