We Like Chocolate

Do you like chocolate?  We do.  This past weekend we had a magical adventure:

We took a bus to Union Square

Obligatory funny face gif

Behold the Max Brenner

It is a chocolate themed heaven

The waffle fries are dusted with cocoa powder!

The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!

We walked around after to digest it all and enjoyed this store.

He has no clue... in about 10 years he will appreciate it.

He can appreciate a Captain America door handle.

Max, see you soon.

Star Student

When one is the star student of the week, one must read each letter carefully.

What Do You Believe?

I have a lot of questions about God.  Here are a few:

Is God perfect? 

           gendered?

           real?

           limited?

           absolute?

           corporal?

           devious?

Of course just answering any of these basic questions leads to more questions about the nature of God.  I am not looking for any great theological debates over the existence of God, but I want to know what you believe.  Not what your church/religion/family/nation believes, but what you believe. 

Life as the Reluctant Optimist

This blog had many titles before I finally settled on The Reluctant Optimist.  Some of the titles captured important life moments or just had a quirky pun that made me seem hip.  Every few months I would put up a new title that would revolutionize my corner of the internet.  Eventually I realized that my weblog needed a lasting title, and this one just felt right.

In many ways it seems like some strange contradiction to be a reluctant optimist.  We tend to imagine that an optimist walks around with some goofy grin on their cherubic face happily ignoring the crumbling world that surrounds them.  The optimist is perceived to have their head in the clouds while their counterpart, the pessimist, always seems to be the wet blanket that ruins the party.  While I firmly abhor most every binary system on earth, I make allowance for this one.  A person is either an optimist or a pessimist.  Neither is good, and neither is bad; they just are.  The dichotomy between an optimist and a pessimist is frequently subverted by clever bastards that claim to be realists (a term which I don't understand--we are all realists--no one is pretending to see a dancing unicorn--it doesn't make them seem any smarter--just call yourself a pessimist and get over it).  You can even switch sides if you want, but you can't be in the middle because this concept is all about hope.  You either hope something will happen, or you don't.  You hope for a better world, or you don't.  You feel it in your gut, or you don't.

I am an optimist, and I hate it.

I want to be an ornery man that can grumpily turn my back on all the disappointments in my life, but I can't. A pessimist is rarely disappointed, and when they are it is because something fantastic happened!  I am tired of the disappointments that come from being an optimist, but I cannot change what I feel.

I have hope, and I hate it.  I hope my church will move out of the dark ages and recognize the value of all humans.  I hope my country will move past partisan politics and focus on improving the life of all God's creatures.  I hope this world will realize how we all need each other to survive, and we all live on the same small rock hurdling through space and time.  Even though I will certainly be disappointed by my church, my country and my fellow humans, I still believe in a bright future.

I am an optimist because I want to see the good in people even after they have shown their worst.  I am an optimist because when I hit my lowest points and want to raise my fist to the heavens to curse God, I pause in gratitude because it is a beautiful day and I feel fortunate to be alive to see it.  I am an optimist because no matter how dark the night, how deep the water, how powerful the storm, I feel a better life coming.  I suppose it really comes down to what I have that will always be stronger than life's worst trials:

I have these guys in my corner, and I wouldn't trade them for the world! (I know the picture is blurry on their faces, but I still like it, dammit)

How About Today?

This is a perfect day to start posting on this blog (again).  For the last couple of years I wanted to write about a lot of things:

I wanted to write about my classmates at Columbia and what it was like to bond with such a diverse student body (they were an amazing group of scholars to work with).

I wanted to write about my graduation ceremony and finally getting a BA in Religion (it was incredible to finally finish).

I wanted to pontificate about all that I learned and sum up my studies by giving my personal definition of religion (Religion is the language used between people to communicate the sacred).

I wanted to share our adventures of moving to Harlem and running around NYC (it has been fantastic).

I wanted to record my frustrations and disappointments regarding my never-ending job search (it really sucks but I keep hoping it will pay off).

I wanted to talk about how incredibly happy we are as a family (because we are incredibly happy).

I wanted to share all these things with my friends and family that read this blog, but I didn't.

So here is another attempt to type out the justification of my existence (with a little help from Auto Awesome).

Over the last couple years we:

Played all over the city

Spent time in Utah and Maryland

Were sealed in the Draper Temple

Played with kittens

Found new places to kick back and enjoy life

Became rock stars

Oh, and I got a Cookie Monster book for Christmas!

My (Grandpa's) Ring

Around 1949 my Grandpa Egbert was a missionary for the LDS Church in the South-western United States.  While in New Mexico, he purchased a turquoise ring that he wore throughout the rest of his life.  He loved his ring.  The rest of the family loved his ring because we all loved Grandpa.  

