Happy Birthday Dad!

 World Wide Weapon

 Wolverine

 Shelly's Biggest Fan

 Handsome Rob

James Bond 

 William Wallace

Spartacus 

 Edward Cullen

Man with a bag of TRICK

 JB's Biggest Fan

Diego

Coach

President

 Phillip

Petunia Boy

 Grandpa

Puffy

He may have many names but we're all glad to call him dad.  Happy Birthday Spiffy Dad!!

A Very Bad Decision

Some years ago, I boldly declared, “I will never own a snow-blower.” I reasoned that in the Smart home, we are manly men (and sometimes women), and we can darn well shovel our own snow. The morning of big snow storms, I would get the kids up early, assign them a shovel and challenge them to race our neighbors, who predicably for our neighborhood, rely on sissy machines, aka, snow-blowers to do their work. We were always proud when we could clear our driveway and walks faster than the neighbors with their mechanical equipment--well, at least I was always proud of this fact.

Now, we have all read how John Henry and his mighty hammer out-dueled the steam powered equipment of the Railroad Company (aka, The Man) and laid down railroad tracks with great speed in order to save the job of the working man. When I tried to emphasis this story as a point of pride to my children, they sharply pointed out that John Henry's efforts cost him his life, but more importantly, that they didn't want their working class jobs to be saved. "Buy the Snow-blower! Puuulease!" They pleaded. My response? “Pride has a price, and in this family, we are apparently willing to pay it!” Instead of a snow-blower, I invested in a number of very fine snow shovels over the years. Currently, there are about five of them in my garage--each one of them just waiting for an opportunity to shame our neighbors in a show of seasonal determination and grit.

Even Sheila in an act that can only be viewed as betrayal, would frequently side with her offspring by suggesting, “What do you think about a snow-blower for Christmas this year?” or “Do you think a snow-blower would be a good gift for your birthday this year?” In stubbornly rejecting all such suggestions, I mocked the very notion of such a wussy gift: “I most definitely do not need, nor want, a snow-blower. We have a number of quality snow shovels in the garage that would just go to waste if we were to purchase a snow-blower. Besides, the kids like to get up early and shovel the snow. They love to compete with the snow-blowers in the neighborhood.” Of course, I tried to say this when the kids were around, so they would understand what fun it is pit brawn against machine in manly test of strength and determination. They mostly just rolled their eyes and gave me looks that were not to difficult to decipher.

Now we have enjoyed a mild winter this year, that is until the first of February, when it dumped 0ver a foot of snow on Yakima in several days. I was ecstatic--I love the snow, especially, the first big storm of the year. Sheila? Well, she usually threatens to start looking for property in Tuscon whenever this happens. I just ignore her because as long as her grandchildren are in the Northwest, she’s not going anywhere. This last storm, however, tempered my enthusiasm for winter storms; and in particular, it caused me to rethink this whole John Henry versus the Machine macho attitude and my refusal to buy a snow-blower. Without my children/domestic yard slaves to assist with the job of snow removal, the whole John Henry challenge thing seemed pretty hollow, and frankly, just a lot of meaningless work. I’m pretty sure that everyone in the neighborhood was done with their driveways before me. After the third snowfall in three days, I told the Sheila, “I don’t think I’m going to actually shovel the snow today. It’s only a couple of inches deep. Instead, I think I’ll just dump a bunch of ice melt on the driveway and hope for a warm Chinook to blow in.” At which point, I escaped to the safer environs of my office, alleging that I was way too busy to shovel that morning. In reality, I was bordering on exhaustion. Needless to say, I was chagrined when I returned home and found that Sheila had shoveled the entire driveway and the walks. Ouch!

Without the muscle of my children/domestic yard slaves to push the snow around, I felt defeated. My manly decision to reject the generous offer of my caring wife to purchase me a snow-blower, in retrospect was obviously a very bad decision.

Grandma Phyl

Grandma Phyl came to visit us immediately following Christmas and stayed with us through the New Year. What a wonderful visit! She is so much fun to be around. We played games and ate everything Sheila placed in front of us. We at some nice dinners out and did our best to not offend any chef who was serving us.

We enjoyed New Year's Eve in Seattle. Brunch at Salty's and then the Broadway show Cinderella at the 5th Avenue Theatre. We dragged her all over the place and she hardly seem to mind. At Salty's she profounded stated, "I need to squeeze some lemon juice in my Diet Coke to give it some nutritional value. Did anyone see a lemon at the buffet bar?" We were doing extreme damage to our health at that very moment. In retrospect, even she admitted that worrying about our nutrition while working on our 4th platters seemed a little odd. Following the show and a little shopping, we drove to Portland to visit Darcee and Brent. Darcee was at the hospital with Keith so we celebrated New Years with them by uncorking a couple of bottles of Martinellis and breaking some amazing sushi (for Darcee, of course).

Grandma Phyl never ceases to amaze us. She is wicked smart and will likely forget more than I will ever know. She was so sweet with Keith. She spent every moment that she could with him. In her words, "He's just an angel boy!" She is an inspiration for all of us. She never stops moving. I'm not making this up, as any who knows her can attest. I'm not sure how she out paces us at her age. She is truly a remarkable women at any age, and when you consider she is 80+ it's mindboggling.

She is so accommodating. She rode back to Salt Lake crammed in Shea's truck with several co-eds, without even a whisper of a complaint. What a trooper!




Lil D and Grandma Phyl.

Loving Keithy every chance she had.

Cinderella at the 5th Avenue Theatre.

She's a winner for sure! We couldn't be more blessed.

