Call now!

I take my role as Michael's personal publicist very seriously. So I feel it is my duty to announce that Michael has once again graced the airwaves of Idaho Public Television with his larger-than-life presence. The little guy was flashing his star power once again last Friday, helping to kick things up a notch at the station's annual "Festival" pledge drive. When it comes to microphones and an audience, you can't stop Michael from dazzling. You can only hope to contain him!

"Call now and make that pledge," he pleaded to the audience at home, unleashing his best cute-five-year-old grin. "We've got to MAKE ... THAT ... GOAL!"



He also got to hang out with his good pal Ernie. Not a bad morning. Not bad at all.



What can I say. The kid's a natural.



- Dave

Me write pretty one day

After spending the past three years blogging about my experiences as a stay-at-home Dad, I've decided to kick it up a notch. I've decided to write a book about my stay-at-home dad-ness. Every single "writer," whether he or she works for a newspaper or randomly jots down thoughts on a blog that nobody reads, holds a secret ambition to write a book. Sooner or later the itch grows too strong not to scratch.

Well, my itch has become unbearable lately. When considering the fact that I have no idea what I am going to "do" when I grow up, along with my sheer boredom and propensity to read way too much, it really isn't that big of a surprise that I've joined the "I'm going to write a book!" cliche.

So I'm going to write a book! Look at me everybody!

Oh it sounds so easy. I yack away on this blog without a care in the world. I write sermons that I occasionally present at my church and other churches around Idaho. It's easy and nobody's ever really booed, so I take that as a good sign. My wife and my Mommy both think I'm awesome, so surely that is a sign as well, right? Hello?

But each time I sit down to work on MY BOOK (dum, dum, dum!!) I suddenly lose all grasp of the English language. My sentences start to yammer and stammer. My fingers randomly and compulsively hit, the, comma, button, every, other, word. I go from a somewhat coherent thought to a completely different thought that has nothing to do with anything and then on to a third thought all in the same sentence. Whenever I look up I expect to see Vince Lombardi glaring at me and yelling, "What the hell is going on out here!!"

It's a conundrum kiddies!

It's not like I have unrealistic expectations or anything. I sit down each morning hoping to compose something beautiful. Words that will make people weep, laugh, join together in singing "We are the world." I want to compose sentences like, oh I don't know, this:

“All around the house the black cold of the night was as high as the sky and as wide as the world, and there was nothing in it but the lonely wind.” – Laura Ingalls Wilder in “By The Shores of Silver Lake.”

That's not too much to ask, is it? It's not that hard right?

A light bulb flashes in my head, but by the time my fingers reach the keys on the keyboard it all gets a little fuzzy. Suddenly, that, blasted, comma, button, gets, overused, again! And I put in exclamation points and question marks that don't really belong?

So anyway, I'm going to write a book about being a stay-at-home dad. I'm sure the only people that will ever read it will be my wife, my Mommy and perhaps a few unlucky souls who happen to join my "book group" (What do you mean we're not going to read 'On the Road'? What is this crap about being a bored dad? And what's up with all of these commas?).

With any luck I'll have this bad boy completed in time for Michael's 50th birthday present. Fingers crossed, kiddies. Fingers crossed!?,

- Dave

I'm gonna totally find my Zen man! After I finish this game.

I finished reading "The Dharma Bums" recently, and I've never read a book that touched me on such a profound level. I'm a guy who dreams about spending time in the mountains on a daily basis, so this book was right up my alley. And after spending the past four years in an out-of-touch with our go-go-go business-minded society role as a stay-at-home dad, I found a kindred spirit in this novel. At last someone who doesn't have it all together and is still searching. Someone questioning the "gotta have a job and a title so I can make money and buy crap in order to be recognized in society and feel like I'm worth something" mentality that we nurture from the moment our kids can talk. "What are you going to 'be' little man?" we ask the three-year-old clutching a stuffed bear and holding a sippie cup. No pressure.

We need to find our Zen, man! And so it goes.

The anti-materialism, anti-going-with-the-crowd messages in "The Dharma Bums" really touched me. Really made me question my values and examine out my goals in life.

So naturally I went out and bought a Wii.

