Category Archives: Family

Timothy Seems to Have Drawn a Blank…

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Republished from August 15, 2008… Written By Elisa

…So I thought that I’d contribute today.
He’s busy writing a sermon on Hebrews 10 and how the blood of bulls and rams is not sufficient enough a sacrifice for our sin. It seems to be a toughy- a very rich text. Personally, I’m after talking to him about it last night on our walk, I’m looking forward to hearing it.

What to write about… what to write about…

It seems that Andy has already started inviting people to his birthday. Cute. Even cuter that it’s four-five months away. He has decided that he wants a Spider-Man birthday. So, the invitation isn’t just for a birthday, it’s for HIS Spider-Man birthday. He wants a Spider-Man birthday cake. When I ask him what he wants for a present, he says… you got it… a Spider-Man Bicycle. The really funny thing is that he’s NEVER seen Spider-Man. He got Spider-Man pajamas from his cousins at one point, Spider-Man golf clubs, and a small Spider-Man toy. So, I’ve started planning.

With regards to the cake, I’ve learned a huge lesson that will effect any cutsie cakes that I may want to order. No blue or green icing. Andy had a really cute Thomas the Tank Engine cake last year. It had LOTS of pretty blue icing. It turned tongues blue immediately. Which wasn’t THAT bad, if we drank a huge amount of water, swished and spit, brushed teeth, went to the dentist and had them polished and bleached, pulled out and replaced with dentures… But that wasn’t as bad as other things that developed the next morning.

Nope. No more blue or green icing. I’ll stick with white, chocolate, or maybe strawberry pink.

Needless to say, Joey had a chocolate cake with chocolate icing for his first birthday cake. I was a cowboy birthday. The brown worked.

So, the Spider-Man cake would require blue and red icing, right?
Nope.
White.
That’s what they make action figures for! I can plop good ol’ Spidy on top and a certain tot will be absolutely thrilled. A spider web can be made across the cake with,. you got it, a strand of chocolate icing!

So in the next few months, I’m going to look for a Spider-Man bicycle and helmet and save up and look for an action figure that would be great for a cake.

Well, this post may not have been as theologically titillating, pithily political, and fabulously footbally as what Timothy would have posted. But maybe it will fill the void better than all those ???????’s.
Have a great weekend.
Elisa

A Bicycle For Christmas?

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This morning our goal is to find Joey a bicycle for Christmas. I have real mixed feelings about the bicycle experience for my boys. Not that I don’t want them to have a bicycle, or learn to ride a bicycle. I just don’t want them to go anywhere on a bicycle. In other words, once the glow of the fact that they have a bicycle wears off, I’m hoping to put both Joey’s new one, and Andy’s in the shed to be forgotten and covered with a thick coat of New Mexico dust from the next wind storm.

Why do I feel this way? It’s not that I had some bad experience as a child on a bicycle. In fact, the bicycle was our freedom. We went everywhere on our bicycles. I can remember living on the cul-de-sac of Kimberly in Houston, hopping on our bicycles and heading all the way to Town & Country Village to the hobby shop to look at the model trains. We rode without helmets, knee pads, elbow pads, water bottles, GPS’s, etc. Off on the Schwinn Sting Ray and no stopping until we got there.

SchwinnStingRayMy parents didn’t worry that some child molester would kidnap us and activate the Amber Alert. They knew we would be gone for a while and then back again for lots of water and the cool of our living room. They knew we were fairly safe, even in Houston.

If it wasn’t off to Town & Country Village, we were off to Rummel Creek Elementary school, where we could find suicide hill next to the creek. This was where we became Evil Knieval wannabes. We would get going full speed and head down suicide hill. We might even become air born off the top of suicide hill. No one ever really got hurt other than the occasional scrape or bruise. Remember that this was long before the lunacy of the X-games. We were not thinking about doing flips in midair. We were just thinking about… midair. If a tire left the ground or pavement, it was cool enough for us. Wheelies were the big craze and the height of bicycle talent in those days. There were those guys who even changed out the gears on their bicycles to facilitate the wheelie. They could do wheelies for blocks at a time. They were the height of cool and legends of our bicycle worlds.

