This is Halloween

   
     Some memories from childhood aren't so grand, but then there are those I cherish, like Halloween on Reimche Drive. My mom wasn't a big fan. She told me annually they weren't having Halloween this year.
     Regardless of her lack of enthusiasm, I loved this particular holiday. Walking into my classroom in grammar school on October 1 was always thrilling for me because the teachers at Turner Elementary went all out when decorating their rooms. After school, I would get on my bike and ride around the block to see who had put up there Halloween fare in the windows.
     Then there was the night itself. Had to eat dinner before going trick or treating, but I was too excited to be hungry (unless the menu included items such as little Snickers bars and the like). Speaking of Halloween candy, I always took umbrage at the label they stamped on the wrappers that indicated the product was the "fun size." Those tiny little offerings weren't the "fun size." Full size candy bars, even king size would be the fun size!
     Our neighborhood was perfect for trick or treating. My house was surrounded by neighbors with kids my age. We would gather with a designated parent and hit the streets. I'll never forget certain houses. There was the lady in the court who would grab a handful of candy and drop it in our pillow cases (pillow cases, to haul the most booty). Loved her. Then, on the corner the house that hosted a ghost that would come shooting out of the garage when we rang the doorbell. Took me a couple years to work up the courage  to call on that home, but eventually, the want for candy became greater than the fear of the flying specter.
     I loved our bravado. Once we went around the block and hit both sides of the street, we would go around again. Yeah, we were met with the occasional "Weren't you here before?" but that never kept anyone from giving up the goods.
     Then there was the Great Halloween Debacle of '78. On one particular porch, my pillow case split open and my candy spilled out like a pinata's innards. Kids starting grabbing my loot and stuffing it in their bags until my brother yelled at them to knock it off. The gang moved on while I was left picking up the pieces. I believe I trick or treated alone for the rest of that night.
     As a dad, I enjoy Halloween with my kids. I don't tell them "they're not having it this year." We start talking about costumes in May! Every year I say I'm dressing up like my kids' dad, and I wouldn't dream of not walking around with them through the neighborhood. A posse' will gather here on October 31, a group of school friends that will make our house home base, and after we've converged, we'll show no mercy! My kids have their favorite houses, too. The nice elderly lady with the laughing witch on her porch, and the "Pumpkin House" down the street that hands out goody bags with FULL SIZE candy bars! Redemption.
 

Let Me See It

     When I graduated college, my dad came up to me and asked to see my diploma... but it was in absentia. I still had one more class to finish so I didn't get the piece of parchment paper with the cool calligraphy writing on it that day. Rest assured, I did earn it later on, but I'll never forget my dad's face when he asked to see what was inside my degree holder. And the way he asked... there was pride gushing out of every mono-syllabic word: "Let me see it."
     Neither of my parents finished high school. Life threw them some curve balls and they swung as best as they could. They both learned to work hard, and not necessarily at jobs they enjoyed, but they needed to get food on the table, so they endured.
     They never pushed me to get good grades. In fact, they never sat on top of me to even get my homework done. As long as I wasn't failing, they were content. So I meandered through high school academically. I wasn't planning on continuing my education. My parents didn't push me to, either. They just wanted me to get a good paying job so I could take care of myself. So my Senior year of mostly electives was pretty cake.

     Obviously, Mom and Dad didn't go to college. So I was the first out of my immediate family to enroll in a four year academic institution. Therefore, my parents couldn't have been more proud when I walked the line at Bethany College. When Dad asked to see my diploma, it was like it was his chance to hold one of those things that he never got close to, not even once in his life. The rest of the day was weird with family dynamics in full force, but I'll cherish the moment my dad said, "Let me see it."
     With my family background, I'm actually kind of befuddled that I am working on my Master's in Pastoral Counseling. Up until this term, I was taking one class at a time, but I had to up it to two to get financial aid. That was initially worrisome for me. I have three kids under my feet. Others had posted on the Liberty University discussion board that they tried two classes at a time, but it was too much. Yet. this week I will finish out my first term taking two courses simultaneously. And I passed. And on this track, I will have my Master's in May. Un-stinking-believeable. I don't know how this transpired. I can only give the credit to God for seeing me through this process because I certainly wasn't cut out for it.
     It is in moments like these that I so wish Mom and Dad could know what I was up to. I would never wish them back to earth, they had enough pain here, but in May, I will be wishing for that phone line to heaven that doesn't exist so I could call them up and tell them I just earned my Master's degree. And, oh how great it would be to hear my dad say, "Let me see it."

