The Most Marvelous and Exciting Father

We've always joked about my dad being the "fun killer" (not behind his back--he readily admits to it himself).

He can have a rather stern persona when he's not at home (okay, sometimes at home, too), and I think over the years most of the kids at church have been intimidated at one time or another by his glaring looks or curt words if they're caught running in the halls (or worse, the chapel) or drawing on the chalkboards or goofing off during Sunday School.

Growing up, I definitely remember some things being off limits (jumping on the couch, for example, or leaping over the back of it or even wedging our feet between the cushions). My mom was much more likely to let us take mattresses and go sledding down the stairs than my dad.

But personally, I think labeling him as the fun killer is much too harsh. Because for all his stern looks and disapproving glances, my dad definitely knows how to have fun. In fact, most of my memories growing up are of him participating in the fun with us instead of squashing it.

So today I'm going to set the record straight and give you just a few glimpses, out of hundreds and hundreds, of all the fun I've had over the years with my dad.

When I was still quite young, we read one of Mercer Mayer's Little Critter books called Just Me and My Dad. It inspired my dad to do one-on-one camping trips with all of us . . . in the backyard. For years, every summer I got my own turn going camping with my dad. We'd set up the tent, take out a giant stack of games or books, and enjoy each other's company by lantern light. In the morning, we would get up as quietly as we could, slowly unzip the tent, and sneak away in the chill morning air for breakfast at the local diner (the sneaking away part was very important). We christened these times "Just Me and My Dad Camp Outs."

Many times we'd have impromptu dances. We'd turn on some music, usually on the old record player, my dad would take my hand and spin me around the room. He taught me some of his old ballroom steps, my favorite being "the window" because he would turn me around until our arms formed a little rectangle we could look at each other through. My favorite song to dance to was an old Glenn Miller song, "In the Mood." It just kept going and going, and at the end we would twirl around at a feverish pace until we collapsed from dizziness. If we still had enough energy at the end, he would lower me into a dramatic dip.

My dad loves his garden. Every year he methodically plans it out and and then reaps a bounteous harvest during the summer months. My brothers probably have even more fond memories than I do of helping my dad in the garden. I think some good heart-to-hearts went on as they weeded side by side. But I have wonderful memories, too. My dad always let us help him plant, and I don't remember him ever getting impatient with us, even if we placed too many peas in one spot or soaked them too heavily. When I was a teenager, he mapped out this elaborate competition where we divided the garden into territories and got weekly points based on how well it was weeded. My brothers and I took this game very seriously, to the point of washing the rocks surrounding our plots so that they would look their best when my dad came around to judge.

I well remember The Monster Game. Probably most dads do some variation of it. It would usually begin when my dad was legitimately trying to take a little rest. We would sneak up on him and, without warning, his arm would shoot out and grab us by the leg. He'd reel us in with the menacing words, "Now you'll never get away from me! You'd better call for your mommy!" Somehow, by one magic word or another, we'd soothe him back to sleep. He would begin to snore convincingly, his grasp would loosen, and we'd begin to inch away. Just when we thought we were in the clear, his arm would shoot out again, and the game would begin again.

My dad loves music. He plays the piano and guitar, as well as several brass instruments. He wanted all of his kids to play some kind of portable instrument so that we could do some non-traditional Christmas caroling every year in December. He taught me how to play the trombone, and besides the Christmas carols, we also spent many evenings playing duets together. Our favorite to play was "The Yellow Rose of Texas."

Every 4th of July we had an intense water fight. We divided the family into two teams. One team had an empty wading pool, the other team had a larger one full of water. The object of the game was for the first team to steal water from the second until their pool was full (or until they gave up). My dad was always in the pool guarding the water. The rest of us ran around frantically and haphazardly dumped our buckets or squirted our water guns in order to help protect or steal the water. But my dad was always calm and methodical and consequently, his attacks packed the maximum punch.

Does this sound like a dad who would be known as the fun killer? I think not. At the end of Danny the Champion of the World, Danny perfectly summed up the way I feel about my dad.

"Because what I am trying to tell you . . . What I have been trying so hard to tell you all along is simply that my father, without the slightest doubt, was the most marvelous and exciting father any [girl] ever had."

I love you, my most marvelous and exciting father. Happy Father's Day.

Art That's Worth Wearing

Lately, one of the boys' favorite activities is to draw . . . and draw . . . and draw. I don't even want to tell you how much paper they've gone through for fear you'll turn me into the environmental police. Let's just say they've used up more than their fair share of trees in the last couple of months...

I'm actually quite thrilled with this current obsession. I mean, all I have to do now is pack a spiral notebook when we got to church, and Aaron is set for the full 70 minutes. He just tucks himself into a corner of the pew (far away from Bradley's kicking feet) and draws to his heart's content. (Unfortunately, I see more of monsters and vampires in his art than prophets and scriptures, but hopefully he's not totally deaf to the things that are being said.)