What can I say? These are the times we live in. The real story is far less hypocritical. April and I have been promising Michael a trip to Disneyland this summer, and like the other 99 percent of America dancing along to the recession beat, we've discovered that we just can't afford it right now. So we opted for door number two. We got the little guy the Wii he's been asking for ever since he discovered this magical device at his friend Josh's house. It was just a crazy funny coincidence I was reading "The Dharma Bums" when we made this frivolous purchase.

The Ward castle has since been transformed into a bowling alley, golf course, boxing ring, baseball stadium and tennis court. Michael spends his afternoons blissfully swinging his arms, laughing and gaining precious points. He absolutely loves it.

I've had a rather mixed reaction myself. Apparently if you're a total wuss in real life then your Mii is also a raging wuss. I did what I could. I gave him a cool Euro chin beard and shades. He's wearing Bronco orange and has a cool hair style.

But the son-of-a-you-know-what just cannot hit a freaking home run!! I mean ever!! I've spent hours in front of that blasted TV swinging with all of my might, sweat pouring down my forehead and cussing. Mr. Mii Wuss just keeps popping soft can-of-corn flyballs to the outfield. I heave a mighty swing ... and "pop." Straight up in the air. It's humiliating.

Last night April had a go with her oh-so-pretty Mii. "I'm sure it's really hard," she assured me. First pitch. Baam! Out of the park. The second pitch was a swinging strike. Third pitch. KAAAABLAAAM!!! The ball screams with McGwire-Juice glory straight out of the entire stadium!

Are you freaking kidding me?

When I finally calm down we switch to bowling. I execute what I believe is perfect form, yet the ball continually curves to the right. Three, maybe four pins drop.

"It's okay Daddy," Michael assures me.

The little guy proceeds to unleash his patented "spin in the air, perform herky-jerky windmill with his right arm, and land awkwardly" bowling motion. Naturally the ball rolls right down the middle for a perfect strike. My son is a bit of a Wii bowling prodigy. He bowls five and six strikes in a row. We've had the Wii for less than a week and he's already reached "Pro" status.

I haven't.

So while Michael sets the Wii bowling world on fire, I'll be spending this weekend pouring through the timeless lessons from "The Dharma Bums." Finding your Zen and searching for your inner light and all that. I will. I promise. Just as soon as I hit a freaking home run!!

Here is my favorite quote from "The Dharma Bums" kiddies:

"Everything is all right forever and forever and forever." - Jack Kerouac.

- Dave

And I ... live by the river!

Most people are not aware of this, but Michael is actually a supremely creative Indie Director with a style all his own. His use of angles, lighting and mood combine the best and worst of Scorsese, Spielberg and Hitchcock combined. His implementation of a revolutionary "spin" technique is sure to be all the rage in Park City next year.

Michael's previous films tackled the themes of life in a typical suburban home. Particularly spinning around in the kitchen. It was heady stuff, believe me.

Today I am thrilled to premiere Michael's latest masterpiece. He calls it "Park By The River," and it captures the essence of a family spending a brilliant pre-spring afternoon at a local park in the Kingdom of Eagle. It also makes several points regarding the issues of the existential nature of life and man inside the machine. Or something like that anyway.

You just have to see it to truly dig the vibe. So please enjoy "Park By The River" by Michael Ward.

- Dave

Got June on my mind

I'm thinking about June this morning. And sunshine. Definitely lots of sunshine.

But it's not exactly what you think.

Yes I can't wait for summer to arrive, but my thoughts concern a different sort of June. Namely my wonderful Grandma June, who's infectious smile always brings visions of sunshine. Grandma June suffered a stroke Saturday night and she's currently in the hospital. April and I were devastated when we first heard, but the news is not all bad. She's recovering nicely and should be transferred to a rehab facility in the next couple of days.

And best of all her smile is still very much intact. Very much infectious. Very much a light to treasure.

April, Michael and I piled in the Matrix and drove for a visit yesterday. The moment we entered the room Grandma June unleashed that trademark smile and I knew things were going to be okay. That's the thing about Grandma June. She always makes you feel good. I remember visiting her as a little boy and hearing her laugh at the top of her lungs over nothing in particular. She would smile, beam really, and laugh and before you knew it you were laughing and you didn't know why. You just knew you were happy and life was great.