After Grandpa died, my father became the new owner of the ring.  As my dad does not wear jewelry of any kind, the ring's last few years have been quiet.  On my recent trip to Utah I asked if I could "hold on to the ring for a little while," and my dad said yes.

Now that we are back in NYC I have had some time to think about this new heirloom and what it means in my life.  I emailed my Grandma Egbert asking her about some of the history, and I have been looking through family photos finding images of Grandpa with his ring.  Grandma told me that Grandpa always wore the ring on his right hand, and I came across some neat pictures (you might have to squint to see the ring).

I found a picture of Grandpa holding my uncle David:

One with him holding my dad:

I found another picture of him at his 50th wedding anniversary standing with his brother:

There was a picture of him studying:

And a picture of him with his wife and children:

The ring was with my Grandpa as he raised his children.  This ring was on his hand as he finished his schooling.  This ring was on his hand as he grew into the man we all loved.  

Now the ring is on my hand.  Grandma asked me to treasure the ring as he did, and I will.  This ring will be with me as I raise my children.  This ring will be on my hand as I finish my schooling.  This ring will be on my hand as I attempt to grow into the type of man he taught me to be.

Awesome!

Columbus Circle is one of my favorite places in the city.  This doesn't mean that I am some die-hard Italian or ignorant to the abuses that still continue in our post-colonial world.  It is just a great place to sit and watch the city go by.

We have been there a lot.

Summer 2010

Summer 2010

Summer 2011

Summer 2011

Summer 2012

Summer 2012

When people ask me where they should go, I always say to just head to Columbus Circle.  You have access to Central Park, Times Square, Lincoln Center, and 5th Avenue within easy reach.  There are plenty of benched to sit on with a great fountain circling the monument.

Yesterday we experienced Columbus Circle in an entirely new way-- in Christoper's living room.  

This art exhibit is one of the best things that I have done since being in the city.  We were only there for about 15 minutes, but it was incredible!  After climbing the scaffolding we entered into a room that was built around the 19th century statue.  Everything from the carpet to the wallpaper was intended to capture the iconic nature of NYC living and the fantastic world we are fortunate to live in.

I had a great time, and this visit was another great reminder of why I love living in this city.

Time Flies

It has been said that time flies when you are having fun, but it also flies when you are crazy in love.

It has been over one year since Kim quit her job, said goodbye to family and friends, sold off most of her belongings, and relocated to NYC from her happy life in SLC just to be close to her boys.  It has been a rough year; between drama with the other mother,  stressful jobs, cancer, school, and semi social isolation, we have had some tough days.  However, it has been a very happy year; with unlimited cuddle time, marriage, family adventures, and making new friends, this has been one of the best years of my life.

I am in love, and it just keeps getting stronger by the minute.

Thank you, Kim for making our house a home, for keeping your boys loved, and for making this grumpy old man smile again.

Some Enchanted Evening

I had an interesting night with my family yesterday.

We had decided to surprise Kim at work and took the train to see her in action.  While we were on the train Gabriel looked up at me and asked: "Daddy, why did you have tantrums with my mommy?"

I didn't see that one coming.

We got off the train and as we were walking I asked him where he learned about my "tantrums."  He said that his mom told him.  I asked what else she told him, and he had several more things to say.  I asked him how he felt when he heard about what happened, and he said it made him sad.

It made me sad too.

My marriage with Gabe's mom was not easy, nor was I a perfect husband.  Gabe's mom has valid reasons to not like me.  I will not dispute them.  I have spent too much time in therapy coming to understand the difference between guilt and regret, and when the time is right I will talk with him about the whole truth.  He deserves to know the mistakes that both of us made, but he also deserves to be a kid.  We divorced to create new, happier lives separately, not to relive past memories of sadness. I like to remind him how lucky he is to have two dads and two moms that love him so much, so why focus on the things I can't control?

Gabriel is forced to never forget a past that he cannot remember.

I put him on my shoulders and I promised him that when he was ready we would talk about what happened. Right now he doesn't have the right vocabulary to grasp the truth, and he will know the truth eventually

Don't worry, there were some funny parts to our evening too!

We made it to Kim's work, and Gabe saw Kim from the sidewalk and started pounding on her window.  While she finished up her day, we went to the park across the street to play.  When it was too dark to play any longer, we started walking to the bus station.  My phone started ringing, and it was Gabe's mom.  I asked him if he wanted to talk and he said no. I let the call go to voicemail.  In our most recent custody arrangement it states that both parents but make "best efforts" for phone contact every 48 hours.  As he was not even close to the 48 hour mark, I decided to not press the issue.  (Lately Gabriel's mom has sent me some emails claiming that I have denied Gabriel access to call her.  Through a series of electronic communications I repeated my stance that I would not force him to talk if he didn't want to.  When we get close to the time limit, I tell him that the judge wants him to call his mom, and he does.)

