So here it is, the official Vintonville family ala pumpkin. Heyo!

On every technical level these are all wrong… but I LOVE them.  Maybe it’s the secret rebellion in me that loves technically wrong pics or that they capture the tender moments of my growing-WAY-TOO-fast Little Lady.  I am so behind in posting family pics it’s almost sickening…more to come.

Lately, this heart has has been pretty apparent as Sis is the first to rush me when I get home from work or yell “Mamaaaaaaaa!!” when Lady-Friend comes back from a class. She bolts, arms outstretched, into big fat hugs. If anyone’s around, she’ll bring them into the fold for a group hug. You can see her love for her “babies” (IE- chickens) right here and any time she decides to strike out on her own, you can bet she’ll be blowing you a kiss. In public, she’s always crying out “Hi!!” and trying to get people to play with and talk to her and at home she’s always protecting Little Dude (or calling out to him with a beckoning hand: “C’mon! C’mon, Jaw-Jaw!”) when he’s stuck in a “wrestling” match. At two years old the little girl, for lack of a better word, is magic.

And it’s all in the eyes.

So once Lady-Friend recovered from her warm-up Half-Marathon, we struck out to see the local sights… which is pretty much red rocked desert. And while that sounds a little “Meh”, it’s ridiculously invigorating and awe-inspiring country with so much to see from horizon to toe-tip your eye can hardly take it all in.

When we arrived to our first hike in Arches National Park, Little Sis had totally passed out like she’d been on an all-night milk and cookies bender, which is almost partially true. With parental foresight unequaled by any but God Himself, we’d packed a hiking backpack just for this kind of this-family-won’t-be-held-back-by-anyone’s-need-for-sleep-edness. We carefully pulled the rag-doll formerly known as Little Sis from her car seat and placed her into the pack.

Two minutes later she was awake and delighted to be there.

Twenty seconds later, not so much.

— Lady-Friend, 2011

So you know my [insert gushing/fawning adjective here] Lady-Friend likes to run. Not a “Hey, I enjoy a leisurely jog around the block” kind of run– I’m talking “Wow, this shearing pain up my leg feels terrible but man I feel ALIVE… I wonder if I can rub another dinner plate-sized blister into my foot by mile 32″ kind of run. And hey- that’s cool. There’s something euphoric and therapeutic about that. So I hear.

But man, that’s one of a million things that make Lady-Friend an inspiration, tougher than me on my best day and pretty much one-in-a-million. So kids in tow, we took an 8 hour road trip to Moab Utah last weekend for the Moab Half Marathon (8 hours !? But you thought Moab was only 4 and a half from our place? Yeah, don’t ask… but it involves no map, relying on GPS and two missed exits… Shaddap). I was rocking the support role (IE… “I’m not running but I’ll pretend I’m doing something to compensate for the fitness guilt) while the kids pretty much rocked the “I want to do anything but be in this car” role. Which was awesome.

So the Moab Half marathon is unique in that a herd of panting, sweating, short-short wearing runners trickle through 11 miles of breath-taking canyon on a closed course and empty out on Moab’s main street, where they run past a trailer park, some dirt, a few houses and down a thoroughfare lined with a lot of cheering support-folk and their leashed dogs and kids, which is no small feat. There’s a lot of people who run this race and there’s no thinning of the pack– they stuff it from start to end. Let’s say if you wanted to take a left hand turn onto mainstreet with the half marathon going, you better have packed a lunch and a pair of adult diapers.

So, with adult diapers in tow I snapped a few pics of Lady-Friend making pony-tails look good, Iron Men look like weak-willed pansies and generally putting 13 miles of Canyon Country road to shame.

Unfortunately for our kids, Vintonville is kind of slim on the sweet treats and desserts. And while that’s good for Mama and Papa’s physique, it’s not good for the sweet tooth. Still, Lady-Friend and I usually whip up a few treats for the kids and enjoy a protein shake/bars for our “treat”. When we do whip up a little something special, Little Dude wants everyone in on the good stuff. The other night we whipped up a batch of snickerdoodles (with orange food coloring by request– YES!). Little Dude was stoked at how delicious they turned out and wanted to make sure I tried one. I graciously turned him down but Dude was undeterred:

“Maybe you could try one with protein in it so you could eat it?”

So OK, we’re still Mormon. Which might mean we were watching this movie called “Legacy” this past Sunday– it’s a pretty decent short film about the beginnings of the Mormon Church and its trek West to make Utah home after a whole bunch of getting bullied. The film is narrated from the perspective of a girl who joined the church and trekked out West with her family while facing tragedy, hardship, death and all kinds of poopy stuff including falling in love. In short, the girl’s eyes aren’t dry all that often. It’s a little melodramatic at times and if you’ve seen it, you’ll know why Little Dude watched it and asked, “Why does that Lady cry about everything?”

