tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91394668766273407602023-11-16T04:46:53.273-08:00the Kopp GirlsLost in the land of women, send help.KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.comBlogger729125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-68705566940090209582019-07-01T07:47:00.001-07:002019-07-01T07:47:48.823-07:00Kid MagnetI know I'm not the favorite parent, and rightfully so. I don't even like me best, so I get it. But why - why dear god - am I the one they're drawn to when the slide into our bed in the middle of the night. We have a California King bed. It's big. It's big because I'm a bigger guy. I'm a bigger guy but I only get about 3 1/2 inches of sleeping space because whoever has decided to join us for the evening has made it their mission for the night to push me off the designated sleeping area.<br />
<br /><br />
Last night Lorelei slept on my face. Literally on top of my face. This after she had turned perpendicular to the bed, put her feet on by back and leg pressed me to the very edge of the Cal King perimeter. <br />
<br /><br />
I wake up every 20 to 30 minutes to try and "fix" things, and there's Gina; acres and acres of unused sleeping space. What. The. Hell?! Am I magnetic?! I'm this close to joining the dogs on the floor. They seem to have plenty of space on their beds for me.<br />
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(Next weeks blog post from the dogs):<br />
I know I'm not the favorite dog, and rightfully so. But why - why dear god - am I the one that Kyle's drawn to in the middle of the night. ….KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-31771412045711200242019-06-27T15:18:00.001-07:002019-06-27T15:18:23.894-07:00Right Dress, Wrong KidSo last weekend 2 of the 4 girls had their semi-annual dance recital. This time around was different then past events in that I was able to sign up for a Daddy/Daughter number with each of them. We've been rehearsing for the last several weeks and Friday night I had my performance with Arianna and her group, followed on Saturday morning with Lorelei and the 4 and under group.<br />
<br /><br />
Both dances went very well and tugged at my heartstrings exactly as I knew they would, with only one slight hiccup taking place.<br />
<br /><br />
For Saturdays number with the little ones, all the dads lined up back stage a few numbers before we were scheduled to go on. The volunteers then brought out each little girl (already dressed in her formal gown back stage) and paired them with the appropriate dad. Time went by and each dad had been linked with their appropriate kid, except for me. I was still childless. Add to that concern, there was one child who appeared to be equally fatherless; and this was creating panic.<br />
<br /><br />
There seemed to be more concern over the missing dad then over my missing kid, until I brought up one point: the little girl was wearing my daughters dress. I knew this because each kid had brought their own clothes for this routine, so nothing was matching or similar. And further, my mother in law had purchased said dress from a boutique, so it was almost guaranteed that no one had the same dress as Lorelei had brought.<br />
<br /><br />
The volunteers asked the little girl if she was doing the father/daughter dance; she answered "no". They asked why she had the dress on; she answered "it was sparkly".<br />
<br /><br />
Turns out four-year-old's are no different then large mouth bass; they see something sparkly, they just go for it.<br />
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The rush was on to find my child, get her put into her dress and rush her to the stage before the number started (seeing as we were the first pair in the line to enter stage left). Fortunately we made it, just in time: me, the dress and the correct kid.</div>
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<br />KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-53262731234741937362019-06-26T17:39:00.004-07:002019-06-26T17:39:48.499-07:00Don't Call It A Comeback / The Journey To Womanhood is TerrifyingSo yeah, it's been nearly three years since I wrote a post. Three. Years. I'm certain that none of my followers are still following, 'cause that would be weird if they were still checking in after that long. But, if by some chance some are, that baby we were last talking about just turned 4. 🤯 I should apologize for everything you missed; honestly at the time I felt there wasn't much you would. See, after taking four babies through the "baby stages" I felt my stories were beginning to repeat themselves. You can only read so many "baby took their first steps" stories before you want to puke, and I figured 3 was pretty close to that magic number so I wouldn't continue pushing it at 4. So I let this little blog fade away.<br />
<br />
Truthfully, I don't even know if "blogs" are a thing anymore. Maybe writing it again is akin to starting a Sanskrit debate team. Perhaps I should focus on an Instagram page or start a podcast or something; but I'm a writer so I suppose I'm stuck with this format.<br />
<br />
So why start again at all? What's the end purpose? Hold your horses; I'm getting to it. The past few days the Fam and I were on a short vacation and at one point we were gathered around pre-dinner and the girls got a hold of a phone and began searching Google. Their goal was to discover if their parents were at all Google worthy, i.e. famous (this is how we're judged now), and they were searching our names to see what might come up. They quickly found their way to the remnants of this blog, hidden away in dustbin of cyberspace and they began reading. They began reading and laughing, laughing and asking more questions, absorbing the stories of their infancy. They did the exact thing I had hoped they would do when I originally started writing them down. Granted, probably 15 to 20 years earlier then I'd anticipated, but they reminded me of long forgotten moments and they joined in on the joy of those stories along with us. It's as though they captured a clearer image of themselves through our eyes during those long ago days. And when they asked why I stopped writing them down, why the new stories weren't logged. ... I had no good answer to give them. After all I never wrote them for you; I wrote them for us, for me, for them.<br />
<br />
So I'm back, and here's today's story - the journey to womanhood is terrifying.<br />
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On this little vacation, we were forced to share some very tight quarters, beds and even something we've never had to deal with since potty training became a thing of yore: a single bathroom. Normally no more of an issue then apologizing for a lingering smell or someone taking too long and someone else not having the ability to hold it any longer, this particular scenario became slightly more complicated given Gina was, how shall I say, at that particular moment of the month.<br />
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Cut to last night, everyone has prepped for bed, we're saying our good-nights, then Arianna decides she needs to use the toilet one more time. She scurries off, there's a beat in time, then she screams "Oh my god, Daddy, what did you do?!!!!!!"<br />
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Gina and I look each other inquisitively. For the record, I had yet to use the facilities for the evening.<br />
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I yell back, "what do you mean?"<br />
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She responds, "It looks like you broke your butt in here."<br />
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At this point Gina's eyes widen after realizing that she may not have completely vacated the toilet bowl after changing a tampon, and neither of us has any idea how to move the conversation forward from here.<br />
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By now a crowd has gathered. I'm being blamed for many things, among them swallowing and now passing a chicken bone, murdering a banana, and of course the previously mentioned and most popular among the masses, "breaking my butt off." <br />
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Because neither of us are ready to begin the conversation in detail on mensuration with 9, 7 and 4 year olds, and because Gina was not chomping at the bit to claim herself the causation of the scene, it seems the popular theory has now been accepted as fact that this is something that Daddy can do and may again do in the future. So prepare yourselves.<br />