Anyway, with all the drawing that's been going on, I knew that some sort of art project was definitely in order for Father's Day--not only to capture in a more permanent way some of their signature illustrations (the ones I see on almost every piece of paper) but also to capture this stage in their lives (because even though they love to draw now, I'm not convinced that art will play a major role in their futures--but who knows?).

Then I saw a post by The Artful Parent on No Time For Flashcards about how to transfer drawings onto t-shirts, and I knew that would be the perfect way to document this stage (and what kind of a father doesn't want to wear his kids' art?!).

Below, I'll share the projects we made, but if you're interested in doing your own t-shirts, I recommend checking out the full tutorial on No Time For Flashcards.

First, I had both Aaron and Max draw several different pictures on plain white copy paper. Then, out of those selections, I had them each choose their best work. A couple of Max's sketches were giant blobs he claimed were California and Utah, but he eventually settled on one of our whole family. 

That's me with the bright pink hair. I'll bet you're jealous...

Then I used our (very old) printer to make a color copy onto the fabric transfer paper. (I think you can pick up fabric transfer paper just about anywhere: craft, office supply, superstore, etc. I bought it at Wal-Mart in the office/school section: 6 sheets/$8. Kind of pricey, but since I only used two sheets, and I got the t-shirts for $4 each, it was only about $5.50 per shirt.)

There are two different types of fabric transfer paper: one is used for light fabrics and the other for dark fabrics. I went ahead and purchased the one for light fabrics because it was cheaper and looked easier to use.

After the drawings were copied onto the fabric transfer paper, I cut each one out, leaving only a very small margin (per the instructions).

Then I put the paper, drawing side down, onto the shirt, which was laying flat on the desk (the instructions said not to use an ironing board). My iron was set to a high cotton setting with no steam.

I pressed firmly on part of the picture for 20 seconds, then moved to the next section for another 20 seconds. I made a couple passes over the entire thing to make sure I hadn't missed a spot and had also given it enough heat and time to transfer.

I let the shirt cool completely. Then came, what the boys and I dubbed as, "the magic part." I peeled off the paper, and it literally looked like Aaron and Max had taken a marker and drawn the picture onto the shirt itself. The boys were absolutely amazed and pleased as punch. I was pretty happy, too. 

These are Aaron's signature monsters. He has filled up almost an entire notebook with pictures that look very similar to the ones above. He has already started moving onto other drawings (vampires and rocket ships), so I'm glad to have something with which to memorialize the monster phase.

(It's probably obvious, but I should also mention that the image gets flipped when you iron it on, so Aaron had to write his name backwards so it would come out looking right.)

The boys were more than a little excited for Mike to open his presents on Father's Day.

And Mike gave the proper "Wow, boys! These shirts are awesome!" reaction.

Maxwell's shirt ended up looking a little more girly than we'd intended (all that pink hair, you know), so Mike has to look super tough (haha) when wearing it (or just wear it when he's going to bed). He's definitely a good sport about it.

I just have to share a funny story about these photos: After we put the boys to bed one evening, we went into the backyard so I could quickly snap a couple of photos of Mike wearing the shirts. As he was posing, he suddenly got an embarrassed smile on his face and said, "Oh, hi." There was our neighbor standing at our gate. She asked, "Would you like one of both of you?" "Oh, no," we assured her. "Don't all parents take random portraits of themselves for fun when their kids are in bed?"

(Note: If you decide to make a t-shirt, please read the fabric transfer instructions carefully. There are several brands of fabric transfer paper, and the instructions will probably be a little different for each one. What worked well for me may or may not work well for you.)

I shared this post at Raising Memories.

KidPages: Four Books For Father's Day

With Father's Day just around the corner, I thought it would be appropriate to share a few of our favorite picture books that give the spotlight to dear ol' Dad. I hope you enjoy them!

1. The Daddy Mountain, Jules Feiffer
What is it about kids and climbing? Or are my kids the only ones? They're like little monkeys. (Bradley nearly gave me a heart attack a couple weeks ago when he scaled to the top of a six-foot fence and almost made friends with a cow at a farm we were visiting.) But perhaps nothing is so inviting as their tolerant, patient dad.

That's what this book is all about: a little girl trying to make it to the very top of her own tolerant, patient dad. She begins at his feet and narrates the arduous climb with detailed instructions: "I have to be brave. I crawl up a leg of the Daddy Mountain. I hold on tight and go not too fast. It's harder than you think." She eventually makes it, and victory is hers...until her mother sees her.

I am annoyed by one small thing about this book, and that is that it feels like a couple of the pages had to be added in because the book wasn't long enough to meet the standard page requirement for picture books. I won't mention which ones; you just get the book for yourself and see if anything stands out as unnecessary and redundant. Maybe I'm crazy.