I asked him a couple more times if he wanted to call his mom, and suddenly he remembered something and wanted to call her.  This is a great relief to me because the more he talks to her, the less I have to.  They chatted for a few minutes, and at the conclusion of his call he asked her: "I get a treat, right?"

Aha!!!

I couldn't figure out why he decided to cooperate so quickly, and then all the pieces came together.  After he hung up he told us that he gets treats if he calls his mom.  We just started laughing and told him that was nice.  That kid cracks me up.  He sees every opportunity as a negotiation, and he has no problem asking for a little extra.

We came home, bathed, read stories, cuddled, and had family prayer.  Gabe said that he was grateful for the "good love" that was in our family.  You know what?  So am I.  There is a good love in this family, and it gets better every day.

Some things make me sad, but they always seem to be overpowered by the things that make me happy, and my family always makes me happy.

Who doesn't love a barefoot boy?

One of the best parts of leaving the city is getting back to the basics of life.

Random Reflections

• Utah is a great place to visit.
• My family may have drama, but I still love them.
• Humor can push out sadness.
• Del Taco is AWESOME!
• Never miss an opportunity to make a memory.
• I like seeing my wife everyday.
• Kids are silly, and acting like a kid is refreshing.
• Tillamook ice cream makes me happy.
• My sister  has a super-fun dog.
• I like living in NYC.
• My wife is adorable.
• It is worth the extra money to get the extra legroom.
• Don't run out on a conversation, even late at night.
• Don't wear red around sports fanatics.
• Always mention that the blue I'm wearing  is "Columbia Blue."
• Forgive everyone.
• Funeral potatoes can make a stomach smile.
• Don't travel without my wife.
• Schoolwork can wait.
• Always order a few extra tacos.
• Rizzo the Polar Bear rocks!

I guess that makes me Little Archie...

I come from a long line of Archies.  We don't follow the number system, and we have different middle names.  From Archibald Gardner to Archibald Egbert, there have been six of us passing the name on down.

At times it can get a little confusing when there are multiple Archies in the same location.  This is solved by a small tweak.  For a number of years my grandfather went by Arch, my father went by Archie, and I was called (and am still called) Archie Baby.  This was a good system.

If there was a call for "Archie" in our family home, we would simply ask "Big or Little?".  As I grew larger than my dad I was still the "Little" just to keep with the convention of age.  I didn't mind because I knew there would be a day when I would be the "Big Archie" and then I would be cool.

When I had my first son, it was important that I pass on the family name.  I did.  This equated to four Archies living within 1 mile of each other.  I didn't (and still don't) care what name he chooses to go by.  In fact, for the first year, I rarely called him by the same name more than twice in a row.  Eventually it just felt natural to call him Gabriel, and I added that to the rotation.

Now my little son has decided to start using Archie a bit more frequently.  I think that it is really cute.  People church or at the park will start talking to me about "Archie" and it takes me a few seconds to realize they are talking about my son.  I always ask them "did he tell you his name was Archie?" and they always reply in the affirmative.  The other day, Kim went to Gabe's school to get some information about his pre-k program.  When she told the office that she was Gabriel's step-mom, they just said "Oh, you mean Little Archie!".  I guess that the little one has decided that he likes "Archie" as a name.

I don't know how long he plans to use the name, and when I asked him about it the other night, he didn't have a solid response.  When I asked him if he wanted me to call him Little Archie, he said that he preferred to be called Big Archie.  He reminded me later that night in the middle of family prayer with a gentle tap on my shoulder and a whisper in my ear of "Big Archie" after I said how much we loved Gabriel.

This morning as he crawled in my bed for one last snuggle I told him how my family calls me Archie Baby, and he just laughed at the very thought of me as a baby.  He told me that I would be "Little Archie" and he would be "Big Archie."

The moral of the story: just call me Little Archie aka Archie Baby.

The Lower Lights

There is a great Christian hymn written in the late 19th century entitled "Brightly Beams Our Father's Mercy."  I've included an audio portion below.   

The beacon from a lighthouse is not enough to guide a ship into harbor--we need more lights.  We are those lower lights.  We bring people home in reaching out and showing that we care.

This morning, one of those lights went out.

Gilbert Sims Capson, my grandpa, passed away after a lifetime of bringing ships home.  His light burned bright--brighter than any other I have seen.  He would be the first to deny any such accolades, but that is because he did not help others to gain recognition; he helped because he loved.  He knew what it meant to worry about paying bills, feeding children, and fixing a house, and he wanted to ease the burden of those who struggled.