Poor Little Dude. Sometimes he gets in trouble and sometimes he takes it kind of personally. Like the other day when he was taking foreeeeeeeeever to finish his dinner. Everyone had finished and half an hour later, there he sat– still unfinished but not wanting to do anything about it while Little Sis enjoyed a little treat. He didn’t take it well.

“–SOB– I’m that guy– I’m that guy no one loves.”

I think it’s now an established fact Little Dude doesn’t like going to the bathroom. He’ll hold it off until he’s dancing and humping air with more crotch-thrusting style than the late Michael Jackson. Still, if there’s one thing Little Dude is– he’s a thinker.

“What if my wiener was really long, so I was standing in my room and could go pee in the toilet!”

Sometimes I think I’m funny. Little Dude lets me know when that’s definitely not the case… like the other night when I tried a joke and Little Dude took my stand-up dreams and threw them in the crapper.

“Papa, that’s not funny. I was trying to laugh but I can’t.”

Sometimes Little Dude takes a loooooong time to eat. Sometimes we try to speed it up by [trying] to feed him. Yeah, I know. Don’t say it. Still, last time I tried it… well, let’s just say that’ll be the last time I try it. As I reached over with a spoon full of whatever-we-ate-that-night-he-didn’t-want, he yanked away and with a look of “what-the-freak-are-you-doing-old-man!?”

“Papa! Don’t you DARE feed me!!”

We spent Christmas Eve at Lady-Friend’s parents joint. When Little Dude ran into the living room on Christmas morning and caught sight of his loot, we knew he was satisfied.

“I… made… the jackpot!”

OK, I mentioned we’re Mormon. So we were reading the scriptures before bed. When we finished, Little Dude delivered one of those “Man, being a Dad is awesome” lines: “Papa, when I read the scriptures to me it fills me with so much joy and happiness it makes me think you’re the best Papa ever in the whole earth.” Drip, drip, sniff.

Like most little kids, when Little Dude is asked to stop playing and do a chore he kinda feels picked on and gets a little grumpy. Luckily, he puts it in context:

“I used to be so nice… now I’m so MAD!!”

The world’s a complicated place. Luckily, Little Dude breaks it down with simple finesse:

“Some people don’t have guns, so they use karate.”

You know your family might be a little too focused on fitness when the little ones start measuring themselves up and talking about protein to carb ratios. The other night Little Dude was getting his jammies on and knelt down in front of the fire place…

“Look at those guns! My leg guns are huge!”

Sometimes Lady and Man Friends make naked jokes for fun. Sometimes their kids happen to overhear. After joking about how going outside was a sure-fire way to come down with hypothermia, I joked we’d have to run inside and snuggle naked. Maybe a little too much info for you, but apparently not for Little Dude, who quickly asked:

“Can I join in?”

Little Dude is a tender-hearted little fella. After lagging on getting ready for bed and ignoring us after we’d asked for the umpth time, I got stern. I lowered my tone, gave an attention-grabbing clap (wondering where the crap I picked that technique up) and raised my voice– “LITTLE DUDE! Let’s GO!” … which instantly introduced the teary-eyed head of sad time.

“Papa! When you said that my heart was like this [holds up hands in a heart shape] but then it broke into a million tiny pieces because you broke my heart!”

Another day, another injustice done to Little Dude by way of asking him to stop playing and clean up. Only this time, it was SERIOUS:

“That makes me so mad!! Let the madness begin!”

Still, like I mentioned… the kid is super tender-hearted and after a fit and calling me the “meanest” and “rudest”, I was tucking him in to bed when he looked up, “Papa… I want to apologize…” Drip, drip, sniff.

Sometimes I set a bad example. Weird, I know. As we were eating dinner, I pulled the ol’ “Holy crap! There’s an Eskimo dressed in drag riding a polar bear on roller skates in our backyard!” When Little Dude looked, I quickly snagged a shrimp off his plate and shoved it in my mouth. Little Dude was hip to my treachery and quickly gave me the what-for.

“Papa…did Jesus tell you to do that?”

Negativity was the new hotness. Being right trumped being reasonable, emotional entitlement trumped patience, easily offended replaced equanimity and mean-spirited reprisal was regularly karate-chopping friendly humor in the face. Or maybe my underpants were tighter- I dunno. Either way, it was a bummer. Still, I think it may have been the underpants.

It’s not like myopic self-interest is new, but when did our inherent id-loving, Little Brother Syndrome narcissist start giving toilet-cleaning swirlies to its more benevolent and upstanding big brother, Charity?

I’m not sure where we start down that rickety road and I don’t know if I’m all that interested in laying blame. I do know I’ve been happy to jump on the bandwagon at times, but I’m frantically trying to unhitch. And while there’s still room for disagreement and disappointment (I’m lookin’ at you, Old Man Winter… Jerk), there’s way more room for consensus and optimism. Way more.