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And with that, I welcome you back.KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-79191990987374701822016-07-26T14:49:00.003-07:002016-07-26T15:13:57.522-07:00Real Dads Get Their Nails Did<div class="separator" style="border-image: none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-31550108001448406702016-07-26T13:46:00.003-07:002016-07-26T13:46:50.721-07:00Kid With No EdgesAs summer wraps up, the twins are preparing to enter first grade in the fall. Their experience in kindergarten was wonderful and they excelled in all avenues they encountered. A big part of that, both Gina and I fely, had to do with the fundamentals they learned in Pre-K. They came into kindergarten with the know-how already in place and were able to build on that strong foundation. Now I know only a fraction of children are able to take advantage of the program, so I can't consider it a necessity, but it was certainly something we wanted Rosaline to take advantage of as well. Unfortunately she was born two weeks late, just missing the cut off age limit. We had petitioned to get her in, but were informed this week that they're already at capacity and can't make the exception for her.<br />
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Sounds like no big deal, she'll be a normal kindergartner in 2017, right?! Well. .. Rosaline is her own drummer. And by that I don't mean she's marching to her own beat, I mean she's animal from the Muppets wailing away and completely unconcerned with what ever anyone else is doing. In the past 4 1/2 years she's shown herself to be completely unique and a point of concern for us, as her parents. I often joke that my goal is to get three though college and keep one out of jail, and it's funny. ... but it rings a little true I'm afraid. She's just so full of life and energy that she bounces off the surface of the planet like a racquet ball. Trying to get her to stop for a moment in order to learn something is like asking the moon to come back and stay a while, it just isn't going to happen. It's to our own detriment that the twins were exceptionally good at "learning" the traditional way. Both are eager to please, both have great retention skills and both think logically. This means that for me, a logical mind, it's easy to work with them and help them excel.<br />
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I got it in my head that it's our duty to get Rosaline up to speed if the pre-K program can't take her. The last thing I want for her is to struggle in kinder early where her sisters succeeded and get down on herself comparing to them. So I thought, in addition to our nightly bedtime story, we'll work in some mind games, like puzzles. So last night, I sat down with her and a puzzle. Oh ... my ....god. I was desperately trying to explain the concept of working the edges first so you can give the image a boundary and work your way to center. This did not register at all. She's trying to shove straight edges into squiggly holes and putting trains upside down, in the sky, so they'll appease what she thinks I want her to do. ... it was maddeningly frustrating.<br />
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And then Gina said something to me. "Kyle," she said. "You're trying to put boundaries on a child who doesn't understand the concept of edges." "Yes, I know," I snapped. "No, you don't." She continued, "in her world there is no edge to what she can do or what she can perceive. In her world it's limitless, there's no reason for an edge to exist. She see's the world in sections and pieces - focusing on this train and that tree - and she may work to an eventual ending point. But to see the world - and in this case the puzzle - as a bordered, bound and measurable piece is not a reality that registers with her." In essence, she's not logical, but the world doesn't have to be.<br />
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It was an "aha"moment for me. While the world and I (and especially her future teachers) might try to teach her logic and force her mind to process the way we do, it's actually detrimental to the beauty of who she is. We want her to be logical, but she's fantastical. We want her to have order, but she sees beauty in chaos. I want her to sit. ... but she's designed to fly; and god damn me for ever thinking I needed to bring her down to my level "for her own good". If anything, I should be working on how to fly up there with her. KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-73436236529114242482016-05-31T13:41:00.001-07:002016-05-31T13:41:24.494-07:00I'm Going To Miss ThisOn Sunday we took a trek to my mother's new house, her planned retirement destination. For the next year or so it will be a weekend retreat of sorts, but by all accounts it is the place that she will call home as my kids grow into adulthood. Because Gina was out of town, I naturally forgot important things to take along, like sunscreen. ... and a pack n' play for the baby to nap in. So as afternoon took it's grasp and she became more and more agitated, I retreated to a quite room, cuddled her in my arms and rocked until her eyelids dropped and we became one unit at rest. <br />
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I often get asked if four children is overwhelming. Like I have some brilliant response. "How do you do it?", the press. Well, this moment is how. ... this moment is why. Because the only true purpose of my life is these children. Because as I hold her, her trust in me inspires greatness in me. If I fail myself, I can make excuse. If I fail my wife, I can beg forgiveness. I fail my child. ... there is no coming back from that. I hold in my hands, in my opinion, the most valuable thing in the universe. An irreplaceable, unquantifiable, unimaginably perfect item. And she trusts me as she slumbers to do everything physically possible, and perhaps even more, to protect her, to love her, to see her through.<br />
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How do I do it? How can I not? There's not a damn thing in the world that could stop me?<br />
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And an occasional cold beer helps a bit too.<br />
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<br />KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-26327729951534550072016-05-20T13:53:00.001-07:002016-05-20T13:53:29.192-07:00Rosaline WisdomRosaline: "Why do they call it a substitute teacher? Don't they know that a "toot" is a fart?!KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-17161908897472586822016-05-16T14:46:00.003-07:002016-05-16T14:46:50.924-07:00 A Sunday Aventure and the Flip Flop Man
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here’s the problem with weekends: they’re too damn
short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t mean that simply as a
tongue in cheek “we work to much” statement, although we do so someone oughta
to do something about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean it as a reality, we have only 2 days
available to sort out all of our actual lives before getting back to the work
world which has replaced our actual lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What tends to happen then, at least with young families, is a horrifying
pattern of the same things in slightly different places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Breakfast, soccer, make up gymnastics, lunch,
birthday party, dinner, bedtime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes there’s a movie rental in there, maybe a round of golf or a
Sunday brunch, but for the most part it’s pretty consistent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s why I really relish opportunities to
shake it up drastically.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Sunday, Gina and I woke up with a plan: today was going
to be an adventure day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We rounded up
the kids, threw on some clothes and bagged some cereal for the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got to the train station just before 9
with plenty of time to catch the 9:13 to Downtown LA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We thought, let’s get the kids out of their
suburban bubble and show them things they’ve never seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just after the last of the car doors
closed and we all stood their looking at the homeless man yelling at himself on
platform 2 that we really thought: um, was this a wise choice?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next we fumbled through the ticketing machine
and the security guard who came to help us clearly had the same concerns. “You
all be safe today,” he called as we walked away, clearly concerned for the