A Week Worth Living

Last week was noteworthy (or blogworthy).
I got on a plane.
I worried about said plane crashing and leaving my children behind.
I settled in to my book on that same plane.
I experienced the kindness of strangers (willing to swap seats so I could sit with my wife).
I visited a town and state I've never been to before (Springfield, MO).
I anticipated great things.
I experienced God as He closed a door we weren't supposed to walk through.
I was affirmed in my ministry and calling.
I was un-friended on facebook.
I met some great people and made some new friends.
I was grateful, so very grateful, for the souls who offered to watch our kids while we were gone.
I slept in one morning ('til 10:30 Springfield time. It was glorious).
I was in a "Minute to Win It" competition and won an iPod (we can officially have Christmas now!).
I called an old friend from my hometown and reconnected just because.
I dined with people ready to pray at the drop of a hat (and we did).
I was reminded by a beautiful painting that some day Jesus will come back and take us home.
I witnessed my wife's compassion in action.
I took a swim.
I sat in a hot tub.
I finished all my homework assignments on time even while traveling for nine days.
I laughed.
I made people laugh.
I cried.
I bought a used book from a seminary library.
I journaled (it had been a while).
I missed my parents.
I missed my kids.
I talked to my kids everyday on the phone.
I heard my middle daughter say "I miss you" unsolicited... twice!
I watched some favorite TV shows.
I was commissioned as a US missionary with the Assemblies of God.
I celebrated my wife's birthday.
I approached a "stranger" in the airport because I had a feeling it was Thomas Trask (former General Superintendent for my denomination).
I got on a plane.
I worried about said plane crashing and leaving my children behind.
I settled into my book on that same plane.
I watched my kids run to us at the airport because they were ready for their parents to be home.
I hugged said kids.
I lived life last week. And here's another week worth living...

This pic was sent to me while we were gone. Apparently, my kids were living life, too.

Tooth be Told

     The Five Couch's went to the dentist today. Since we were new to this office, we experienced a different way of taking x-rays (now digital) and some other technology that not only had my mouth wide open, but also my eyes. They stuck a camera in my mouth, and instead of just hearing a description of what is going on inside my dark pie hole, they showed me... and it was not pretty. It had been a year and a half since I had been to the dentist, and it showed. I saw for myself the tartar that was settling in like a retired couple in Florida. They pointed out my 20 year old fillings and how those will have to be taken care of someday soon. There were hairline cracks in some teeth, and the "F" on every dentist patient's report card... cavities! By the way, here's the score: Couch kids number of cavities - 0, Mom and Dad, two each! As mentioned, it was a mouth and eye-opening experience! Of course the assistant hygienist asked if I flossed every day and I brushed her lecture off with a "I know, I know." I think she actually thought to herself, "Brush off my lecture, eh? Just wait till I stick this camera in your mouth!" Needless to say, Marty and I were brushing and flossing and Listerine-ing our brains out tonight.
     I must admit, I felt a little shame around the whole experience. The results I saw in my mouth today were preventable. I told myself  when our insurance changed and we wouldn't have dental for a while that I needed to take care of my teeth diligently. But time passed, and I got typical. I'll admit, I even got lazy. When my bedtime hits, my eyes are drooping, so many a night I would walk right past the toothbrush, not to mention the dental floss, and just go right to sleep. I would brush in the morning, and everything looked okay in my bathroom lighting, but in the dentist's chair, the lights and camera showed the action that was really going on.
     It's a wake up call to take better care of myself and not just in the oral hygiene department. What else should I be doing that I know I should but I'm not? Am I resting properly? Do I spend time with friends that enrich my life? How am I doing spiritually? It's amazing to think that I knock myself out making sure my kids are taken care of, but I don't expend the same energy making sure I'm running okay. I know it's because I love them to death, but I need to learn to love myself a little bit more as well. After all, I'm the one with the cavities.

   

We Got Beaned!

     Oh, the evils of facebook! Be careful what you share on social networks. It can definitely come back to "bean" you. I naively posted on my profile "I have a rule in my house: No more stuffed animals allowed!" But then I went on to share how I broke my own rule when Ella found a Raggedy Ann and Andy set at a garage sale down the street. She fell hard for them and I caved. Sweet little daddy/daughter love story, right? WELL...! 

     Last night I went into the garage to close the window and I noticed something taped on the outside of the glass. This wasn't there earlier in the day so I wondered if one of my kids posted some artwork there, as odd as a place it was to display one of their pictures. Regardless, it kind of put me on alert. I mean, we've been TPed, diapered, tennis balled, flamingo-ed, and even robbed, so forgive me for just falling short of grabbing my baseball bat before going outside to see what it was. 