That's Grandma June.

Yesterday was a good case in point. All of the relatives were huddled around the room in a bit of a gloom. Grandma June wasn't having any of that. She was making jokes and laughing and making us all feel better. God bless her.

Her health hasn't been good lately and there are times when that smile plays a little hide and seek. But it was back in full force yesterday and we were all lucky be there. There are challenges ahead. The right side of her body is really weak, and she really can't lift her right arm, but I can tell you one thing - Grandma June is up to the task as always.

"Just watch me!" she said. Smiling from ear to ear.

- Dave

Got her first real six string ... bought it at the five, I mean Craaigs-liist!

It's official. April has the Gee-tar Jones and she's got it bad. Not that I'm in any way nervous or anything. Just because she comes home each night and gleefully runs to her guitar like she hasn't seen the thing in centuries and plops down on the couch and baby-lets-play-a-song strums away, doesn't mean she's losing interest in me. I mean seriously now.

Let's move on.

I'd like to share the fetching tale of how April landed her first guitar. She calls it her first guitar, even though she also bought one in junior high school and never actually played it. Why? Because this one is "pretty!" Duh! It's a story that takes quite a swervy turn for the weird midway through, so make sure you don't fall asleep while reading this or anything. Here goes.

After strumming renditions of "Jingle Bells" and "When the Saints Go Marching In" to her hearts content using a borrowed guitar from my Dad for a little over a week, April decided she was indeed a serious musician and needed a serious instrument of her own. Or at least a pretty one.

So on to Craigslist she went, and soon the object of her desire appeared in the form of a small color photograph on our computer screen. It was quite a beauty, I have to admit. All red and shiny and lovely. A true serious instrument for a true serious artist who has been serious for more than a week now.

She shot an email off into cyberspace inquiring about the red beauty and spent the next 72 hours saying, "Why hasn't he emailed me back yet?"

Finally, he did email her back and April managed to stop jumping up and down in celebration long enough to get directions to the nice man's house. That evening we hopped aboard the Green Machine and set course for Nampa expecting smooth sailing all the way.

We were halfway there when the water stopped being smooth and started splish-splashing along the bow. Michael began dramatically stating that his tummy hurt. He's quite the actor (acting, thank you!) you see, so we've learned to ignore him when he does this. Around 99 percent of the time everything works out perfectly and our future Oscar winner moves on to another scene, but there is that pesky one percent, however, where the little dude is not joking and this happened to be one of those times.

Here's a rule of thumb for all parents - Basically anything can happen at anytime for any reason at all. So be ready Freddy.

I knew we were in uh-oh territory when Michael began making a buzzing noise with his lips. This is quite a distinct sound he only makes when he's about to lose his lunch, as it were. April also recognized this sound and began frantically searching for a kleenex, napkin, towel, t-shirt, oh-lord anything to wipe up the coming mess please let there be something. Wouldn't you know there wasn't a towel or anything absorbent anywhere.

Well you can guess what happened next. April comforted the little guy the best that she could. "Poor Mi-Mi, it's going to be okay. Poor, poor Mi-Mi."

I comforted him in my own special way. "Ew gross!"

We turned immediately turned around and returned home empty handed. I tossed his clothes in the washing machine, ran some hot water and put Michael in the tub. In a few minutes Michael was playing happily covered in bubble bath and pouring water in and out of a large water cup that makes up his favorite bath game.

Once we knew Michael was indeed alright (we're pretty sure it was a food allergy), April got that "man, I wish I had my guitar right now," look in her eyes, so she called the nice man and explained what happened. He told her to come on over in a little while and get the guitar and in a little while she set sail for Nampa once more.

She returned a couple hours later the proud Momma of a lovely shiny red guitar. The two have been inseparable since. Again, not that I'm threatened in the slightest. On a completely unrelated note I'm thinking about buying some lovely shiny red shirts. Something with a musical feel.

Dave is reading "The Dharma Bums" and thinks writing long drawn out sentences that ramble a bit is so very Zen. Please excuse him, kiddies.