The truth be known, I’m not sure I want my boys to have those experiences. Especially the experience of heading off on their bicycles for hours at a time. Not in this world. Not in these days of lunacy. In fact, I’m certain I will have to buy a bike for myself so that when they do head off to the park, I can go with them. They will not head off to the park alone, or the multiple trails that divide up the city of Roswell. I will be right there with them, watching, warning and praying.

Am I being overprotective? You bet. But that is the world in which we live. I don’t like it. I wish we lived in safer societies, but given the tragedy that happened just last week, we know it to be a different world.

So I will buy Joey a bicycle. And I might even teach him to ride his, and eventually teach Andy to ride his. But will I ever let them head out to the park or some where alone and without me? I hope not. Things have changed too much in our world. Instead of having the experiences of brothers being boys on places like suicide hill, they will have to grow up with the experience of Dad going everywhere with them. Come to think of it, not a bad thing at all.

I better get looking for that bicycle.

Andy in Flight

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I remember the first time I got to fly in a plane. I was traveling with my grandmother up to Little Rock and we were flying aboard a big jetliner, at least it was big to me. I wanted to sit next to the window so I could take in every bit of the flight. I don’t remember much about the flight, but I do remember that I was excited for days before the flight actually took place.

I imagine Andy’s excitement Saturday morning as we boarded my father’s Cherokee Piper for a short flight over the Texas countryside. Andy had to make a choice for Saturday morning. He could either ride Birthday Girl, Pop’s aging horse, or go up in Pop’s airplane. He chose the airplane after much deliberation. As he put it, he got to spend time with Birthday Girl on Friday evening when he helped Pops round her up and put her in the stall for the night. He had never been in Pop’s plan. He actually has, but he was about 4 at the time and just doesn’t remember it. In fact, while sitting in the back seat on that flight, he fell asleep.

Three years makes a difference. He couldn’t wait to go flying Saturday morning. Not that he was so excited that I had to peel him off the walls or anything like that. He was handling his excitement and the trip very well. He was listening to us and patient as Pops rolled the plane out of the hangar. He was amazed at Pops’ strength too. He waited to hop up on the wings, and then listened to the instructions once inside the plane. He even allowed me to put the ear plugs in his ears, which he didn’t like, but wore them nonetheless. He wanted to go flying.

Flying with my Dad is always a joy because I trust him as a safe pilot.  All my life he has been interested in boats, tractors and now planes. Since I was a small boy I have watched him handle such vehicles with the utmost of care. I grew up in Houston, and just about every other weekend we were down in Galveston where my Dad kept his boats. The first one that I remember was the Velda Rose. The next was the Roebuck, and after that, the Oleek. With each boat, safety was always a priority and making sure the boasts were sea-worthy was never far behind. He took safety seriously, especially given that we had seen so many boating accidents that could have been avoided with just a tad bit of safety. That is why he took the essentials courses from the Power Squadron and was a member for years. He was going to do everything he could to keep us safe.

My father applies the same principles to flying. He didn’t start flying until he was 72 years old, and got his license by the time he was 74. Safety is everything. He follows the pre-flight check list to the letter. He is going to do everything he can to make sure we have a safe flight and get back down on the ground.

That is one reason why I have no reservations about flying with my Dad. At 81 years old, he is still just as fit and safe flying as he was with his boats so many years ago.

We sat on the tarmac while he went through the check list. I listened into the radio chatter on the head phones and noted the increase in planes coming in for a landing. The tower attributed the increase to “lunch time.”

After things were ready, we taxied to the end of the run way and watched as plane after plane landed. It wasn’t bad, but enough that my Dad made a quip about not beting able to get off the ground until sundown. The tower quipped back “Gene you have to get earlier in the morning than this.”

