1st Kid Review Is A Hit!
The first child review is in. Granted it was by my own children, but I have playfully kept them in the dark on the new changes of the story for the past six months. That’s right, Jaime Buckley CAN keep a secret!
And you thought I could only yodel and pop popcorn…
So I printed out the 181 typed pages, punched holes in them and placed them in a three ring binder. Then I handed the project to Cesilea, who is our resident bedtime story technician. If she can’t read a story to little kids and have them excited, it ain’t gonna happen for the ordinary mortals. Trust me on this one.
So we gathered around the living room nook and listened as she started reading…and I started flinching. I hated it from the third sentence on and I found Kathi holding my hand and smiling. “Just let them have the experience. No corrects this time–just the story and how they feel about it.”
So I gritted my teeth and zipped my lips shut.
Bedtime is at 7pm, lights out at 8:30pm…but there was roaring laughter, tears at times (from the laughter) and a series of boo’s and hisses from the children under 12 when we called it bedtime at 11:12pm. It was a total success. Kathi had to wrestle the binder from Ditto to make sure she didn’t read it into the night or try and get up early to do the same. Jessica also had to be watched like a hawk, for she wanted to know where we would be setting the book down in our bedroom!
My oldest girls gave mountains of feedback, but the best comment I received was from Cesilea. I asked what she thought and when she had stopped giggling, she said: “Dad, I think it’s a HIT!” All my concerns were explained away by my kids, who laughed at all the jokes, even the hidden ones. This included Jami Taylor (age 7) and Ethany (age 6), who didn’t understand the larger words, but laughed at the reactions and dialogue between the characters. What made me smile however, was when Cesilea would laugh so hard, she couldn’t read and we had to wait for her to dry her eyes. The bouts of laughter were usually followed by “Oh my heck dad, Wendell is a MOTARD!”
No feedback from outside readers yet, but Kathi and Ditto have always been my harshest critics. Last night gave me a ton of hope that, well…I don’t actually suck as a story teller. The cover design for the novel is underway as we speak.
Read MorePlease Don’t Let My Baby Die.
I was talking with a good friend I have never met. Lafe Langford. Good man, great father and an inspiring example of faith and life in general. We were talking about Mexico, where he lives, the wildlife there and the fun it would be to come down there for some R&R.
We got to talking and he sent me a link to his site, where I read a heart warming story about his experience with his infant daughter Amanda and her life threatening challenge with a bad heart. I recommend this article if you have had struggles with hospitals or health providers. It reminded me of when Cesilea, my oldest, was just an infant herself.
We had moved to West Valley City, Utah and Ditto was just three months old. She had health struggles from the moment she was born until just over a year old, especially with fevers. It was always a challenge to get her temperature down, even with the medicine the doctors gave us. One day I came home from work and Kathi was in a state of panic. Cesilea’s temperature simply would not drop. We did everything we had been taught by the physicians and even our own parents. Nothing worked and as new parents we did what all inexperienced new parents would do: We put the baby in the car and sped off to the closest Hospital.
It was zoo day. The lines were so long, the waiting lines just to get your admission paperwork done zig-zagged through the lobby and out the front doors of the Hospital itself! They had a guard in the lobby making everyone wait their turn, the old women behind the desks shouting out numbers. I didn’t see a single child in line, it was wierd. Within three minutes Cesilea’s breathing had become so shallow, I couldn’t tell if she was breathing at all. Her skin had become so hot it was uncomfortable to hold her. Her body went completely limp.
I remember looking at Kathi and saying “Follow me.” I was determined to make someone listen to me.
I held Cesilea tight against my chest and turned my shoulder into the crowd, pushing my way through. I remember coming up to the guard who blocked my way, people snapping and cussing at me as I cut in front of them. I looked at the guard and opened my arms to reveal my lifeless looking baby and growling, “Move“. He just nodded and held his arms out to clear the way for Kathi and I to get into the main lobby.
Striding up to the counter, I stepped in front of the man sitting in the administration chair and leaned over the counter, placing Cesilea directly into the arms of the grumpy old woman who shouted at me to get back in line.
Her reaction was shock as Ditto’s hot flesh touched hers. The change in her expression was instant as she looked back at me, tears now flowing into uncontrolled sobs.
“Please,” I pleaded, “Please don’t let my baby die.”
Her wrinkled little hand whipped out and hit a button on the wall, yelled something I can’t for the life of me remember, but within moments there were 2 doctors, 3 nurses, and a cart there to take Kathi and Cesilea into the back. In under 10 minutes they had the baby’s fever down as I sat with the woman and did the paperwork–the older gentleman giving me his chair.
When I apologized for my actions, the woman reached over and grabbed my hand.
“My dear, there are days when I forget why I’m here. You did the right thing, in the right way.”
Between you and me, something happened in that experience. I had pushed past the guard at the prompting of the spirit in my heart. “Open your mouth, I will fill it.” was what I heard in my mind, yet when I reached that grouchy woman and opened my mouth, I had never felt so helpless in my life. My whole heart reached out to her in that instant…and regardless of what she was experiencing that day, love met need and my daughter was saved.
That’s my belief, anyway.
Read MoreRights of a Child: Love
The basic foundation principle of a parent, at least in my own mind, should be love.