- Dave

Do you like green eggs and ham?

Think left and think right
and think low and think high.
Oh, the thinks you can think up if you only try!
- From "Oh The Thinks You Can Think!" by Dr. Seuss

It's Dr. Seuss Week at Michael's kindergarten and the wacky wackiness is well underway. Each day features a crazy kookie activity that Michael is absolutely loving. Monday was Pajama Day and Michael skipped happily to school wearing his best football pj's. A nice yellow and blue ensemble with football helmets everywhere. I believe the Who's at Whoville would have loved it!

Yesterday was "Cat in the Hat" Day and featured quite a nice surprise for the Mommies and Daddies at pickup time. One by one little kids emerged from their classroom sporting extremely cool "Cat in the Hat" hats. Michael was beaming from ear to ear. The moment we got home I pulled out the camera and snapped a picture, as per the instructions on page 75 in the Official Parenting Manual. And of course I put it on my blog. So y'all can see Mr. Handsome himself in his "Cat in the Hat" glory. Isn't he cute?

Michael proudly wore his hat most of the afternoon. There is something about watching the sole male heir to your empire running through the house with a giant "Cat in the Hat" hat and a paddle-ball toy, singing at the top of his lungs, that makes this whole parenting gig worth it.

Right now Michael is enjoying Wacky Socks Day with the rest of his classmates. Mommy sent him out this morning with one brown sock and one black and white striped sock with a pirate logo on it. Isn't that wacky kiddies?

Tomorrow is Theodore Geisel Day. The kids will read one of my personal favorites, "One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish." And the whole party wraps up on Friday with a green eggs and ham feast.

So let me wish everyone a Happy Dr. Seuss Week! May we all celebrate life the way the good Doctor intented. And always remember to "THINK! You can think any think that you wish ..."

- Dave

Do Not Hang On Rim

Oh glorious day! Oh sweet Marie this is nice! It's the first of March and old Father Winter decided to take a nap. The skies above the Kingdom of Eagle are Bronco blue as far as the eye can see. The sun is shining and I have this strange urge to take off my coat. I believe my body is experiencing "heat," but I really can't remember what this sensation is called. It's been too long.

To celebrate this grand occasion, Michael and I grabbed a basketball and dashed for the car. I was planning on a relaxing drive to the park for some hoops action. But just before opening the car door a realization hit me. "Wait!," the realizer in my mind screamed. "You've got basketball hoops right next door to your house dude!!"

(My realizer can be kind of rude, dontcha think?)

"That's right," I responded. "We do have hoops next door. In fact, we have an entire park right next to our freaking house! It's got tennis courts and everything! It's one of the main reasons we bought this house! How did I forget this fact?!"

"Daddy, are you talking to yourself again?," Michael added.

Have you heard the expression, "hiding in plain sight?" Well that pretty much sums up the mysterious park next to our house that I absolutely forgot about until now. I've been walking or driving past this particular next-door park for so long this winter that my mind simply started to ignore its presence. It became invisible to me. Poof! Gone!

(I never said I was smart. "Look at me! Now I'm on a horse!," handsome? Absolutely. Smart? No.)

Anyway, Michael was super excited to have basketball hoops right next door and the two of us unveiled our unique brand of roundball. Michael dribbled up, down and around the court while laughing and executing his own play-by-play. I discovered that my verticle jump ain't so verticle anymore. I also discovered that my shooting motion has been altered somewhat during the past 20 years. Shots that once soared effortlessly through the air now launch like cruise missles. I felt the uge to shout, "Fore!" whenever the ball left my hand.

As if my "shooting" display wasn't frustrating enough, I had to suffer the indignity of a patronizing little sign some smarty-pants painted on the backboard. "Do not hang on rim," the sign said. Five little words shattering my manhood and reminding me once again that I am not 6-foot-8 and awesome.

Thanks a million.

I didn't take this indignity without a fight. No siree! After getting a good head of steam, I managed to "soar" high enough to touch the net below the rim. I tripped somewhat and slammed into the chain-link fence, but it was totally worth it! I even got a "good job Daddy!" from Michael.

So there!

Always remember the parks located next to your house, kiddies!

- Dave