No call sign. Just his first name. That’s how well the people at the airport know him. He’s Gene. I couldn’t help but chuckle. When my Dad throws himself into something, he does it with both feet and does it well. That means knowing as many people as he can at the airport, especially those in the tower. I should have expected that.

The last plane landed and we saw our window. He increased the throttle and we crept out onto the runway. Sitting in the front seat gave me direct view of the runway. I could hear him call into the tower stating his intentions. With all things clear, he gave the engine full throttle and we moved forward much quicker than I anticipated. Within seconds I expected the wheels to lift off the runway. A few more seconds and we popped up off the runway and were air borne. That is what I admire in Dad’s Cherokee. It doesn’t take much to get up to speed and to lift off.

I turned around to see Andy in the back. He was grinning and gave me the pilot’s thumbs up! He was loving it as much as I was.

Then the bottom dropped out. We hit an air pocked and dropped a few feet. Nothing serious, just enough to give me that roller coaster thrill. Those of you who know me, know I don’t like roller coasters or the thrill they produce. Since we were so late in getting up in the air, the afternoon thermals were upon us. Dad says no pilot likes the thermals. Thermals make for a bumpy ride and bumpy rides in airplanes are not a lot of fun. We climbed to 2,500 feet and settled in for the flight. We were going to head over to I-10 in the El Campo area, turn around and come back. Just a short 45 minute flight in all. But then there were those thermals.

After about 15 minutes, my Dad made the suggestion that we head back to the airport. The thermals would do nothing but get worse until later in the day. I quickly agreed. Not that he couldn’t handle the thermals. But if we got enough of them, I didn’t want to get motion sickness.

It is one thing to take off in an airplane. It’s quite another landing it. It’s actually a controlled fall. Dad made the huge arc to come in line with the runway. He was coming in a bit hot, a little too high and a bit fast. But the good thing about the Brenham airport, there is plenty of runway and the Cherokee Piper doesn’t need much.

The runway grew larger and larger and when I expect the wheels to touch down, I had to wait a few more seconds. The plane touched down and the tribulation of the tires catching up with the speed vibrated the plane. Dad did just fine. It was a short, uneventful flight, exactly what every pilot wants.

Andy loved it. Up until that point, it was his favorite event of our Father/Son weekend together in Texas. I’m glad he enjoyed it. I think he will remember it for the rest of his life, which is exactly what I was hoping for.

From the “Did I Just Say That?” Department

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Trying to get my 7 year old out of the land of make believe and get dressed, I said, “Andy, get dressed, there is no need for a naked superhero in the world!” 

By the way, the picture was taken last week as Andy began to realize the benefit of having grass in the backyard. I had just cut it for the first time since planting seed back in late March. Before then, there was nothing there but weeds.

The Boys

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We attended Trinity Christian Academy’s Heritage 5k Run on Saturday and I took this after the boys competed in a children’s Olympics. Both were awarded with candy, which is what convinced Joey to compete in the first place. Not sure what kind of bug that is above his head. That was sort of an added bonus to the shot.

Monster Truck Rally and Tractor Pull

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“Take your earplugs.” That is what the lady said to me when I bought the tickets yesterday afternoon. I told the boys all week that I would take them to the Monster Truck Rally and Tractor Pull at the fairgrounds if we could afford it, and when I found out that Joey got in for free, I couldn’t pass up on the opportunity. The boys seemed very excited about seeing monster trucks.

I told the lady at the ticket counter that I had never been, so what should I expect. She said to take my ear plugs. So I did. I’m glad I did. It was loud when the monster trucks opened it up. You could feel power. I did have trouble with Joey, but Andy dutifully wore his plugs, as did I. I decided to quit trying to get Joey’s plugs in his ears and just reached over and covered them whenever an event transpired.

We didn’t actually get to see the monster truck portion of the show. I guess the emphasis should have been on the tractor pull since that is what a bulk of the show was about. That made it hard for Joey to watch. For a 4 year old, there is a good portion of time between on pull and another. He wanted to walk around and get ice cream and go to the restroom and tackle me as I tried to watch the show. He didn’t really want to watch the show.