     When I opened the front door, something fell down in front of me, potentially heart attack inducing, but I've been doing Just Dance on the Wii for the last 5 days. Ticker's in shape. Anyway... Someone who I will loosely call a "friend" on facebook had read my status and proceeded to print out guilt-inducing signs admonishing me to take in about 50 Beanie Baby animals that had been strewn all over my front yard! They were along the walkway, on the lawn, in the bush, sitting on the fence, perched in the bird feeder, taped to the wall, atop our garbage cans, and sitting on our cars! And can I just say I was in the house the whole time these shenanigans were taking place on my property. Disturbing! 

     Marty had just gone to bed but I had to get her up to see this... this madness. What kind of mind...? Sick. This is a sickness in the head to drive out to my home and break a sacred rule in my household that only I am allowed to break! "Friend" on facebook, HA!

     But, alas, I cleared the ones off the lawn so the sprinklers wouldn't get them and strategically placed them where they wouldn't get wet and I awaited the morning when my kids would wake up to yet another surprise in our front yard. Needless to say, they were thrilled. I, however, feel harassed and disrespected (and maybe a little loved). 

     So, now I have a new rule in my house: No more $100 bills allowed! 

No Children Allowed at the Kid's Table

     Stray furniture seems to follow Marty home. A couple weekends ago, I got back from running some errands and Marty said,"Something happened while you were gone. I tried to call you..." Yes, folks, we are now the proud owners of a used picnic table and benches that were no longer of use to one family, but ever so welcome in ours. Marty has an intricate "free" furniture tracking device, and while I was out and about, she was even able to get the previous owner to deliver the abandoned dinette set. "Free" furniture AND free shipping. How does she do it? She showed it to me and was very excited claiming that she always wanted a picnic table and benches (first I'm hearing of it). Yeah, I was tempted to roll my eyes, but it actually fits very nicely where the kids play house used to be that they outgrew. So we dubbed it the "kid's table."
     We have been barbecuing a lot this summer and the other night the kids had a friend over so we fired up the grill. We thought for sure they would want to plant it at the new kid's table, but they wanted to sit at the "grown up" patio furniture set. At first we were going to cram in with them, but Marty said WE should sit at the kid's table. Sounded good to me. We served the kids, bought two tickets to Paradise, and travelled 20 feet to our destination, and we had an adult conversation over our meal at the kid's table. It was very pleasant. It was like a date night. It was cherished. It is looked forward to again in the future. The kid's table is so underrated!

Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou?

     I just wanted the world to know that I had a brother. He was two years older than me, but when we were young, people thought we were twins. Our relationship morphed throughout the years, but it started out typically. My brother was the king of the neighborhood. Truly, he reigned and I was safe in his dominion.  His friends called him "Couch." That's what cool kids did, they referred to each other by their last name. I was called "Shane." One time this kid called me "Couch," retracted it, then said, "I guess you're a 'Couch' too." At that moment I thought I had found the missing link.
     My brother and I were very different. As cool and as athletic and as influential as he was, he was very emotional, explosively so. We were watching the annual showing of "The Wizard of Oz" on TV and during the scene where Dorothy is locked up in the witch's castle and Auntie Em appears to her in the crystal ball, I noticed my brother was crying. Puzzled, I asked, "Why are you crying?" He yelled back at me, "Because it's sad!" I could have taken that info to the streets and caused quite a stir: "Scott Couch cries watching 'The Wizard of Oz.'" They probably wouldn't have believed me.
     There were times when we would pal around, like up at Gramma's house which was on the outskirts of town. There was no one else to play with, so we made the most of each other's company. Alas, he was two years older and while visiting Gramma, he challenged me to touch a set mouse trap and see if I could pull my finger away before it snapped on me. He made it sound like it was possible. A millisecond later I had a mousetrap hanging off my finger and I was screaming like a banshee while my brother just laughed. Once he stood in front of the closet door and invited me to hit him as hard as I could in the stomach. I wound up and let it rip but he jumped out of the way and I ended up sucker punching the door. Oww. He just laughed. It was my lot in life as a kid brother.
    The older we got, the more we grew apart. Our differences created quite a chasm between us. He had  a tumultuous relationship with my parents and moved in and out of our house. He "borrowed" my things, if borrowed means took without asking and ruined or lost my possesions. In the 80's, this was the drill: Buy a new pair of 501 jeans, wash and wear, wash and wear, and so on. Eventually they would fade and the more worn they appeared, the better. It took quite a bit of time and nurturing to get Levis to look just right. My brother "borrowed" my most prized pair of faded 501's, worked on his car, and got oil stains all over them. I was furious. He angrily offered to buy me a new pair. "That wasn't the point!" I informed him. See Levis 501 jeans routine above.
     I offered him a few olive branches in the course of our relationship, like asking him if he wanted to go see "Rambo" with me. He accepted my invitation, but his girlfriend ended up having some issues, so she had to come along too. At least I tried.
     The story takes a sad turn. My brother had a pretty risky lifestyle and it all came to an end in June of 1987, just two weeks after he turned 21. I was 19 and death had never hit this close to home or this swiftly. The news was numbing, shocking, unbelievable, and it turned our world upside down. After he died, I wished we could have been closer, but we just didn't have the ingredients for that. Or maybe I didn't try hard enough.
     It took me a while to get over my brother's tragic death and I've often wondered what it would have been like had he lived. Would he have stood next to me in my wedding? What kind of uncle would he have been to my kids? Would he have gotten his life straightened out?
     It's been 24 years since his passing and Im feeling... that I just wanted the world to know that I had a brother.
   
