"I'd Like Some...Perspective."

There are those moments in life that allow you a little perspective. You may think it silly, but I had one of those moments on September 17th, 2011.

I love football. Okay, I love college football. Okay, okay, okay. I love BYU football. In fact, I love it so much, that my mood is often determined by the outcome of the football game any particular week. And by often, I mean 100% of the time.

And if there is any week that can really make...or break...my attitude toward others, it's the week of the BYU/Utah Football Game.  Please take note of the use of capital letters.

When the two meet in any other sport - ANY other sport - I really do not care.  Don't get me wrong, I really hope that BYU wins. However, a loss will not create an unrecoverable funk that only victories can overcome.

In recent years, the games have been agonizingly close. And no, I don't need Ute fans commenting on the couple of years where it wasn't as close as others. I am fully aware of the history, 26-23.

Last year, when BYU declared it's move to independence and Utah accepted its invitation to the PAC, many bemoaned the end of the rivalry. Not me. I was actually hoping it would die. I can't take that kind of stress any more. True, winning on a last second throw to Jonny Harline is exquisite. But just as exceedingly exquisite is that joy, equally exquisite is the pain of a last-second blocked field goal that would have won the game.

No more. Please.  Yet, at least they are competitive and exciting games.

I would rather have BYU lose that way than by handing the ball over to Utah 7 times. Even Utah will beat BYU with that sort of gifting.  I found myself repeating the words of Peach, "Find a happy place.  Find a happy place. Find a happy place!"

You might think the drive home was a LONG 6 hours. And you would be correct in your thinking.  But, I had time to reflect on a few things.

Throughout my life, I have said, half-jokingly (and by half-jokingly, I mean in complete honesty), that very few things are more important the BYU Football.  In fact, you could count them on one or two fingers, using only the entire finger.  I have decided there are more than that, actually.

Such as driving all the way home, rather than stopping in St. George to sleep for a few hours because your 3-year-old is suddenly sick and Mommy needs to get there ASAP.

Or, watching my wife sleep - in an attempt to get a little bit of rest while the girls are not calling us - in the passenger seat on the long drive home from Provo and listening to her snore.  There's another one.  I found a particular joy in that I would not have otherwise. (I took a picture, but I will not post it for fear of death)

Or, watching my 9-year-old son try to get the last of the nacho cheese out of the plastic tray.

Or, the Primary Program the next day and watching my children sing and participate is more important.

Seeing Matti lead the music for the first time in Sacrament meeting the next day, that too.

Setting another personal best at the triathlon at Sand Hollow Reservoir.

Nick and Josh playing together - happily, without fighting.

Or, as Nicki was about to let the boys go play in the water while I started the swim portion of the triathlon, she said to them, "Make sure you take off your shoes, socks, and pants before you get in the water."  To paraphrase Dori, "Something about the water.  Got it."  And the first thing Josh does is run straight into the water - without doing any of those things.

Even the smell of the rain as we drove home that night/morning.

So, I found quite a few things other than the most obvious.  Like eating Ratatouille just like your mom used to make for you when you were a child - a little perspective.

He Discovered My Nakedness

Look, I am sorry. This subject may offend you. If so, then please skip it. But the bottom line is that I had an embarrassing moment I would like to share with all. Because, after all, what is more important than baring yourself in front of others? That is to say, your embarrassing moments in front of others.

Some like to hide their most embarrassing moments. I am trying to get it all out there. Although, "getting it all out there" was not my intent last Friday.

While I had the "Mom" responsibility for a few days, I couldn't go running or swimming or biking early in the morning. So, I packed up Jonny and Mikey on Friday morning and took them to the YMCA so I could get in a swim.

I did my best, as an Eagle Scout, to be prepared for the little excursion. I figured we could then go pick up a paycheck, make some stops at banks, and maybe even get the boys a little treat since I was dragging them all over town. So I packed clothes and everything I would need to shower at the YMCA after I was done with my swim.

At least, I thought I had.