Now love is actually a big subject, especially when the world has distorted, misused, chopped up, mutilated and all but destroyed the definition of the word. From a loving mother, holding her new child in her arms after birth, whispering it for the first time….to the perversions of what Hollywood would have you believe, “Love” is defined as many things.
We have tough love, unconditional love, paternal love, brotherly love, the love between a husband and wife, even a ‘love of violence’. So where do we place ourselves as parents when it comes to love in conjunction with out little ones?
I have spent some time reading, talking with my children and even heard a great sermon in church Sunday ON Love, and it deserves to be looked at closely.
My sweet little daughter: Leilani Alyse Uapafutiolevaaoalii Buckley
In wondering how my children felt, I set my yellow pad down and called out to a few of my older children, Cesilea (18), Leilani (15) and Jessica (14). I asked them if they knew mom and I loved them. They just chuckled and said “Of course!” But when I asked them how, they looked puzzled. They couldn’t clarify at first. Nothing came to any of them, until Ditto (Cesilea) jabbed Leilani in the shoulder and laughed: “I know you love Lei, because you didn’t send her back for a working model!”.
It took them some time, but they finally told me they knew they were loved because of a structure we had in our home. When they thought about it, every action and decision Kathi and I made concerning them was engineered for their development. For their progression and their good. Ditto added that the pattern was there, even when they didn’t see it at first.
There were times when my children interacted with their friends, and they would witness conduct from their friends towards their parents, especially the mothers which would make them cringe. It was completely unacceptable behavior and they would come home, embarrassed for themselves…and their friends. “Why would they do that (or say that) to their own mother?” they would ask. Oh, my kids have struggles like any other youth, and they have good days and bad days. My goal is just to help them have far more of the good days.
I took the question next to my Sunday School class. I’m a strict adult, very abrupt, but for some strange reason, the kids want me back every year. That’s gone on for nearly 15 years now.
Standing before 14 twelve year olds (mostly girls), I snapped “Do I hate you guys?”
The room burst into giggles and an occasional laugh. “No.” they replied.
“But I yell at you often!” I bellowed.
One young lady smiled back. “But you love love us anyway.”
I smiled back. They were right. I loved each of them and prided myself on having the brightest kids in Church. Hmmm. I don’t hug them. I don’t change their diapers or feed them. In fact, I tell them stories and frequently call them ‘little craps’ when they act badly. Yet they come back, week after week, parents thank me and say their child has never loved church so much as in that class.
So what kind of love produces that type of result? Is it the same type of love my own children experience in our family?
Read MoreA Father of 10 (+1)
I’m sitting here at the Riverton Library in Utah and watching an adorable brother and sister (not more than 3 years old), sheepishly follow behind their mother. The little boy saw a colorful book on one of the lower display cases and reached out to touch it…bringing down the entire display, crashing to the floor. The look on his face was one of shame. His mother looked at him sharply and his tiny little shoulder rounded as he squeaked “I sorry.”
The woman behind the help desk casually walked over, knelt down with a huge smile on her face and whispered ‘Looks like it crashed, huh. Well, that’s ok, it was time to change the books anyway, you go with your mom.” The librarian was greeted with appreciation from both the mother and the little boy, who had the huge world of wrecking a display taken from off his bitty shoulders.
That librarian has class.
The whole scene got me thinking about being a dad. Being married to the absolute love of my life, and having the goal of a dozen children. Kathi says she wants 13 now, but we’re currently debating on that. Now, I’m a religious minded person. I link everything back to God, but I don’t want to preach on this subject. Instead, I wanted to simply share my thoughts on being a father, and especially a father of 10 (with one on the way). It has given me some serious experiences (which never seem to end), and have forced me to look at life from perspectives I would never have considered otherwise.
First off, there’s nothing better in my mind, than being a father. I was fortunate enough to have my best friends born to me as my own children. We have seven girls and three boys. When I meet someone and they find out I have ten children, they gasp and ask ‘how many of each?’ I sometimes remark, “Oh, they’re all human.” or “We have all boys but seven.”
No, I don’t have anything against my beautiful girls. Not many men get kissed by eight girls twice a day, every day. They find me during my morning ritual of rushing, or scream when I’m almost at the door. If I’m unfortunate enough to get out of the house and forgotten anyone, I’m sure to hear it when I get home, or from a disturbing phone call as soon as I reach the office. However, the boys are easier. Yeah, Simon, my 3 year old son wants a kiss form dad, or he demands a phone call from me later to reassure him he was not forgotten…but other than that, my sons are joyful chaos.
Just what a rough dad needs.
One of the aspects of parenthood that some don’t understand, is that each child is unique and brings a separate joy to my life that cannot be duplicated. I cried and embraced my father and father-in-law when Ditto (Cesilea) was born. Yet you would have thought a male child had never existed when Evan was born, the way I ran around the hospital, screaming triumph. Evan is the second child, just turned 16 and weighs in at 240lbs of muscle.
Did I mention my wife is Samoan? Yeah, I have incredible looking kids, with the OOOMPH to back it up.
Kathi and I pondered over the children late last night, and sometimes I think my life would simply crumble if I didn’t have all of them. With all the diapers, screaming, arguing and rebellion comes the laughter, love, kindness and triumph of a lesson learned when the day is done. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in this wide world.
…unless they were REALLY bad….
BTW, if you’re looking for some fun father/parent blogs, check out some of my favorites, such as the Good Father Blog, and Father of the Blog.
Read MoreMy Latest Book