But Andy did. I think he loved it. So I held out for Andy. We watched as long as he wanted to watch. Fortunately, he got hungry and we left before the tractor pull competition concluded and headed for McDonald’s, much to Joey’s delight. I think Joey needs a few more years before he can truly appreciate the finer things in life.

Here are few video clips of our time there.

Swords & Shields

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Swords and shields seems to have been the theme of the week. Andy’s school, Augustine School, was having it’s award’s banquet on Thursday night and the goal is always to play dress up in the process. This year’s theme was the Middle Ages. We chose to dress the boys up in the appropriate crusader garb, since this falls into the Middle Ages. However, before anybody complains, please know that we dressed our boys up for the one “good” crusade, which was the first one. That crusade started in order to protect Christians from the continual attacks from the Islamic hordes coming up from the Middle East.

Elisa made the tunic’s with the red cross, and the shields. Joey’s shield has the Dean coat of arms, and Andy’s shield sports the Hamilton heritage. I wanted her to put the Hammons’ coat of arms on one of them, but neither boy was particularly impressed with that coat of arms. I guess as a family, we just were not that fancy.

My responsibility was the swords. Given that, I sought to make swords that would last a life time and made them out of solid oak. I elicited some help from Mr. Jimmy at the church. He’s the guy to go to if you want to make anything because he can make anything. He has built an entire house using only hand tools, and made complete cars at times. So he knows how to make things. He helped on the initial cuts and the handles.

I focused on cutting the points, sanding them down, and engraving the names on the swords. I didn’t realize it when I started them, but Andy said that all swords have names. He named his “Thunder.” Joey went with more of a mystical name. He named his sword “Dragon Tooth!” I liked it so much that I just spent the last 2 hours engraving the names into the wood. All that is left to do is stain the swords and put some clear coat on them to preserve the finish… as much as you can preserve the finish of two toys that are meant to be bashed against one another.

As for the banquet, it was a typical banquet. I was only excited about the part where my boy was involved. Andy did a great job reading his sentence from the book the kindergarteners read to us. He read the sentence, “the goat went up the road.” I was so proud of him. He read that sentence with authority and confidence.

After that point in the banquet proceedings… I got bored. So did Joey. Augustine School is a classical school. This means they are quite proud of their accomplishments in teaching our children. They are so proud, that at the end of every quarter, they have another recitation service in which we listen to some of the things that our children have learned. For instance, the kindergarten class worked on the Westminster Confession of Faith’s shorter catechism questions. Andy knows the first 20 questions and the class recited Q. 13. Did our first parents continue in the estate wherein they were created? A. Our first parents, being left to the freedom of their own will, fell from the estate wherein they were created, by sinning against God.

This really is good because Andy has memorized more great theology than the average Christian knows in their entire lifetime. I know that sounds like hyperbole… but given the estate of the American church… (heavy and sad sigh…) The point is that after going to these recitations, it gets rather old. They should probably just have one a year.

It was at the point of Andy reading his sentence for us that both Joey and I got bored. It was also at that point that Joey had to go to the bathroom. Off we trotted to the men’s room where I discovered something about costumes and little boys. When it comes to long flowing tunics, take them off the boy before he takes care of business. Little girls probably know to lift up the back part of their costumes, but Joey didn’t know that. Much of his tunic… got wet in the toilet. I slowly removed the tunic from him so that it wouldn’t exacerbate the problem. Then I rolled it up to minimize the yucky part. Getting Joey to go back to the table was a bit difficult. I wanted him to go sit with Elisa while I ran the tunic out to the car. He stayed with Elisa just long enough. Then he was up again. Before I got back, he was already in the lobby wanting to go outside and play.

Joey doesn’t like to sit still for long, and his quota had come and gone. We went outside. I used to complain about having to watch him at such events because I ended up missing these events. But after so many of them, I start encouraging Joey. “Joey, don’t you want to go outside and run all over the beautiful campus of Union University?”