worst.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As crossed the bridge towards our platform, the kids skipped
eagerly along and Gina and I glared at each other intently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What were we doing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four little girls, taking them to
downtown?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But here’s what we were
doing: creating a memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall
walking Olvera Street with my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
remember traversing through Chinatown, exploring Little Tokyo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember these things because my parents
exposed me to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned things
that can’t be taught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I experienced a
broader sense of the world around me, and I desperately wanted to give that to
my kids as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The train ride (their first) was everything you hoped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We explored the upper levels, played Eye Spy
with the passing world, we tested the limits of the silent commuters around us,
and when we emerged at Union Station it was like we’d entered a foreign
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Literally it was a completely
foreign environment for the girls; people dressed differently, talked
differently. … acted “differently”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made our way to Chinatown first, only a few blocks to the
northwest of the station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was during
this passage through the homeless encampments and past unidentifiable odors
that it dawned on me – my memories of this place were bright and cheery, but
only because my parents absorbed the fears and concerns that it brings
internally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I didn’t allow my trepidation to manifest
externally, I didn’t want to jade this experience for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m so glad I didn’t, but damn did I hold
tightly onto their little hands the whole time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We walked the shops, explored some live food markets with bizarre fish
and angry chickens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We even bought a
couple of baby turtles to come home and live in our pond. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We then made it Olvera Street where the girls explored the
outdoor shops, delighted in the live dancing in the historic courtyards and
enjoyed a wonderful meal in a crowded cantina with mariachi playing all around
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They bought some little fans and
trinkets to remember, then we headed back to the station for our 3:15
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we waited outdoors near a public
fountain, it was then that Rosaline realized she had misplaced her fan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That man over there has a fan,” Arianna announced nonchalant.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Gina and I turned to see a homeless man, with one leg of his
pants missing and a flip-flop sandal secured to his head with a rubber
band.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He held Rosaline’s pink flamenco fan,
open and fluttering, covering his face just below the eyes.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course. … this is Rosaline, this is where her fan would
end up.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Gina walked her over to the man, had her ask for her fan
with pleases and thank you’s and he graciously abided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it was in that moment that another lesson
was taught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The unfortunate people can
be scary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re unpredictable,
troubled and desperate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But their human;
they deserve respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even if a man
has flip-flop on his head, you ask with a please and afford him a thank you.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And just like that, we were back on a train, headed
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were up 3 fans, 2 turtles and
countless memories from our Sunday adventure.</span></div>
KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-57470893768955102202016-05-02T16:01:00.001-07:002016-05-02T16:01:32.190-07:00Taking A Moment to Make A MomentFriday began this past weekend of in exhaustive fashion. Rosaline's preschool had coordinated a field trip to the San Diego Zoo, so we took the big girls out of class for the day (shhhhh) and I took of work to have a family outing. It really was a great day, but that much walking and the warming Southern California weather just took the life out of everyone. By the time we got into the car it was nearing 4 and we were now subject to the So Cal commuter traffic.... and still some 90 miles from home.<br />
<br /><br />
After about 2 very rough hours we had just passed our half way point when Rosaline declared an emergency. She had to go number 1. NOW!!!!<br />
<br /><br />
I don't know how it is that there is not the slightest inclination that urine is building in a four-year-old's bladder until just before that moment it's ready to rupture, but I'm sure there's a scientific explanation behind it. As we inched along towards the nearest exit with signs of life, we finally made it to a dismal gas station with a restroom. This is how bad it was: when Gina returned and the other two admitted they really needed to go as well, Gina flat out denied them. She was never going back in that place again; we'd find an alternative solution.<br />
<br /><br />
As we headed back on to the road Gina and I decided, it was getting late, kids were hungry, kids had to pee, adults couldn't stand the thought of another hour staring at taillights - it was time to eat. So we pulled into a TGIF and bellied up to a table.<br />
<br /><br />
The experience was sub par. We ordered an appetizer, it never came. My chicken was literally not cooked at all (even the manager was shocked how raw it was) and there was a general blasé hanging over some very tired girls. However, towards the end of the meal and older couple, just finishing from a nearby table, stopped to interrupt us.<br />
<br /><br />
"I'm sorry, but I just had to talk a moment to tell you what a wonderful family you have here. To have so many, and so young, behave so politely in a restaurant is really amazing. What ever you are doing, keep doing it."<br />
<br /><br />
It was a rough day. If she'd seen us 45 minute earlier at a dead stop on the 15 screaming "DON'T YOU DARE PEE YOUR PANTS!" I doubt she would have such kind verbiage. But for me, to hear someone with no vested interest take time to express "job well done". ... it can really give you that confidence that you're not completely screwing them up after all. <br />
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Of course then she left and dessert followed about 12 seconds later. At that point my "wonderful children" were reduced to a snarling hoard of rabid monsters diving over the table and licking the coating off the dish. ... if she'd come up to converse with us at that moment she might have ended up a casualty. Life's all about timing, right?!KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-73590563224868850852016-03-31T12:55:00.001-07:002016-03-31T12:55:04.746-07:00Girls Are GrossFor all the shame brought on boys for being gross, I think it's time we shed the light on girls. They're disgusting. Maybe even more so then boys. And thank god, because sometimes they make me look good.<br />
<br /><br />
Everything the girls get baths or showers. It's a rotating privilege for who gets to share the tub with Lorelei each night. Earlier this week it was Arianna's turn. So she's sitting cross leg on one end while Lorelei is in her seat at the other. I'm bent over the tub, scrubbing the baby when Arianna suddenly stands up in the water, aims her cheeks at me and let's a fart out right in my face. Yes! The same girl who had to take off the Disney princess dress just to get into said tub, is now releasing flatulence directly in to my mouth. So classy. I give her the stare. .. because there is a specific stare that one gives when this exact scenario plays out.<br />
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"What?" she replies, "I didn't want to do that in the baby's clean bath water."<br />