As I put everything in the locker, I reached for my purple Hawaii towel. Where IS my purple Hawaii towel? Where is ANY towel?

"Well," thought I, "it is not very crowded today, so I will probably be able to drip dry and use paper towels and the hand dryer real quick like. But, I am not giving up my swim."

I swam. And I showered. I was alone in the bathroom. Then, as I was standing at the sink getting some paper towels to start dabbing myself dry, I suddenly became not alone in the bathroom.

Truth be told, I am not embarrassed about the way I look without any clothes. At least not since I have lost 50 pounds of girth to my body. But, I really don't make it a practice to be around other people without any clothing covering...you know...me.

Although this individual identified himself as hailing from the San Francisco area in the late 60s and early 70s, I choose to think that his chattering was more out of nervousness since there was a fully unclothed individual walking around.

He didn't stop. I really did not want to engage in conversation. The relationship was intimate enough as it was. Yet, my lack of response, or my short one word answers did not deter him. This was definitely more uncomfortable than having discussions in the bathroom. At least there are walls dividing the exhibitions taking place.

I finished drying and got dressed as quickly as I could and was on my way. One less person in the world I had to worry about exposing myself to.

Return of the Daddy

*Editor's Note: The original working title of this entry was "Revenge of the Daddy." Shortly before this entry's release, however, I didn't feel that "revenge" should be used, since it is not a true Daddy concept. A true Daddy wouldn't seek revenge on anyone, let alone his children.

It happened again.

"One of your children pooped in the bathtub?"

No. Actually, that is not what I am talking about. Besides, it wasn't IN the bathtub. It was on the side of the bathtub and on the floor next to it.

Every year, the week following graduation at Brigham Young University, the campus hosts billions of women for Women's Conference. For the past couple of years, I have been bamboozled into taking time off work for 3 days to stay home with the kids while Nicki goes up there for yet another respite from, well, us.

You may recall my experience from last year. And truthfully, that experience was more about survival than anything else. And I don't mean MY survival. We are lucky the children made it.

A lot has happened in the 12 months since. And this time I was able to enjoy it a little bit more. No, really. Get off the floor and stop laughing. The most difficult part, I think, has been adjusting my seats and mirrors back to where I had them in my car after she got home. Four days later and it still doesn't feel right.

Not that anything was different from last year. I took one step into the door from the garage and, "Dad, can I have a piece of candy?"

"No."

"Then, can I play the XBox?"

"No."

"Can I solve world hunger and cure cancer?"

"No."

"Is Mom going to be home soon?"

"Not as soon as either you or me would like."

I was able to help them remember that she would be home on Sunday morning. Through gentle, loving talk at high decibels.

The above-mentioned bathtub incident happened that first Wednesday night. What I don't understand is that they do not do this to Nicki. Human waste seems to only end up in (or around) the bathtub when I am on duty. And yes, I am fully aware that I just used the word duty.

I was nearly finished with washing them, when I went to the other side of the tub to find, well, you know. I don't know why I asked. Obviously, the guilty child was "Not Me." I didn't need the boys to tell me that.

Then Jonny dimed out Mikey. He seemed the perfect culprit to me. He's been waffling between being potty trained and wearing diapers.

He was scolded and sent to his room for it. Jonny was the last one to get out.

Something inside me told me that I made a mistake. "Jonny, why did you poop on the floor?" If you have ever had to ask a child that question, you might be laughing at the sight of it in writing. I am. Even if you haven't, I give you permission to. It's a ridiculous question!

"I didn't," came the reply in his "I'm Lying to You" face.

"Yes, you did. Why?"

Then the admission. Boy, did he get it. No, I didn't beat him senseless. I'm not saying I didn't think about it. After all, he knew what he had done was wrong. And I'm not talking about the fecal matter. Although that was certainly part of it.

So what was his consequence for dropping the, uh, droppings? As I got him dressed, I told him to get me a diaper. I should have recorded the response. Classic. Yes, I made him wear a diaper to bed.

Later that night, as I tucked him into bed, Jonny asked, "Is tomorrow Sunday?"