Sure, selfishness and its countless, self-interested motivations have always maintained a steady decibel level but its dominance or submission to optimism in our lives reads from a barometer that’s probably set internally. By that I mean we find what we choose to focus on. When we look beyond the constant stream of negative news and professional fear-mongering, otherwise overlooked gems of decency that form most folk’s personal foundation– their good and inspiring bedrock– glistens a little brighter.

All this gobbledy-gook/happy talk started this morning when I walked into a grocery store and passed an otherwise gruff-looking, bearded Dad carefully pull up the hood of his 2 year old son before walking out into the rain. Not sure why, but the ball peen tap from his simple gesture of sensitivity cracked a tender ray of light that’s grown into fullblown illumination in the hours since. Despite the seemingly increased popularity of cynicism, most people remain good. Life remains beautiful- a beauty found in things we’ve simply come to “expect” and often overlook.

It’s the dude who waved me into traffic when I thought I’d be stuck watching an endless procession of cars go by. It’s the giddy smile of my kids when I walk in the door and the sacrifice of my lady-Friend preparing another boring, dry, redundant meal so I can reach my fitness goals. It’s the easily pigeon-holed and overweight kid tenderly cradling his baby sister while she finds security in his arms. It’s the ticket lady in the parking garage who smiles and believes you when you say you really didn’t get a press pass parking validation. It’s the work acquaintance who cuts time out of his evening to cheerfully stop by and fix a fritzing electrical socket. It’s the grandfather who leaves his oxygen tank–and ultimately, his life– to run up the stairs to save his grandson.

In short, it’s the flecks of gold in the sifting sands of everyday.

The brightness of people and life are too easily clouded if we take the lazy shortcut to cynicism, sarcasm and finding ways to be offended and victimized. For many of us, it’s habit. We do it all the time. Transcending that soul-clobbering stuff takes just a little more effort as we sift and prioritize our focus on the abundant grains of kindness, charity and humanity in others.

Personally, I’ll take the combined brilliance of optimism and its resultant satisfaction- a refreshing perspective that easily counterbalances the dead-weight of sulking self-absorption and worry.

Just a thought.

In the mean time, Bearded Dad–whoever you were– high five for the wake-up call.

Cut to a few less months ago when I found a Better Homes and Gardens (what?) meatloaf recipe asking for beer. Enter, epiphany central: “Beer? I have beer!”

I cracked open a can and with its WOW-busting, nose hair singeing contents made some of the tastiest meatloaf–which in and of itself is 80% oxymoron– I’ve ever had the privilege of gagging down. High five and a backslap from me to me.

After I finished, I put the leftover beer in a tupperware cup to use later.

Later never happened.

What did happen was– just a couple days ago– Little Dude came in from playing all red-faced, sweating and looking for a “cold drink, Mama”. Apparently, apple juice was IT and lucky for him, someone had already poured a cup and left it nice and cold in the fridge.

This is where Child Protective Services shows up at my door tomorrow, because Little Dude climbed up into the refrigerator, dug that leftover beer “apple juice” out of the recesses of the top back shelf and started guzzling it.

First, it had been in there for months. Second, it took to him approximately 1.5 seconds to realize he’d made a huge, huge mistake. In the same moment, Little Dude ran to the sink and dumped the tupperware container and all its amber, meatloaf enhancing glory down the garbage disposal.

“Mama! Don’t drink this apple juice! It’s totally disgusting and rotten!”

No, Little Dude. That’s what Papa likes to call “meat loaf magic” and suddenly I’m pretty sure I’ll be much more sympathetic and guilt-ridden if you come to me as a 21-year-old frat boy lush in 5-year-old body thanks to the unintended consequences of having a pub in the fridge.

But I’m not judging. When I come home at the end of the day and Lady-Friend tells me she’s sorry she’s a “grease ball”, I’m cool with that as long as I get a high five and a “Man, you’re hot, charming and there’s a million more ego-inflating reasons why I married you”, we’re totally good. Besides- the whole no-showering thing? As a dude who slides through life living on the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” shower policy, I can assure you it’s the 36 hour mark before things start becoming olfactorily shady.

Still, Lady-Friend wanted to prove why her occasional non-showering was landing on the “must miss” list. As exhibit A., Lady-Friend jumped in the shower and snapped off a detail– from her perspective–  she could use in any potential “Why didn’t you take a luxuriating shower today” case defense.

As it turns out, if Little Dude is the Bed Ninja, Little Sis is his shower-time equivalent. A shower time equivalent who, with a thwarted, drippy-teared look of , “Why won’t you invest in my future and read to me, Woman? WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME!?” can not be denied.

And yes, we promptly cleaned the shower door.

Chalk one up for saying your prayers and eating your vegetables.