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It sounds considerate on the service. ... but I could tell by the smirk that she knew exactly what she had just done. Watch out sweet little girl. You've just signaled that the game is one. And perhaps the only thing grosser then little girls. ... are their fathers.<br />
<br />KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-48564728422190591782016-03-24T10:12:00.000-07:002016-03-24T13:15:22.034-07:00And Then There Was Doug<div style="border-image: none;">
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We've clearly got issues. On top of four children we are now up to two dogs, two cats and a beta fish who may or may not have recently suffered a stroke but none of us want to flush him yet because he still flops around when we put food in his tank. We seem to have this "more the merrier" feeling about life and at some point we need to stop. ... and I thought we had. Despite jokes about going for a fifth (my mother keeps telling us we can still write off one more on taxes), we're convinced that we've reached the stopping point with children. As for cats, I'm already convinced we have two too many and as for dogs, there's just to many paws, tails and shit to pick up in the backyard. But there, here comes Doug.</div>
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Yesterday on the way to school, the girls came across a vibrant little Aussie Shepherd mix who had clearly lost his way. He was dirty and matted, but very sweet. He came with a collar and we determined he was micro chipped, but here's the thing: collar with out a tag is useless. Even more useless? A micro chip that no one registered. ... what the hell is the point of that?! Gina was going to take him to the shelter, but the shelter said they'll hold him for 2 weeks and then, if not adopted, he may be euthanized. Here's the truth, my wife is a softy. Like melted pudding in the desert soft. All she heard was "we're gonna kill the bastard" and she couldn't bring herself to leave him at the shelter. </div>
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Instead they brought him home, lit up the community facebook pages with pictures to try and find the owners and even had me canvas a four mile stretch yesterday hoping someone driving around looking for him would spot us. So far, we're striking out. I'm concerned because the longer he stays with us, the more attached we'll all get (let's face it, we're all soft) and if we never find his family then he'll probably become part of ours. He fit in nice with the other mongrels, the girls taught him to shake paws, and now we've already been calling him Doug. .. in less then 24 hours. See my concern?</div>
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Today the girls are taking out their posters (see below for the dead ringer likenesses) and we're hoping for the best. But don't be surprised if future posts refer to three wagging tails instead of the usual two. .. I know I wouldn't be.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDioKxmtNItKccuNdYBCSbtyaA4CF0z7wzLFN7p0p2vwgjiXPFiln0azS8xVqSyI0dPMc0510HJmN4qxVp363Zrbw3DSX4aR0lzt4NSvWqU1hpuS4v7wM-Q4T6ccIPQBu7LdCdQH0iwzA/s1600/doug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDioKxmtNItKccuNdYBCSbtyaA4CF0z7wzLFN7p0p2vwgjiXPFiln0azS8xVqSyI0dPMc0510HJmN4qxVp363Zrbw3DSX4aR0lzt4NSvWqU1hpuS4v7wM-Q4T6ccIPQBu7LdCdQH0iwzA/s320/doug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of these doesn't belong here. ... yet.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOD-HYeeey65ttP9ath9-IGXsVdUvhnRVtUdGA7aL0s1zNG9TznPdS8NcD_UxDSYNZq1GO_Dh6kGLa2Hl_LeoirWBJ0fJmKhnNYFdpXZHmbyZd3TFgoVVVWFaLt19I0Yth_Wj0b_3z7ko/s1600/g+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOD-HYeeey65ttP9ath9-IGXsVdUvhnRVtUdGA7aL0s1zNG9TznPdS8NcD_UxDSYNZq1GO_Dh6kGLa2Hl_LeoirWBJ0fJmKhnNYFdpXZHmbyZd3TFgoVVVWFaLt19I0Yth_Wj0b_3z7ko/s320/g+dog.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You better only call if he's yours!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBf5mYI1bQCX62Tn6dvHm3N3EcPm2m0memRA24I2VqVuAe4VPknqeFjwTyRocpUPF_93DBqVj30uuFymwVcCNDfckbqQsF7EJxhPqC11LlSuShN8MlnSgSjB3R0TgMzfjUagRr2bQySg/s1600/a+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBf5mYI1bQCX62Tn6dvHm3N3EcPm2m0memRA24I2VqVuAe4VPknqeFjwTyRocpUPF_93DBqVj30uuFymwVcCNDfckbqQsF7EJxhPqC11LlSuShN8MlnSgSjB3R0TgMzfjUagRr2bQySg/s320/a+dog.jpg" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We "fawnd" a boy dog. ... with a detached head.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFdlL6jxM91sRqP-EbEepB65ZuGWHQDpLMaJ-5Qo57qgVDe1vpz6BKRNa0JErnnLSFeQSXOM08BsQxPsqA-LWHqVSvphVUgo5SnqSvOjQdgAisWDvuQJwx3ougjBAfs6t8LpDJ-HaPvw/s1600/r+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFdlL6jxM91sRqP-EbEepB65ZuGWHQDpLMaJ-5Qo57qgVDe1vpz6BKRNa0JErnnLSFeQSXOM08BsQxPsqA-LWHqVSvphVUgo5SnqSvOjQdgAisWDvuQJwx3ougjBAfs6t8LpDJ-HaPvw/s320/r+dog.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We may have found a three legged rabbit as well. ... or just a blue flower</td></tr>
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<br />KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-19452239345338245112016-03-07T15:53:00.002-08:002016-03-07T15:53:34.272-08:00The Three GracesOne of my sister-in-laws is an extraordinary artist. Over the years you've been reading this blog I've shared a handful of examples, so you may already know this. You see, she's made a habit of using my children as sources for quite a few of her pieces. I'm always in awe of how brilliantly she captures them and how intriguing it is to see their essence reflected through her unique eye. However, a few weeks ago, she contacted Gina and I to seek permission to start a new piece. My first reaction found it odd, as she'd never reached out to ask permission to paint my children before (and I never thought she would need to, either). But when she revealed the image she wished to paint it became clear why she was cautious to proceed. <br />
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Every Wednesday, Gina goes to Orange County to teach several of her yoga classes, and she has the kids stay at my in-laws while she's doing so. It's a weekly ritual and all parties lend a hand. On these nights, just before Gina picks them back up, the girls all take a shower upstairs and wash their hair. My in-laws have a beautiful walk-in stone shower with exceptional lighting and colors. It was this image that my sister-in-law wanted to paint, but given the nature of the girls being exposed, she didn't want to cross any boundaries. I appreciate that. I'm also sad that this is what the world is now. You can see the finished image below. It's not unlike hundreds of masterpieces hanging on the walls of the Louvre or the Academia d'elle Arte. It captures beauty, and warmth. It takes you to a place of wonder and familiarity. It exudes love and youth, joy and mystery. But we now have to post trepidatiously. We have to wonder if some creep behind a screen sees something more, something sinister, something that a decent person could not imagine. For that I appreciate my sister-in-law's concern. I take comfort in her desire to protect my children in spite of the artists draw inside her that yearns to create a magical image. And because of that, I trusted that she would take care with my children. That she wouldn't allow something unintended to emerge. That she would create something so brilliantly that one could not see anything but the intended beauty and warmth. And personally, I believe she did. I share with you here, The Three Graces by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ArtistAlkisti/" target="_blank">Alkisti Richards</a><br />
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KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-84152237883761653862016-03-01T08:46:00.002-08:002016-03-01T08:46:46.166-08:00Sunday Brunch with an ear infection. ... make it a doubleI'm a week late in writing this. I had all intentions of sharing, but perhaps it took me this long just to get over the brunch that was never meant to be.<br />
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After several days of dealing with a baby with bronchitis, we had a particularly rough Saturday night. Simultaneously we were dealing with a 72 hour shutdown of the major freeway in our area so we were, literally, cut off from civilization. ... sort of; we still had access to a local brunch. So when we woke up Sunday (who are we kidding, we'd never fallen asleep) sitting outside on a particularly warm February morning and enjoying a bottomless buffet with bottomless champagne sounded truly amazing. They have outdoor seating and with the rest of the world stuck on the other side of the closure, we would have the place to ourselves and the kids could run around to their hearts content.<br />
