QUESTION: What does one do with a box large enough to fit a full grown 6'3" man inside?
ANSWER: Put a full grown 6'3" man inside, leave the box on unsuspecting doorsteps and wait for the fun to begin. So thats just what we did.
While in college and living at Liberty Square, my roommates and I were hanging out at the apartment of a group of girls that we knew, some of whom had just moved in. One of the girls had moved some of her stuff to the apartment in a very large Rubber Maid bin. Seeing the large empty bin, I thought to myself, "I wonder if I can fit in there?" After discovering that I could, the next question was, "What can we do with it?"
We just happened to know the apartment of girls across the hall. So we took the box, put it on their doorstep, and after I had climbed inside, my roommate put the lid on, rang the doorbell and then hid around the corner.
After opening the door, the girls cautiously looked at the box, wondering what was inside and why was it on their doorstep. As they got closer to the box I scratched the side and the girls let out a shriek. Eventually curiosity got the best of them and they built up enough courage to open the lid. Upon opening the lid I popped out of the box and surprised them. Their fear quickly turned to laughter when they realized it was me.
It had worked so well that we had to try it again. In fact, we spent most of the rest of the night going from one apartment to the next leaving me in the box on random girl's doorsteps. And yes, as college boys would do, we only left the box on girl's doorsteps.
Each time the reaction was generally the same involving curiosity, fear, courage and finally laughter. On the doorsteps of the people I didn't know, when asked "How did you get in the box?" I would play dumb and reply that I couldn't remember how I had gotten in the box. After a brief conversation on the doorstep, and often an invitation to come in and hang out, we would move on to the next unsuspecting victim.
As it turns out, it was probably a good thing that we were having so much fun and passed up the opportunities to hang out, as a I had not yet met my wife. A few months later, in the same apartment complex, fate intervened and I met my beautiful wife as I came down the stairs from a friends house.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Broken Bones
I have broken 2 bones in my life and was considering writing first about my broken arm, as I believe it happened before my leg. But since the broken arm story is a better story, I will start with the leg.
I believe I was about 15 or 16. We were just coming off of winter and it was one of the first warm days we had had that spring. This inspired me to clean off my mountain bike and get it ready to ride in the coming weeks. I spent all morning fine tuning my bike, not realizing that I wouldn't get to ride it for weeks because of what would happen later that day.
So what happened later that day? Church basketball. As a young teacher stole the ball and made a fast break for the other hoop, I, being a tall and much bigger priest, was determined to stop him. As we reached the other end of the court he went up for a layup and I stuffed him. Only to come down wrong on my foot and roll my ankle. I immediately knew something was wrong and hobbled off the court. When I got home after the game, I removed my shoe to find my ankle swollen to the size a grapefruit. I was convinced that I had only sprained it yet my mom insisted we go to the doctor for an X-ray. I have nothing against doctors, but unless I am missing an arm, I don't usually go. I guess I just figure I will get better on my own.
As it turns out, I had broken my fibula( the smaller of the two bones in your lower leg) just above the ankle. Hence the swelling like it was a sprain. The doctor put a temporary cast on it until the swelling went down and I came back a few days later to get a boot cast.
Some people might think a broken leg and a boot cast would keep a 15 year old boy from playing basketball. Those people are wrong. The boot cast is fitted with a little shoe on the bottom, and while I couldn't run fast, I could still play.
So now the broken arm story. It was Christmas Eve of either 1990 or 1991 which would make me 14 or 15. My friends and I were hitching a ride with one of their older brothers up to Brighton to go snowboarding. This was only my second time snowboarding but by the end of the day, I thought I was getting pretty good. Little did I know how things would end up. After a full day of snowboarding, we were tired.
While two of my friends had had enough and decided to head to the car (hind site is 20/20) I wanted to take one more run and headed back up the lift. I managed to make it all the way down the hill to the very bottom, only to crash in front of the lodge on the last run at the very end of the day. I am not sure how it happened because that moment of time surrounding the crash has been blanked from my mind. I just remember kneeling in the snow holding my broken arm with my snowboard still strapped to my feet. As I said, I was at the bottom of the hill and could have just walked to the car except I couldn't get my feet out of my snowboard bindings. I also couldn't see any of my friends.