I will miss him, yet I still feel a close connection.  I will remember him whenever I stop at a 7-11 to get a couple of sodas.  I will remember him when I see piles of tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and apples. I will remember him when I pile my kids in the car and go for a long drive in the countryside.  

I will remember him by giving service.  

Ambush!

A couple weeks ago, we bought Gabe a bow and arrow.  It is awesome.  It more like a slingshot, but the great thing about this toy is that he can't launch it hard enough to do any damage.  As we all know that my son is the greatest superhero of all time, this was the perfect accessory.  

It was too perfect.  It is so much fun to shoot the walls and other family members that we decided that one wasn't enough.

Then Kim and I decided that it wasn't enough to just have more weapons, we needed to plan an ambush against the world's strongest 4 year old.

Our plan was to catch him in the middle!  When Kim came home from work, she retrieved the bow I hid for her near the front door.  While Gabe went to say hello, I got my bow from under a pile of clothes in the bedroom.  

He was trapped!

Mission Accomplished!  

What I Can't Tell You...

Baby momma drama.

I believe that is the proper name for what I deal with.  For a long time I have kept my issues and frustrations with Gabe's mom secret.  As I wrote about in a previous post, she is his mother, and I don't want him to be in a position where he has to feel defensive about her.  I am a child of divorced parents and still don't like hearing anything negative about either one of them--from anyone.  So it has been my resolve to keep all my issues with her a secret from my family and friends, but this secrecy is difficult to keep especially when the stress starts to climb.

In keeping a secret, I lose my voice.

I want to be honest about what I experience because it seems a bit absurd to lie on a blog, but I don't want my extended family and friends to have any resentful feelings towards Gabe's mom.  I could keep an anonymous blog or make this one private, but I do not hide.  I am left with asking the people who read this to be respectful and understanding.  There is always more than one side to a story, and while I may attempt to be unbiased in my writing, it is an impossible undertaking.

The drama has always been there.  I made mistakes from the beginning.  Eventually the bad times were more frequent than the good times, and the end was inevitable.  Divorce does not mean failure.  I learned a lot from my times with her, but I am glad those days are behind me.  I am grateful that she pulled the plug.  I am a stubborn man and would have endured many more tough years, but now we are both in better relationships with fantastic spouses, and we have a great kid.

Gabe's mom recently remarried, and I am very happy for them.  Gabe's new dad is really cool, and there is so much that he will be able to teach him that I never could.  There are times when my son likes to test the waters here in this house and complain about his other family, and I just remind him that he is very lucky to have two moms and two dads that love him and want him to be happy.  He seems to like this idea, and I think that he will soon learn how awesome it is to have multiple birthday parties and Christmas celebrations.

My happiness for his mom doesn't mean that my relationship with my her is a good one.  I have heard through the grapevine about her angry facebook rants, and she isn't shy in pointing out my failures as a father.  Despite all of that, I can't say that I am angry at her.  Sometimes I want to be angry like when she did everything possible to take away my extra days with my son over the Summer.  It was after my second surgery, and I was keeping Gabe home from his preschool (although it would be a stretch to call it preschool) so we could spend time together.  I wanted time with my son, and she was worried about his academics.  She could also argue that it is important to have a routine for Gabe that involved less dad and more school, but I wasn't in danger of dying, and days home from school will be a rarity once he starts a real program.  However, she not only limited my time with him to three days every other week, she filed a motion in court demanding that my time be further restricted.  I was fortunate to have a wise judge who asked that we work out a better deal, and we did (well it was a better deal for me, but not for her as now we have an equitable amount of time with our son).  But even through all of this drama, I do not resent her.

Most days I feel sorry for her.

I can't imagine the level of her frustration that would make her want to take me to court.  Even with my limited time with Gabriel, the thought of going to court never occurred to me as I barely have enough money to take the subway to get there, let alone the money for an attorney.  I feel bad that her evening phone calls with Gabe are more like interrogations than pillow talk.  I feel bad that Gabriel is starting to ask me direct questions about his mom that I will eventually have to answer.

But then I remind myself that there is much in life that I cannot control.  I cannot dictate what my son will experience when I am not around, nor would I want to.  I am excited to watch him grow and learn from his loving parents.  I am excited to build a loving home that he can always return to for hugs, kisses, food, friendship, love, and acceptance.  I am thrilled to be in a healthy, loving relationship with my wonderfully, most awesomest, stupendously fantastical wife.

There was a time when the dark night of gloom seemed to never end, but now I am happy.

Genuinely happy.

I don't expect the baby momma drama to end anytime soon, but I already feel better knowing that I won't have to hide it any longer.