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Truth is, it started out just as we'd hoped. Second group in the restaurant, whole patio to ourselves (girls were even allowed to take their own table by the lake) and mamosa's were served before we'd even gotten fresh silverware. I took the kids and loaded their plates, sat across from my wife and we share a smile. ... a very brief smile. Moments later Rosaline came up crying that her ear "itched". Her cry turned to a scream and her "itch" turned to a "pain" and it was pretty obvious that something truly wrong was going on.<br />
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Check please.<br />
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With that, brunch was over. The quickest and least satisfying hundred dollars I've ever spent. With in the hour Gina was in urgent care with Roz and the other girls and I decided to get the oil changed around the corner (because urgent care was much more popular then brunch so there was no parking). Turns out she had not a single, but a double ear infection. So the remainder of our day was spent trying to find a pharmacy located in the lock down zone so we could get her medicated and turn off the screams coming from the back of the car.<br />
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Not exactly the Sunday we'd envisioned. ... and we were still very hungry come Monday.KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-28472213503721090992016-02-16T15:31:00.001-08:002016-02-16T15:31:35.246-08:00Low BarThis weekend began the festival season for Gina, so while she got home late at night, she was gone just as early the following day. It was a good trial run for Lorelei, this being her first festival season stuck at home with me and the big three. Nothing of consequence happened in Gina's absence, so I don't have any great stories to tell. This is more of an OpEd piece today.<br />
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On Saturday we attended a birthday party for some friends and as I walked in the door I heard the familiar "father of the year right there" comment. Now, they're newer friends of ours, so this is really the first time they've seen me go solo for a weekend with the four tote heads in tow; but I think that makes it even more disheartening. Every time Gina's gone and I'm alone with the kids, someone thinks that's amazing, or odd. ... or just wrong. I mean, how can a father possibly take care of four children under 7 for a whole weekend? That's just cray-cray! You'd have to be a parent or something to survive that!!!<br />
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Why is the expectation so low for dads? Why is it that something my wife does every single day blows the minds of others when I do it for single weekend? Add in that my wife has to juggle school and shopping and gymnastics and soccer and play dates and PTA meetings, doctors visits and yoga classes and dentist trips. I slept in (relative to my normal 4:30 wake up), turned on a tv, scrambled some eggs and left for a 12:30 party with 4 very mismatch dressed kids in pretty crappily done pony tails. I didn't even wrap the present - Gina did that earlier in the week. Father of the year?!! That's just sad that these efforts would even qualify me for a nomination! <br />
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But it's this dual expectation that we set in parenting. We're amazed if a father shows up to the recital (oh what a doting dad with his camera); and then we're expecting that the mother to show up to rehearsals, make the stupid outfit, practice with the kid at home and still find time to change out of her yoga pants for the performance. How is that fair? How is that balanced parenting? <br />
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Obviously with the stay at home mom angle there is a little more expectation. I work all week so my wife can have more time to manage some of the day to day efforts that keep our family running. But when I'm not working, does that suddenly mean expectations for her cease too? I'm a dad. I should not be congratulated and praised for doing my job. But that's how it seems to be looked at by the masses. I've said it before, but I think we need higher expectations. Partners are partners. I don't think dads should be considered minority shareholders anymore.KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-25724654823031444542016-02-01T13:57:00.000-08:002016-02-01T13:57:29.346-08:00The Dangers of Second Hand WhaleSubtitled: My Daughters Toys May Be A Bad Influence.<br />
Sub-subtitled: My Children's Plush Pushers.<br />
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We have four children, that you know already. But when you have a four children, you also lose a little bit of your sense of pride. Suddenly, you're willing to take anything anyone is willing to give, loan or throw away. You want some old clothes? Yes please! You want a kids drawing table missing one leg? Why thank you very much. Did you catch that sofa on the side of the intersate? Sure did, honey - I'll take a U at the next light!<br />
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Fortunately, people seem to love us (and by us, I mean my children. ... as for me, I'm tolerated), so there is no shortage of hand-me-downs clothes and second generation toys to enjoy. One of the people that I know (kept non-descript for obvious reasons) has been kind enough to share with us things their 13-year-old granddaughter no longer has interest in. To date it's been mostly clothes and accessories, but this last week was a sack full of old stuffed animals. <br />
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The girls were over the moon, so this weekend we dumped the contents out and held a draft, where each of them took turns picking from the lot until they were all gone. One of the ones that Genevieve was particularly excited about was a medium sized Orca whale. Your opinions on Blackfish aside, there's not much cuter then a smiling killer whale stuffed animal. Her only concern was a small tear in the mouth, but Gina was quick to tell her that the next available appointment for surgery in the laundry room would fix her new aquatic friend right up.<br />
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However, last night as I was tucking them in, there was more to be concerned about.<br />
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"Daddy," she said. "I think this whale is supposed to talk."<br />
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I advised her that was unlikely, but she was adamant.<br />
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"There's a battery pack inside his mouth," she persisted.<br />
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I took the doll and sure enough, when I squeezed it I could feel a hard, rectangle like shape just under the eyes. To her horror I jammed my fingers down the rip in it's mouth and fished around until I could feel the hard plastic piece. Even before I pulled it all the way out, I could feel the metal gear, the press lever. And as it came out I was holding a fairly new Bic lighter in my hand. Turns out we found out where the previous teenage owner was keeping a portion of her stash. Needless to say, after the girls went to sleep, I went back through and did a pat down on all of their "new" toys to make sure what ever the lighter was intended for was not hiding elsewhere in my childrens' rooms. <br />
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It was not. Sadly.<br />
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So now comes the uncomfortable conversation with the gift giver.<br />
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"So. .... your granddaughter. .... she might want to buy a Zippo next time."<br />
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KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-103139855440781682016-01-29T13:46:00.001-08:002016-01-29T13:46:25.400-08:00CentennialsThe twins had a very special day today - the 100th day of school. Their kindergarten does something very cute at this milestone; they have all the students dress up as though they were 100 years old. It's quite adorable. ... and I'm really not a fan of saying "adorable". ... ever.<br />
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KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-64289375083462865052016-01-25T10:50:00.002-08:002016-01-25T10:50:56.405-08:00Oh Fish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There's something about the alien species on our planet that captures the wonder in every child. These silent creatures swimming beneath the waves, visible but allusive, are mesmerizing. <br />