So mustering up all the courage I could, I would let go of my broken arm and try and reach down with one hand to unbuckle my bindings. THIS HURT LIKE NOTHING ELSE. It took about 3 tries, but I got the binding off of one foot. With the snowboard still strapped to the other foot and supporting my arm the best I could, I began walking to the car. About this time, one of my friends came walking up the hill. I laid down in the snow and told him to take off my snowboard and carry it to the car. When we finally got to the car, I just slumped over in my seat. My friends had to help my remove my gloves and jacket and the 45 min ride home was less than fun. The worst part was that my friend's brother didn't have time to drive us to our houses because he had to get to work. He just took us to my friends house and we had to wait for their mom to come home to give us a ride. I wondered if I would ever make it home.
By the time I finally made it home, about 2.5 hours had passed and when I walked in my mom said, "I had a feeling that something bad would happen today." So as most people were getting ready to eat Christmas Eve dinner, my Dad was running me to the emergency room. And my wait didn't end there. Because it was cold and flu season, the ER was full of young children who were sick and took priority over a 14 year old boy with a broken arm. I think we sat there forever.
Little did I know that getting to see the doctor meant being in more pain than I had ever experienced in my life. You see, doctors like to set broken bones and to set an arm they have to pull really hard. And to make matters worse I had broken the upper part of my arm just below the shoulder and it just didn't want to set right. So after a lot of pulling and a few X-rays the only thing we accomplished was PAIN. He put my arm in a sling and sent me home with some medication and asked me to come back in two days to try again.
So the big question is, "What did I get for Christmas?" I got a weight bench for lifting weights and honestly I don't remember a thing from that day. Most pictures from that Christmas show me passed out on the coach.
The day after Christmas I went back to the hospital to see if the doctor could set the bone. He decided to put me to sleep to set the bone so that I wouldn't have to be in so much pain while he pulled. I expected to wake up with the bone set and that I would go home later that day. Instead I woke up with my arm all bandaged up. Apparently after unsuccessfully trying to set the bone, the doctor decided that he would have to put screws in it to hold it together. So with me already out, he cut me open and put two screws in my arm, which I still have to this day. The surgery left a six inch scar on my left shoulder.
My arm remained in a sling for several weeks. By the time the bone had healed and I was able to take my arm out of the sling, my muscles had atrophied to the point that I could barely move my arm. I eventually got full range of movement back.
Needless to say, I am not looking forward to having 3 teenage boys and no, I don't beep when I go through the metal detector at the airport.
I believe I was about 15 or 16. We were just coming off of winter and it was one of the first warm days we had had that spring. This inspired me to clean off my mountain bike and get it ready to ride in the coming weeks. I spent all morning fine tuning my bike, not realizing that I wouldn't get to ride it for weeks because of what would happen later that day.
So what happened later that day? Church basketball. As a young teacher stole the ball and made a fast break for the other hoop, I, being a tall and much bigger priest, was determined to stop him. As we reached the other end of the court he went up for a layup and I stuffed him. Only to come down wrong on my foot and roll my ankle. I immediately knew something was wrong and hobbled off the court. When I got home after the game, I removed my shoe to find my ankle swollen to the size a grapefruit. I was convinced that I had only sprained it yet my mom insisted we go to the doctor for an X-ray. I have nothing against doctors, but unless I am missing an arm, I don't usually go. I guess I just figure I will get better on my own.
As it turns out, I had broken my fibula( the smaller of the two bones in your lower leg) just above the ankle. Hence the swelling like it was a sprain. The doctor put a temporary cast on it until the swelling went down and I came back a few days later to get a boot cast.
Some people might think a broken leg and a boot cast would keep a 15 year old boy from playing basketball. Those people are wrong. The boot cast is fitted with a little shoe on the bottom, and while I couldn't run fast, I could still play.
So now the broken arm story. It was Christmas Eve of either 1990 or 1991 which would make me 14 or 15. My friends and I were hitching a ride with one of their older brothers up to Brighton to go snowboarding. This was only my second time snowboarding but by the end of the day, I thought I was getting pretty good. Little did I know how things would end up. After a full day of snowboarding, we were tired.
While two of my friends had had enough and decided to head to the car (hind site is 20/20) I wanted to take one more run and headed back up the lift. I managed to make it all the way down the hill to the very bottom, only to crash in front of the lodge on the last run at the very end of the day. I am not sure how it happened because that moment of time surrounding the crash has been blanked from my mind. I just remember kneeling in the snow holding my broken arm with my snowboard still strapped to my feet. As I said, I was at the bottom of the hill and could have just walked to the car except I couldn't get my feet out of my snowboard bindings. I also couldn't see any of my friends.