He always answer in the affirmative and off we go. I have grown to love the campus of Union University. It really is a pretty campus. Plus, there are plenty of buildings for Joey to run around while the banquets and recitations expire. It did eventually expire and I count the entire evening as a roaring success. I got to see my son recite what he knew in front of 500 people, AND, I missed out on those long dissertations given by school administrators. Yup. Clearly a success.

Plus, we have really neat wooden swords to show for it.

We Love His Honesty!

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Last night, as we were working in the office, Andy came in and wanted something. Joey was right behind him, and before Andy could say a word, Joey hit him in the back as hard as he could and took off for the other room.

Clearly, Joey had sinned against his brother and I started after him immediately. Andy was fine and left the room for us to deal with the transgressor. As is his fashion, Joey was madder than an irritated hornet so it took a moment to calm him down and find out why he hit Andy. It was for nothing more than the fact that Andy wouldn’t play with him. Not sufficient. The only grounds in our household for hitting someone is in self defense, and then not from behind.

After admonitions and the subsequent backside discipline, I told Joey he needed to go apologize and ask Andy to forgive him. With big tears running down his face, he headed off to the kitchen to make things right. Or so I thought.

Next thing I know, Elisa was bringing Joey back into the office. Joey wouldn’t apologize.

“Joey, you need to tell Andy that you are sorry for hitting him, and ask for his forgiveness.” Those were my instructions.

“I can’t say it,” he said over and over. I told him what to say one more time.

“I can’t make myself say it.” At this point, I’m beginning to laugh. I had him up in my lap as he cried and buried his face into my shirt.

“I’m not sorry I hit him!”

He wasn’t the least bit sorry. He admitted that he wanted to hit him and he was mad. Elisa and I agreed that we loved his honesty. He wasn’t trying to hide his feelings at all toward his brother. He was mad because he wouldn’t play with him and he wanted to strike back.

I love the fact that Joey was honest, and we told him so. It’s better to be honest about something than it is to lie about it. We told him that he still needed to apologize and ask forgiveness. After a bit more backside discipline, he finally agreed.

He walked into the kitchen where Andy was patiently waiting for Joey to apologize. Andy’s attitude was great. He wanted to forgive Joey and show his love for him.

Joey mumble the apology. Andy forgave him immediately, gave him a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. We were so proud of Andy.

However, Joey was still in a stink. He turned, walked over to the laundry basket, grabbed a towel and made sure he got that kiss off his face. We all just laughed. He was still mad at his brother and was making sure to wipe that kiss away. He probably would have hit Andy again if he thought he could get away with it.

After a nights rest, his anger has subsided. He spent the first five minutes of the day telling us that Andy was not in school, but up in bed, under the covers. Yes, he was mad. But he really does love his older brother and spends a good portion of the day thinking about the moment we get to go get Andy from school. It’s out of the love that probably caused him to be so angry. He waits at home all day for his big brother, and when Andy won’t play with him, sheer disappointment. But the hitting has to stop. That is not the correct reaction to disappointment. Given his temper is what it is, I imagine we haven’t see the last of this sort of thing.

The Princess and the Cowboy

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I love the fact that Andy knows what he wants to be when he grows up. This is more than I could say when I was his age. When people asked me what I wanted to be, I would say the obligatory “policeman” or “fireman.” That is what the other boys wanted to be. I had no idea what I wanted to be.

Not Andy. He is clear about his goals. As we drove to school today we were having a conversation about moving to Texas and what it would be like.

“When I get older, I don’t want to move from you,” he said. I had to have him clarify. He has shared this fear with us in the past. He is afraid of having to leave home. At 6, I’m fine with that. He is not ready to leave home. It’s my job to get him ready. So, I told him that in all likelihood, he would probably find some beautiful young woman, marry her, and start his own family. That is when he would move out.

“No,” he said. “I’m going to marry a princess.”