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Gina had a baby shower for a friend this weekend, and since we were all in Orange County already the girls and I opted to find something to busy ourselves in the area while we waited for her to be done. What else do you do with three little girls (Lorelei decided to go where the boobs were going)? Shopping in Newport Beach, of course! Well, Fashion Island has plenty of upscale shopping but it has something much more valuable to a father with little kids looking to kill as much time as possible: fountains. Big fountains, little fountains, climbable fountains and fountains that you want to climb on but the sign clearly says not to fountains! It's like a kid mecca right in the middle of rich people shopping, who clearly were wishing to have avoided children all together!<br />
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One of these fountains was actually a massive koi pond with large stepping stones so that children could walk right through the middle. These large colorful fish are magnetic for a 6 and 4 year olds attention. Of course, the only logical thing to do when these peaceful fish swim by serenely is to damn near jump IN the water trying to touch them. Rosaline and Genevieve proved quite adept at doing so. Arianna, however, despite being my main daredevil with snowboards and roller coasters, seemed to have some trouble. <br />
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Every time she would lean down to touch a fish, the fish would naturally jerk away. A clear sign to most that "I don't want to be touched." To a child's mind, however, this simply translates "Na, na, na, na, na you can't catch me. ... now try harder!" Arianna's response, though, was panic - as she would pull away in trepidation every time the tail of a fish would flutter away.<br />
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She became quite upset, especially as the other two had been very successful with their fish touching. I tried intervening and helping her out, but her dilemma was simple: "I want to touch the fish but my body won't let me!" <br />
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Oh what to do when we want something that our body won't let us do!!! <br />
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I finally had to get down to a last chance opportunity. "You have one more shot, and then we have to go." This was expertly negotiated into a two more chances opportunity. First one was a strike, but at least we touched water. Second attempt. ... we breathed heavily. ... we waited patiently. ... and then we pounced. And we touched a fish. ... and it turns out it wasn't really all it was cracked up to be. Moving on.KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-70719274661991589702015-12-31T10:49:00.004-08:002015-12-31T10:49:54.017-08:00See You Next YearI'm very grateful for the way 2015 has played out. I got a promotion at work, bought a new car, knocked a couple of strokes off my golf swing. ... oh, and that damn beautiful little baby. I'm very excited for what 2016 will bring (hopeful not another baby ;) and I hope you continue to ride along with us. Happy New Year everybody!<br />
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KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-55982371866541648532015-12-23T14:02:00.000-08:002015-12-23T14:02:04.526-08:00The IronyI've spent the last two days driving to multiple stores across Southern California, trying to get my hands on a total of 3 "Baby Alive" dolls for the girls. Yesterday alone I hit three stores and logged nearly 100 miles to find the final 2 that we required. In all of this, the irony is not at all lost on me that <strong>all</strong> the girls asked Santa for this year were Baby Alive dolls. ... meanwhile we have a real live baby sitting at home. How come no one wants to change her diapers?KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-29930562754288308062015-12-11T13:41:00.003-08:002015-12-11T13:41:45.845-08:00A Real Head ScratcherIt was bound to happen; all that long blond hair was just screaming for some company. So, yesterday, while getting ready for school, Gina discovered Arianna had some new friends. ... lice. Hooray! By the time she called me in a panic she had already found some on Rosaline as well and was in full HAZMAT mode with Genevieve quarantined until inspections could be complete. She quickly realized that she couldn't take on all three of the girls while juggling the baby as well so she called me about midday ("if you can come home now that be great, if not you better show up with a giant ass Starbucks and a bottle of wine"), so I came home early and we made it a real family affair. I even learned something new: did you know a "nit" is a lice egg and that's where the expression 'nit picking" comes from? Well I didn't. ... know it all. <br />
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The girls were real troopers, it took us over four hours to finish combing, washing, combing, spraying, combing, rinsing, combing and gooping their little tote heads. Finally we tagged 'em and bagged 'em for bed. It was then that I realized we may have just stumbled upon the best Holiday Card ever!!!<br />
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No? Yea, that was Gina's reaction too. Bummer. After all that work I thought we could share this experience with the world, but Gina's afraid of the stigma - so we'll keep it on the down low and just publish on the blog ;)</div>
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To make the girls feel a little better about the whole situation, I figured I'd get their elf in on the action too.</div>
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The only potential backfire here is them believing that Santa is responsible for their infestation. ... we told them Santa would give them presents if they're good and coal if they're bad. So this must be what you get when you land in the grey area. Maybe next year they outta step it up.</div>
KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-78308966904196518982015-12-09T10:38:00.000-08:002015-12-09T10:38:14.499-08:00Our Hearts Grow Three Sizes Each DayYou may have<a href="http://news.yahoo.com/girl-lost-family-fire-wants-lots-christmas-cards-012435312.html?soc_src=copy" target="_blank"> seen this</a>, rolling around the web the last 48 hours. A five year old girl who lost her family in a fire and herself suffered severe burns and disfigurement is asking the world to send her cards for the Holiday. You may have clicked the link, you may have read the story, you may have viewed her pictures and, like us, you were probably moved. Now the question: did you write her a card? <br />
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I saw this yesterday, like many, and when I got home I brought it to Gina's attention. I'm big on the girls understanding - to a degree - the less fortunate in the world around them. This expression often lends itself to the poor or the hungry, but fortune is just as much the blessing that tragedy has not struck you personally. But explaining this. ... it's hard to play down for 6 years old and 4 year olds.<br />
<br />
Arianna: "What are you talking about?"<br />Me: "A little girl who is sick; we're going to write her some Christmas cards tomorrow to make her feel better."<br />
Genevieve: "How is she sick?"<br />
Me: "She got burned honey."<br />
Arianna: "Why?"<br />
Gina: "Sometimes things just happen, we need to remember how lucky we are that they didn't happen to us."<br />
Arianna: "What about her parents? Did they get burned too?"<br />
Me: "Yes, they did."<br />
Arianna: "Are they going to be ok?"<br />
<br />
- And this is where you pause. Death is hard to explain to a child. It's often something we skirt or play down. We'll see your goldfish again in heaven; they've gone to a better place; ect, ect, ect. But to talk about a parent dying. ... that's a tough image for them to swallow. -<br />
<br />
Me: "Actually, sweetie, the parents were burned really badly and they died. (her face contorts to a whimper) but she's going to live with her Aunt who lovers her very much, just like your Aunts and Theas love you.<br />
Arianna:"Ok."<br />
<br />