Funny, that's exactly what I was thinking.

I Feel Safer Now

Nicki and I had the opportunity to go to New York a couple of weeks ago. So we went. The purpose of the trip? To support Vocal Point in the final round of the International Championship of Collegiate A cappella. The ICCA.

The Kids with VP after ICCA Semi-Final win

What's Vocal Point you ask? You shouldn't have to. But if you are and I haven't sufficiently offended you by making you feel ignorant and out of touch with all that is good in the world to the point that you are actually still reading this, Vocal Point is where Nicki and I met.

Oh, and it is also the BYU-sponsored 9-man a cappella group. You can see some of their more recent performances on YouTube here and here. When I was in it (and Nicki was choreographing for the group), there was no YouTube. There was "Yo Dude," however. Very close relative of YouTube. I'm not even sure how many our performances were recorded by VHS video cameras in those days. I think I know how many Beta cameras there were, however.

The trip. Yeah. So, we had booked our flights on US Airways. Motto: "Fly the skies. Or not. We can't actually guarantee you will ever get off the ground, let alone to your final destination." In all fairness, we didn't know their motto at the time we booked the flights.

However, 3 hours before we were supposed to leave, we began to learn. The flight was going to be delayed and we would miss our connection in Phoenix. On the plus side, they seemed to be very customer friendly by trying to arrange other ways for us to arrive at our scheduled time. They even put us on a direct Continental flight. I was quite impressed with US Airways at that moment.

Then, on the way to the airport on Sunday, we received another phone call. Our flight was going to be delayed and we would miss our connection in Charleston. This time, no help to get home that night. So, we spent an extra night at my brother's house. Which, of itself, was fine. We were happy to have a little more time to spend with them, especially since we got to go with them to the Cherry Blossom festival. Those cherry blossoms are kind of cool.

I think, perhaps, that some of my discontent might have been colored by the TSA. Motto: "Privacy, shmivacy."

The night we left, I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be "randomly" selected for the naked body scan. I had been "randomly" selected EVERY time since it was instituted at McCarran.

Nicki was also "randomly" selected right before me. I know they don't send every person through it, because I saw several people pass by me on either side who just did the metal detector, as I waited at the end of the chute exiting the naked body scanner. A TSA agent waiting at the end eyed me with suspicion, said, "Copy" into the radio on her shoulder and raised her hand to me to signal, "Stop."

So I stopped. And I waited.

She said "Copy" at least twice before she left me, without any instruction that I might proceed. But, never fear, another TSA agent signaled "Stop" from the side. They were courageously doing their duty keeping Matthammed Bin Laden Al Zawahiri detained.

I waited. And waited.

No words, just looks of suspicion and disapproval. Then an agent pulled the red tape across the end of the chute in front of me, in case I had the urge to bolt. "RESTRICTED," it read across the bold red tape.

Please, just put a neon sign over my head that says, "Criminal detained! Everyone, look at the criminal!"

Nicki kept giving me questioning looks, for which I had no response, no answers.

Finally, two TSA agents (are they actually agents, really?) approached me and asked where my bags were. I pointed toward Nicki. The senior companion (at least, I assumed by virtue of his thinning comb-over and the other one didn't ever talk) stated that they had detected an anomaly and needed to do a bio-scan.

At this point, I thought they meant rub their little acne pads over the zipper of the bag and do a test, like I had seen (and had) done many times before. Why did THAT decision take so long?

"Please, sir. Go into that room."

Nicki says, "Um. I'm going in there with you."

Incredulous looks from the TSA guys, but they didn't try to stop her. Good thing. I guarantee we would not have made our flight had they tried.

I started thinking, "Wait a minute. This guy is going to give me an enhanced pat down. What the crap?" I promise I even thought "crap."

What follows is a direct transcript of the dialogue that occurred as the junior companion, who remained silent the entire time because he likes to just watch, closed the door behind us.

"Sir, the scan revealed an anomaly and I need to sexually assault you."

"Anomaly?" responded Nicki and I. "What sort of anomaly?"