   
   

Adventures in Santa Cruz

     My family loves Santa Cruz. We try to get there at least once a year, usually for a Beach/Boardwalk trip. I love pulling off Hi-way 17 into town and seeing that first Santa Cruz native. He/she lets you know you've arrived. As we were planning our summer calendar trying to keep the kids busy while school is out, I discovered the Beach/Boardwalk was hosting movie nights each Wednesday. They were showing "E.T." one evening, so I thought that would be a good flick to watch on the beach with the kids. It was also Pepsi can $9.99 wristband unlimited rides night, so we bought the kids the bands while we waited for showtime.
     It's interesting to see your kids grow up by the rides they graduate to. This year, the thrills were a little bit bigger, a little faster, but I enjoyed watching them laugh on not so kid-like rides such as the Tilt-A-Whirl. I'm waiting for the day when we're on the Giant Dipper together.
     Now, the boardwalk comes with traditions. Gotta have my corn dog and nacho cheese fries. And I don't know when the first time was exactly, but I started a tradition when I was on a trip with the youth group. Since Marty couldn't make it to those outings, I bought her a pair of earrings from the main surf shop just to let her know I was thinking about her. Ten, eleven pairs later,  I once again snuck off with Max, seemingly on a bathroom run, but that was a guise to go get Marty her customary pair of earrings, and as always, from the same shop (I said this was tradition). Max asked if he could deliver them to her. Sure. Earrings delivered, wife happy, worn the next day, success!

   
     We bundled up and settled in to watch the movie on a humongous screen. Snacks were served as we waited to experience Eliot and his alien friend break our hearts. I was really looking forward to Max's reaction to the movie. He's a 5 year old boy so being friends with an alien is pretty appealing to him.
     Right as the movie started, a local couple plopped down right next to me and I mean literally plopped since they were pretty plastered. She kept saying "I love this movie," and to her partner, "Shut up and watch the.... movie," yet with more color. I was worried Julia could hear them, but she was oblivious to their language.
     There's a crass line in the movie that I didn't want my children to hear, so of course I did the obligatory loud cough when that scene came on, but leave it to my drunk friends next to me to repeat it over and over as they laughed. Oh, well. We were in Santa Cruz.
     The idea of a free movie on the beach was a good one, but we left at intermission and didn't get home until 11PM. The kids didn't even take their sandy clothes off, just climbed in bed of their own volition. So I rented the flick the next day and we finished watching it at home. Much clearer picture, a sound system that I could more effectively cough over, and no drive afterwards. But I'm glad we did the beach thing. We made a memory and that's what I'm all about.

Bad Breath Love

     I don't know about you, but I don't brush my teeth the moment I get out of bed. I meander into the living room and see what my kids are up to and they usually end up in my lap or on top of my person in some form. Almost daily, I hear from one of them (if not two or all), "Your breath stinks!" They are always quick to point this out, whether early in the day or at the end when the inside of my mouth hasn't seen a toothbrush since morning.
     Now, being told by your kids your breath stinks isn't the first phrase a parent wants to hear from their children, but as often as I've heard those blunt words from my offspring, I'm not hurt or put off by it. If my kids are climbing on me or tackling me or just sitting with me and are in close enough proximity to smell my breath, then I'm actually feeling the love. They want to be near me. We're tight, we're good, they want to hang with their dad. So I'm not hearing, "Your breath stinks." I'm hearing "I love you."
     Pass the Funyons.

And the Winners are...

The winners for the uber-cool journals as determined by random.org are commenters...

#5 The Braden Family, who wins A Fly Went By

#7 Dee Collins who gets the Arts and Skills of English book, and

#3 Aimee, who will receive the Cat in the Hat Dictionary

Timestamp: 2011-07-15 22:05:22 UTC

Congratulations! Message me your mailing addresses on facebook or email me at shaqne@gmail.com and your winnings will be on the way next week! 

A little secret... I have two more of these custom journals to give away but I'm saving that for later! Stay tuned. In the meantime, head on over to bookjournals.com and start shopping!