I love the illustrations. For most of the book, the dad (aka, mountain) is still and immoveable, gray and granite-looking. Since the book is narrated by the little girl, we see her dad through her own eyes--and she is so lost in the intensity of her climb that she really sees him as an obstacle to be overcome (although she does have the presence of mind to remember that if she grabs his skin (instead of his clothes), he will get mad).

The real reason I love it though is because I have seen my own three boys treat Mike like a mountain--sometimes alone, sometimes all three together (if it's a group hike). I am so happy that a talented author/illustrator observed this favorite past time of children and decided to capture it with words and pictures.

2. The Fathers Are Coming Home, Margaret Wise Brown, illus. Stephen Savage
Lest you be fooled, this book is not about a father coming home from war. Maybe it's just me, but when I first saw the cover and the title, I totally thought I was going to find a story about a Navy father returning home to his young son after serving in World War II.

But, no. Instead, this book is about a wide variety of fathers returning home to their children after a long day's work. There is a fish father and a rabbit father, a bird father and a dog father. And yes, at the end, there's a sailor father who "comes home from the sea, home to his little boy."

One of the things I found so interesting about this book was that, and I quote, "the lion father lives alone, so he comes home to himself." I wasn't disturbed that they showed a father who didn't come home; certainly nature is full of fathers who are totally oblivious to the fact that they even have children. I just thought it deceptive that the lion was singled out as the anomaly, the one and only father who does not care anything about his young, when the book also features a fish, ladybug, daddy longlegs, and snail, all of which, I'm pretty sure, have absolutely nothing to do with their offspring. I just don't really understand the point of the lone lion.

Aside from that, the book is very sweet. There are so many sentimental books about mothers (too many, actually, for my tastes), so I really liked seeing the dads get some of that attention. And this is a sentimental book that actually holds the attention of my kids, which is very rare. It jumps from animal to animal, and so they're kept busy anticipating the next one instead of yawning with boredom. The illustrations are simple, mainly silhouettes, which complement the "end of the day" feeling of the book.

I don't think there's any part of the day that my boys anticipate more than the fifteen minutes every evening when they're watching for Mike to round the corner on his bike. This book perfectly captures that joy.

3. Faster! Faster!, Leslie Patricelli
I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a huge Leslie Patricelli fan. It took me a couple of tries to really warm up to her style (and I still can't say that I love The Patterson Puppies series), but now I'm hooked. Most of her books contain very little text (I think The Patterson Puppies are the only exception to this, which is maybe why I don't like them as much?), and I am consistently amazed with the wit, insight, and creativity she expresses on each simple page.

Faster! Faster! is a perfect example. A little girl begs her daddy for a ride. He gets down on his hands and knees, she grips his necktie in her small hand, and they're off. With her cry of "Faster! Faster!," he picks up speed, and soon she is racing away on a "dog." Then she challenges him again, and with a new burst of energy, she's on a "rabbit." They make their way through a series of faster and faster animals until suddenly she is on a "turtle" and asking, "Faster? Faster?" At that point, they flash back to reality where the daddy is collapsed on the grass, his tongue hanging out in obvious fatigue. But it is enough for his little girl who happily exclaims, "You're fast, Daddy!"

As with The Daddy Mountain, this book celebrates how much fun it is to play with Dad. I'll be honest: I don't give my kids a lot of piggy- or horsey-back rides. Sometimes. On occasion. But not a lot. But Mike? It's pretty much a nightly activity, and Aaron, Maxwell, and Bradley live for it. There is something so different in the way the two of us play with our kids, and they definitely seem to thrive on the variety.

I also love the way this book races through the animals. Each page shows the animal the little girl just abandoned (panting and worn out), the animal she is currently riding, and a hint of the animal that's coming up next. It's such a great way to engage my 20-month-old.

I'm convinced that anyone who says board books can't be great literature (or great entertainment, for that matter) has never read Leslie Patricelli.

4. That's Papa's Way, Kate Banks, illus. Lauren Castillo
This story is narrated by a little girl who goes fishing with her papa one day. She describes their adventures from sunup to sundown: the worms they dig out of the ground, the way her papa whistles as he rows the boat, the waiting, and the first catch of the day. She makes note of the things they do differently but also the really important things that they do exactly the same.

Throughout the story, the little girl frequently makes the observation, "That's Papa's way." Because this phrase is repeated several times, the story could have easily become formulaic and fallen into a predictable pattern of, "we did [such and such] because that's Papa's way." But it didn't. The repetition of "That's Papa's way" ties the story together but doesn't dictate how the story is told.

I love the illustrations, which, to my untrained eye, appear to be done in colored pencil and watercolor. This mixed media has the effect of softening some edges and sharpening others, and even though my lack of artistic talent renders my opinion completely negligible, I still think they're really lovely.

I was instantly endeared to this book because I've always called my own dad "Papa." So even though fishing was never one of our past times, I still felt a certain kinship with the little girl in the story. 

Even though all of these books refer to "dad" or "father" or "papa," each of them could easily be adapted to uncles or grandpas or friends or whoever fills that special place in your life.