"I'm not allowed to say. At this point, I would really just like to molest you."

"Can you see that I am wearing pajamas? What would I possibly be hiding that you couldn't actually see when you looked at my naked body in the scanner?"

Nicki: "This is unbelievable. It's wrong. He has done nothing wrong."

"Well, ma'am, you are welcome to call Washington and see if you can get things changed. But as of this evening, I still get to legally assault your husband sexually in front of you and there is nothing you can do to stop me, unless you and your husband want to go to jail and miss your flight altogether."

Nicki: "This is what male cows leave on the ground."

"Nicki, this will get us nowhere. He is going to get his supervisor and have us arrested if I don't let him molest me." (To agent, as I raise my arms in the air) "Go ahead, touch me where ever you want to. Get it over with."

He then proceeded to describe in detail how he was going to sexually assault me and followed through with his promise. I can't describe it as anything else, because it's how I felt - honestly. He "touched my junk" (to borrow a phrase), not once - but 4 times.

I am glad it wasn't a family trip where one of our children was selected for this "safety measure." Nicki and I would probably still be in jail.

Is there anything you can do about it? Not if you want to fly anywhere. You have to buck up and take it. But it is crap. Definitely crap.

Glory Days

This past weekend, my family and I celebrated, along with 74 other alumni and their families, the 20th Anniversary of BYU's Vocal Point.

I was in the group from 1995 to 1997. And enjoyed performing in front of millions of screaming women - perhaps not millions; one or two, perhaps? - dying to hold my hand. It was BYU, after all, and certainly there would be nothing beyond that sought after or desired by either party. (Please no Brandon Davies jokes).

It is always a particular rush to perform on stage when the crowd is enjoying it and for a brief moment you are the focus of their attention. Let's be real. We each got an 8-10 minute opportunity to do it again during the afternoon concert.

But performing on stage simply cannot compare with this:



Watching that live (twice) caused my heart to grow many, many more times than the Grinch's did. I cannot put into words how awesome it was to watch 3 of my children perform in front of a sold-out 670 seat theater.

That evening, though, reliving my glory days collided with reality. After the current Vocal Point group did their evening show, I was congratulating them on their show and on how quite very good they are. (WAY better than my years were.)

"Thanks, Brother Avery. I was 7 when you were in the group."

CRASH!

Now Don't Start That Again

It would stand to reason that I would do a blog entry about New Year's Resolutions. If I did, I could borrow one I heard that is almost sure to be attained by the majority of people - gain weight this year. Yes, I could do a blog about that.

Ah, but no, I have to return to bath time. At this point, you are thinking, why is he doing another piece about peeing? I can assure you, this has absolutely nothing to do with pee. So, sit back, relax and read on.

See, I was taking my turn to bathe the boys. After all, it had been several weeks and with Nicki's hand being wrapped and bandaged from her recent surgery, I felt it was only right that I do my small part to help.

As per the required order of exiting the tub (determined in part due to the prior recorded tub incident), Josh was out first and I was helping him get lotioned and dressed.

Then Jonny exclaimed something. I wasn't really certain I heard what he said. Well, that's not quite acurate. Truthfully, I was just afraid that I had heard Jonny correctly. And then Mikey started crying.

I turned around and returned to the tub to find Jonny and Mikey on their tiptoes in the bathtub and looking down with horror on their faces (and perhaps some worry about what my response would be)...

at what appeared to be large, bloated Hershey's Kisses floating in the tub. Since I was pretty certain the nearest bag of chocolate was downstairs in the pantry, obviously, they weren't Hershey's Kisses and I HAD heard Jonny correctly.

I suppose it was the fresh pine scent of the freshly cleaned bathtub that led Mikey to believe this would be okay. He had sat on the toilet just before getting in the tub. What other explanation can there be? Yet there is something that baffles me. Riddle me this:

The bathub is about 2 feet deep. Mikey is about 30 inches tall. How did a nugget end up on the top of the tub surround, with a brown streak over the lip of the tub? We may never know.

I told you this had nothing to do with pee.