- And this is where they ask to see the pictures. Judge me, if you will. I understand those that may. Kids are supposed to be shielded, we save the TV violence for after 9pm, right?! We rate the movies high so they can't get in until their 17. We dumb down the seriousness so the cat that gets blown up in the cartoon gets put back together again so he can return in the next episode. But it's fake. It's not real. It doesn't teach them anything. It doesn't grow their heart and compassion. So we went through the photos; this girl their own age. Her face and body scarred. Her arm amputated below the elbow. And it was real. And they felt. And they understood. And today, when we sit down to write her as many cards as their little fingers can muster, it comes from a place of genuine understanding and compassion. This won't be an exercise in "cutesy, holiday" revelry. This will be a human experience, of three little girls reaching out to another little girl who has suffered. This will be three little hearts, bleeding in support of another child that they desperately want to help. We talked, a while past bed time, about how doctors can help her to get better. That they can ease her pain and help some of the scarring. How they can make "robot" arms so she can do some of the same things as them. We watched videos of Oscar Pistorius running (we skirted his current activities) so they could see that she won't have to be limited by her amputation. But, we explained, it's up to us and people like us to fix her heart. Doctors can make our owies better, but it would take love from other people (even strangers like us) to help her sadness. <br />
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It was heavy. They cried a bit. They gestated on it all. But as a father who's raising children to be caring adults, it was a growing moment. And I'm proud of that. I'm proud of them. When kids cry over toys or sweets or not having enough of the excess, it makes me nauseous. To see my children cry because they felt for another, a stranger, someone they had never - and would never - meet. ... I couldn't be prouder of the people they'll become. Hearts that big don't shrink, and it's my purpose to make certain of that.<br />
KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-12674682637943856672015-12-07T15:54:00.000-08:002015-12-07T15:54:14.847-08:00Selfish MourningWe've been selfish lately. We've been hording what was never ours and we've been hoping to keep it forever. And now it's gone. Back where it belongs, back where it's right. But we're still selfish, and our covetousness now breeds mourning.<br />
<br />
When we moved into our home, we moved away from everything and everyone we knew. Yes, it's only 60 miles. But 60 miles in LA traffic (120 round trip) is the equivalent of an expedition to Antarctica. ... while wearing board shorts and flip flops. It was terrifying. We knew no one and we crossed beyond the boarder of our tightly knit extended family's unwavering support. It was a new world and we were trepid. Until a chance encounter at a shoe store brought a ray of light into our world. Not to mention strange new ways of pronunciation.<br />
<br />
Over the next three years the Bevans became the Hardy to our Laurel, the Cheech to our Chong, the Lloyd to our Harry. It was one of those matches that couldn't be planned better. Gina found a confident adventurer that drove her to places she'd never consider going on her own. Arianna and Genevieve found a loyal companion that could be shared with out being torn apart- a difficult feat amongst children. Rosaline found her soul mate. ... there's no other way to describe it. And me. ... I found someone who wasn't embarrassed with my horrible golf game, who wanted to be my friend rather then had to be, and who carried me emotionally while I carried him physically. And since Lorelei came along, she's found someone else to feed her for a change.<br />
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If family is a part of you, something you can't chose to attach or detach; like an arm or a leg. Then your friends are what you chose to put on. Some friends are an outfit that you wear to be showey. Some are casual and comfortable. Some you get tired of and discard and others you regret spending so much money on. The Bevans, though they may not even realize, were our armor. They gave us strength at a moment we needed it most. They made us confident in a world outside of our own. And now that they've gone, we feel exposed, fragile, perhaps a little cowardly. <br />
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I'll miss having a house full of chaos to come home to on a Tuesday. I'll miss imaginary weddings and the great adventures of Rozzie and Rafe. I'll miss strangers thinking the big girls were triplets, and they way often acted as though they were. I'll miss the strength you gave my wife. I'll miss jumping dead batteries at the drive in. I'll miss late night decisions for early morning golf. I'll miss watching the memories we've made play out on the tv slide show. I'll miss watching rugby and having no idea what's going on. I'll miss picnic dinners long after the sun had gone down. I'll miss kids sleeping on couches because we couldn't stop the evening.<br />
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As we stood against the airport dividers, heads craned up at the mezzanine in the Tom Bradley International terminal on Saturday, we watched them walk away, out of our daily lives towards the plane that would take them home. These things we'll miss played out in our heads, betrayed by the whimpers and frowns. But they were headed in the right direction, and that, unfortunately, was away from us. Our lives were extraordinarily brightened by their presence in it. But when winter sets in, and things get a little colder, we mourn the sun rather then celebrate the time we had. We miss the warmth rather then remind ourselves how good it felt. We forget, too, that a season isn't forever, and though the coming spring won't be quite the same as the summer, it brings with it the chance for summer to come again, if we let it.<br />
<br />
So for now, we'll find solace in a log fire - which has no business being in Southern California. We'll try to order curry on our own and see what we end up with. I'll swing a club and swear like always, but I'll appreciate the scenery and the lack of rain. We'll appreciate the beach, because not everyone has this. We may even consider an earthquake survivor kit. We'll order cider every now and again. We'll make a roast. We'll look at Diet Coke in a can and smile, knowing it's superior to the bottle. We'll appreciate the National Anthem at sporting events. We'll laugh at chocolate squares. And we'll pour an extra glass of wine for the empty chairs at game night. ... and then we'll quickly drink them, because it's wine and can't be wasted. I mean, c'mon!<br />
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To the Bevans, should you read this: know that you've impacted this family, from top to bottom, in more ways then you might ever realize. Your mark is deep on each of us and though we're oceans apart now, and your day has become our night, you'll never be out of our sight, out of our thoughts or out of our hearts.<br />
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<br />
KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-510831270303020312015-11-30T13:54:00.002-08:002015-11-30T13:54:58.935-08:00That Looks Painful, Let Me TryWhat is it about kids and logic? At what point does the human brain develop it and how, as a species, are we able to survive infancy with out it?! We've been helping some friends pack up their house to move recently and last night we were finishing up some odds and ends. There was a flood light set up to help us all see and at one point another little girl (maybe 18 months), part of another family helping out, grabbed the light and burned her little fingers. As she's screaming and the two of us dads are trying to sort out where the burns are, but before we could think to turn the light off, that's when my Rosaline decides to see what all the fuss is about and walks up to the same light, pointer finger outstretched, and touches it. Sure enough, she was burned too. She watched this whole thing unfold, why would she touch the object that has just hurt the younger kid?!! What's more, as I'm now rushing to turn off the light, a group of the older 6 years now starts migrating towards the light in curiosity. WTF?!!! Back up! Fire, hot! Knife, sharp! Dog poop, stinky! Somethings we don't need to test for ourselves.KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-43307761329280772872015-11-16T10:39:00.003-08:002015-11-16T10:39:46.687-08:00Daddy Needs To Figure Out The Parental LocksYesterday was our "once a year birthday party" for all three big girls. We're going to need to rethink this now that we have a summer baby as well and can't claim a mid November party to cover everyone in October and December. Anyway, I got up earlier to get the backyard under control, while Gina attacked the downstairs. We left the girls upstairs watching cartoons and out of the way.<br />