Not just any young woman, but a “princess.” He continued, “I’m going to marry a princess, but I’m not going to be a king. I’m going to be a cowboy.”

This has been his constant theme since he was about 2. I’m not sure where he picked up on the idea of being a cowboy. It is not like we hang out at the local rodeo or on a ranch somewhere giving him the taste of cowboy life. We don’t watch cowboy movies and the only cowboy paraphernalia that I have is a straw Stetson and an A&M belt buckle. I don’t even  own a pair of cowboy boots.

Maybe God is just calling him to be a cowboy. We will have to wait and see. Perhaps when we move back to Texas, I can take him around some real cowboys and give him a taste of the profession. It’s a noble calling and for those who love it, a wonderful life. I am fine with the idea. After all, there is no keeping up with the Jones’ when you are out on the range handling doggys.

Now, how to handle the princess. God will really have to work for that end. I’m not sure I know any bonafide royalty, other than my wife. (She’s a descendant of the Steward family of Scotland, therefore, there is royalty in her blood. King James I is one of her great, great, grandfathers).

Something About 100!

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In golf, it’s shooting below 100.

In bowling, it’s shooting above 100.

I can do neither… and my son did just fine!

I took the family bowling yesterday. They local bowling alley offers free bowling with shoe rental, so we took advantage of it. Our shoe rental ended up costing only 50 cents more than one game per person. Needless to say, we were all over that one.

What surprised me was how horrible I have become at the game. I use to own my own ball. I use to be in a league. I use to be in shape. I use to be able to bowl a decent game. By decent, I mean in the 100s. I have even bowled two games above 200. Both of those games came in college when I was at A&M. I bowled a 214 on a date night, and 268 when a friend and I just went for the fun of it. Yes, the 268 was real. It was one of those nights where we were drinking, ahem, adult beverages which were served by the bowling alley, and the more I drank my pitcher of beer (he didn’t drink), the better I got. That really angered my buddy. I just relaxed, laughed and had a great time.

But I can’t do that any more. I was struggling to keep up with Andy AND Joey. Both got off to an early lead and Joey led into the 3rd frame. He tired of the game by the sixth frame and Andy took the lead. It was all Elisa and I could do to keep pace with the leader. Andy finished out the game with 101. I needed 16 pins to catch him. I got the spare I needed. All that was left, was a decent shot down the middle to pick up 6 pins for the tie, and more for the win. Did I do that? Of course not. Barely picked up 3 pins and finished with a 98, one pin behind Elisa. Since Joey quit playing, that means I came in dead last. Yes, my bowling glory days (should I use the plural there?) are all behind me now. But if I work on Andy, maybe someday he will be ensconced in the Bowling Hall of Fame in St. Louis Missouri.

But probably not.

By the way, Andy has really delighted in the fact that he won. We are trying to teach him to be a gracious winner. But it’s more than his 6-year-old ego can handle, which is really putting a head-lock on my 49-year-old ego. O how our Lord humbles us! Even in bowling, He keeps me humble through the talents of a six year old.

Just one last note, lest you think Andy is a natural, he had the gutter bumpers up when he bowled. Apparently, the lanes are so advanced that they come up for little children, and go down for aging fathers. What is up with that?

Andy, manhandling his ball up to the line. He played smart. On his first shot, he would use the lighter ball for accuracy. On his second shot, he would use the heavier ball for more effect. Notice the form below.

Maybe I should take some lessons.

Celebrating his shot!

Joey liked the pink ball. I think it’s his favorite color, except when red and blue are his favorite color.

One final note, when we put Joey down for bed, he really started crying big ol’ tears. It took us a minute to figure out what he was saying. We finally realized that he thought he left his new shoes, the bowling shoes, at the bowling alley and was saying we had to go back and get them. He was so proud of his shoes we would put him on his feet. We realized that was because it’s been quite sometime since he had a new pair of shoes. All his shoes are hand-me downs. We’re hoping to remedy that soon.