The hap, hap, happiest Christmas

Despite Keith's extreme challenges over the Holidays, we still managed to have just about the "hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny [bleeping] Kay." We enjoyed skiing and snowboarding (until I tore my MCL wrestling), shopping, Ju-jitsu kick boxing (until I tore my MCL), doing puzzles, games, eating everything in sight (unaffected by my MCL injury), hanging out with the coolest grandkids known to man, P90X workouts (until I injured my MCL), a Broadway play in Seattle, the Holiday Brunch at Salty's (West Seattle), a trip to Portland and very special visit from Grandma Phyl.

Chels and Ally.

A belated Christmas in Tigard.

New Year's Eve in the hospital with Keith.

Chels and Ally. Notice the cross toes.

Lil D and Ally.

Sibling love or torture?

Lil D and Keithy.

A very satisfying New Year's Eve at Salty's.

Grandma Phyl spent a lot of time hanging out with Keith. It was touching.

Probably the best present I've received in a long, long time--a customized Wolverine themed climbing helmet, painted with our most famous family motto: "Scratch and Claw."

Keith finally getting to open a present. Woohoo!

Sheila, me and Grandma Phyl at Cinderella.

Shea, Lil D and Chels at Cinderella.

Cole--a Super Hero for sure!

A Princess, and she knows it!

Lil D and Me at the Box Office of the 5th Avenue Theatre for Cinderella.

Grandma Phyl and Lil D at Salty's (probably the best buffet known to mankind).

Grandpa Smart got to spend tons of time with Evie (and she loved it, of course).

I am not sure where all the pics of Sydney and Nick are. When Nick is around, I don't shoot very many pictures because I am totally intimidated by Nick's Nikon camera. At any rate, we felt so blessed this Christmas. Seeing Keith suffer so much was difficult to be sure, but we nevertheless found so much good to celebrate and enjoy just being together.

Failure to Thrive Syndrome

I am smiling again. I got my wife back after a long, long absence. When we anticipated being empty-nesters, I did not guess that it would be me alone in the nest. After our wonderful trip to the UK and Switzerland, Sheila stayed in London and partied with Chelsea; then visited Darcee in Portland to help with Keith's treatment; and finally went to Eugene to hang out with Little Evelyn. To say I missed her would constitute a ginormous understatement. Seriously, there were moments were I was pretty sure I wouldn't (and couldn't) make it another day.

For centuries, nursery workers have been aware of an obscure diagnosis to explain mysterious infant and children motality--Failure to Thrive Syndrome. I was pretty sure that I was suffering from this potential fatal ailment. While visiting my attending physician, Dr. Brett DeGooyer, for some minor lumbago symptoms, he in fact, verified the diagnosis. I have always thought him a wise physician, but his ability to hone in on this diagnosis like a laser shot, was well, beyond impressive. Fortunately, the cure for this most serious of conditions is pretty simple--gobs and gobs of TLC. The She-wolf is back in the nest, so friends and family members need not worry that I continue to suffer, nor that my life is still precipitously dangling in doubt.

In describing my near death experience to a doubting friend, I felt the need to show him the prescription written by my doctor. I have attached this very real and valid document lest there are others that doubt my experience, or are simply curious about this diagnosis. Regardless, rest assured that I am once again thriving and happy!

How Do You Measure A Man?

I'm helping my dad make his Halloween costume this year. In an effort to complete his costume in an efficient and accurate manner I sent him an email asking him for his measurements.

Here is his EXACT response:

Syd: The obvious answers are as follows: 1. All the way around the largest part of your chest: Massive and strong like a bull 2. All the way around the largest part of your arms: Massive and hard like hammers 3. Shoulder to shoulder: Massive and muscular like the demigods. 4. Waist: Tiny and svelte I’m sure 5. Belly button to knee: Long and strong like an Olympian. Actually, I don’t know any of these measurements. So I’ll have to go home and measure and then let you know tomorrow. thanks so much for doing this. -Dad After receiving this email, I promptly emailed my mom for some help. She measured my Dad and sent back an email, but not before my Dad was able to type several "additions" to the correct measurements.

Here is an EXACT copy of the second email:

syd: thanks so much for your help. Our clan must stick together. and now for my pathetic stats: Chest: 44 --huh? You mother apparently doesn't know how to take a simple measurement. Arms: 15.5--say what? why do they look like massive anacondas when I pose in the mirror after showering then?! Waist: 35--Hmmmm? Must be measuring in centimeters. There is no possibility that my "Big Ab" is girthier than 32". Belly to knee: 21. No comment. I have always been a Hobbit. Shoulder to shoulder: 19--who knew that measuring tapes could be defective, and that your mother would be so careless as to buy a defective item. Thanks mucho! After reading both of these emails, I realized one thing: My father is an immeasurable man in more ways than one.

We really were in the Swiss Alps--Honest!

Okay. I know this picture looks totally fake, but we really were in the Swiss Alps. Rocky took this and for some reason we all look "photo-shopped" into the picture. This was the scene of a James Bond movie "On Her Majesty Secret Service" circa 1968. Sheila is positive that I could do some of the cool stunts from the movie. Her willingness to believe some of what I tell her is just one of many reasons why I love her so much.

Our Swiss adventure was most excellent--thanks to our hosts: Rocky, Sarah and E!

Our wonderful Swiss hosts--Rocky and Sarah, who despite having only arrived in country a couple of weeks ago, were willing to host us for a few days.

Amazing and beautiful No. 2 Daughter--Chelsea

E milking a Swiss cow.

E milking another Swiss cow.

Our traveling troupe looking back at some of the treacherous roads that could only be handled by James Bond and Rocky Smart.