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After finishing the back, I walked by the stairway and I could swear I heard a quote from the movie Inside Out. That's odd, I thought. I'm pretty sure that movie just came out on DVD like last week. I started up the stairs because this was going on much longer then a normal commercial and, by now, my interest was peaking. <br />
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Sure enough, there it was on the upstairs TV, the newly released movie and all four girls sitting quietly, thoroughly enjoying it.<br />
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"Um. ..." I started. "Are you guys watching Inside Out?"<br />
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"Yea, it's on TV." Genevieve responded gleefully.<br />
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"How?" I asked. "We didn't rent the DVD."<br />
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There was a pause at this point, and the three big girls slowly swiveled there heads toward me with "oh no" reflecting in their wide eyes.<br />
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Another moment of silence before Arianna muttered "Lorelei must have pushed a button."<br />
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I love it! Yeah, that must have been what happened. They've figured out how to rent movies, they understand that it's going to cost money and I'm not going to be happy so they blame it on the four month old who has a hard enough time grabbing a pacificer to pick up the remote, locate the On Demand button and scroll to the new releases to find the movie for her older siblings. Brilliant! So guess what we're watching for the next three days - since that's how long we've paid for it. Oh, and Honey, find that manual! Daddy needs to figure out the parental controls on this damned U-Verse box!KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9139466876627340760.post-70274866411360794132015-11-11T15:27:00.001-08:002015-11-11T15:27:28.982-08:00Disneyland, Where Parents Act Like ChildrenYesterday we played hookie from school and work and took the girls to Disneyland to celebrate all of their birthdays. There are plenty of Southern California residents who renew their annual pass every year and trek to the Mouse House regularly because they've got nothing else to do on a Thursday night; but we want to make sure these experiences are special for our children so we limit our trips to every couple of years. Ok, you caught me. Have you seen how much they charge for a damned annual pass? I'd have to sell a kidney and that would only get me half the family covered. And then how in the world would I renew the following year? What's the run rate on a spleen these days?<br />
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Fortunately one of Gina's yoga students happens to work at the park part time solely for the ability to sign friends and family in. She was gracious enough to come down first thing and help us get in to the happiest (and most overpriced) place on earth.<br />
<br />
We had a wonderful day; like, flat out amazing. The big three rode all of the big kid rides and wait times were 15-30 minutes maximum so we got on everything we wanted to before the sun set on our day and headed towards the exit filled with the wonder and glee Walt envisioned when he set out to build this place. And then some bitter and contentious woman had to go put a dent in the whole thing. <br />
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As we were walking out of the park, down Main Street and looking for some ice cream to cap off the trip, it was obvious that folks were starting to line up for the big evening parade. For those of you who aren't familiar with Disneyland, this is where the true madness really sets in. It was 6:30PM. The parade they were all getting their seats for (blocking every inch of usable sidewalk) wasn't scheduled to start until 8:30PM. That would be two hours away. A parade. A parade that most of the folks (a big portion are pass holders who only arrive at sunset for these things) have already seen a dozen tims. A parade with a mouse - not the vets we are celebrating today or even bead throwing, boob flashing marti gras for christ's sake. That's what this all centered around.<br />
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There was a brief moment, just in front of the ice cream shop we were all trying to get to (3 adults, 2 strollers and 6 "hangry" children), when a woman was standing shaking out a blanket she was clearly planning on putting down in the opening. Our friend, who's charming British accent can usually turn folks into putty, asked extremely politely, "do you think we can buzz through here to the ice cream shop real quick before you put your blanket down?"<br />
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"Well," the "B" responded with the most snide and perturbed tone at our audacity. "My blanket was already here, I'm just shaking it off. So no, you're going to have to go down to another spot if you want to break through the line."<br />
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WHAAAAAATTTT????!!!!!! This is an adult woman, surrounded by her own impressionable offspring, who is already up and displaced, flat out refusing to be a decent human being and instead forcing a few clearly out matched parents to go way out of their way to find another spot, just to come right back to where they were trying to go because, for lack of a better term, she woke up and decided to be a dick today.<br />
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Here are my issues:<br />
1) Parents, you know how hard it is. You've been there. You've done that. How can you not look at a person who's struggled the same road you have and not inconvenience yourself in the slightest capacity to make their life easier - just as you would have appreciate the same courtesy if the roles were reversed? But here's the world we live in. It's all about me and never about you and the next thing you know you're on the news for all the wrong reasons.<br />
<br />
2) You're children are watching you. Trust me, they're always watching. What they just learned is "I can be an asshole, if I want, for no apparent reason whatsoever." So when your kid gets in trouble for being a little shit, and you say "I have no idea where he learns this!" Just go back through your family vacation photo album and you can probably find all the evidence you need.<br />
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3) You realize in the description of the parade, this is what it says:<br />
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<em><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Watch in <strong>wonder</strong> as the <strong>vivid imagination</strong> of <strong>Mickey Mouse</strong> and his friend <strong>Tinker Bell’s</strong> enchanted <strong>pixie dust</strong> paint the night with dazzling Disney <strong>dreams</strong>, complete with a colorful palette of more than one million <strong>glowing lights</strong>!</span></em><br />
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You're a grown ass adult. You just threw a tantrum to some complete strangers to see dazzling Disney dreams and pixie dust. F*ck you, lady!<br />
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Now, I will complete my own written tantrum here by saying that none of these feelings or comments left my head. We did respond with a "really?!' as we trekked down the street to find another opportunity, but we did not take the bait and set equally pitiful examples for our own children. But I couldn't help but editorialize this scenario for the sake of at least starting the conversation. Why must we be awful to each other? Why?! What harm or strain would this have caused her? This "me, me, me; mine, mine, mine" mentality really irks me. We stand here, destroying the world around us, claiming to be the pinnacle of civilization, but in the singular moments of our day we can't muster simple common courtesy anymore. It wouldn't bother me if this was a one off, but it's a daily thing. And it's sad. And we're teaching our children that this is how people are supposed to act to one another. Awesome.<br />
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Fortunatly, while that happened and it bothered me, we didn't allow a scene to unfold, and that means that all my kids remember of yesterday is this:<br />
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So what did your kids remember, lady?</div>
KyleRKopphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01319086729530168138noreply@blogger.com0