So mustering up all the courage I could, I would let go of my broken arm and try and reach down with one hand to unbuckle my bindings. THIS HURT LIKE NOTHING ELSE. It took about 3 tries, but I got the binding off of one foot. With the snowboard still strapped to the other foot and supporting my arm the best I could, I began walking to the car. About this time, one of my friends came walking up the hill. I laid down in the snow and told him to take off my snowboard and carry it to the car. When we finally got to the car, I just slumped over in my seat. My friends had to help my remove my gloves and jacket and the 45 min ride home was less than fun. The worst part was that my friend's brother didn't have time to drive us to our houses because he had to get to work. He just took us to my friends house and we had to wait for their mom to come home to give us a ride. I wondered if I would ever make it home.
By the time I finally made it home, about 2.5 hours had passed and when I walked in my mom said, "I had a feeling that something bad would happen today." So as most people were getting ready to eat Christmas Eve dinner, my Dad was running me to the emergency room. And my wait didn't end there. Because it was cold and flu season, the ER was full of young children who were sick and took priority over a 14 year old boy with a broken arm. I think we sat there forever.
Little did I know that getting to see the doctor meant being in more pain than I had ever experienced in my life. You see, doctors like to set broken bones and to set an arm they have to pull really hard. And to make matters worse I had broken the upper part of my arm just below the shoulder and it just didn't want to set right. So after a lot of pulling and a few X-rays the only thing we accomplished was PAIN. He put my arm in a sling and sent me home with some medication and asked me to come back in two days to try again.
So the big question is, "What did I get for Christmas?" I got a weight bench for lifting weights and honestly I don't remember a thing from that day. Most pictures from that Christmas show me passed out on the coach.
The day after Christmas I went back to the hospital to see if the doctor could set the bone. He decided to put me to sleep to set the bone so that I wouldn't have to be in so much pain while he pulled. I expected to wake up with the bone set and that I would go home later that day. Instead I woke up with my arm all bandaged up. Apparently after unsuccessfully trying to set the bone, the doctor decided that he would have to put screws in it to hold it together. So with me already out, he cut me open and put two screws in my arm, which I still have to this day. The surgery left a six inch scar on my left shoulder.
My arm remained in a sling for several weeks. By the time the bone had healed and I was able to take my arm out of the sling, my muscles had atrophied to the point that I could barely move my arm. I eventually got full range of movement back.
Needless to say, I am not looking forward to having 3 teenage boys and no, I don't beep when I go through the metal detector at the airport.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
I love my wife.
I have been busy this week and have not had time to write. As it is the end of the week and today is Mother's Day, I can't think of anything better to write about than my beautiful wife and how great she is.
That's right, I have the greatest wife in the whole world. She doesn't think so, but I know the truth, she is the greatest and I wouldn't trade her for the world.
To start off, she is a wonderful mom. My wife would do anything for her kids and always puts their needs before her own. She has sacrificed her time, talents, body, sleep, wants, priorities, sanity, and everything else to make sure that my kids needs are met and that they are the happiest kids that they can be. Case in point. In order to get my daughter into the right preschool, she got up at 3:00am and waited outside with a bunch of other moms for four hours so that she could register. This on top of the countless sleepless nights waking up to nurse a newborn, staying up late to decorate and prep for a birthday to make them feel special, and the endless list of thankless sacrifices that only a mom can give. My kids may never understand how much she loves them, but I hope that some day when they are grown they realize how much she has sacrificed for them.
I also think that my wife is gorgeous and is as every bit as beautiful as the day we met, ( she stopped me coming down the stairs in our apartment complex and offered me a cookie, but thats another story.) She has the most beautiful brown eyes and a smile to match. And I don't just think she is beautiful because I married her. Even if we weren't married I would still think she was beautiful.
One thing that I love about my wife is that she is fun to hang out with. One of my favorite days was when she and I, before we got married, spent the whole day together at Disneyland. I can honestly say that I don't get bored of my wife and really enjoy hanging out with her.
I love my wife. She is beautiful and I love to hang out with her and am looking forward to when the kids are grown and we can spend some time together. This may not be the most eloquent blog entry and I know that it doesn't communicate just how much I love my wife, but I just want her to know that I love her and think the world of her.
That's right, I have the greatest wife in the whole world. She doesn't think so, but I know the truth, she is the greatest and I wouldn't trade her for the world.
To start off, she is a wonderful mom. My wife would do anything for her kids and always puts their needs before her own. She has sacrificed her time, talents, body, sleep, wants, priorities, sanity, and everything else to make sure that my kids needs are met and that they are the happiest kids that they can be. Case in point. In order to get my daughter into the right preschool, she got up at 3:00am and waited outside with a bunch of other moms for four hours so that she could register. This on top of the countless sleepless nights waking up to nurse a newborn, staying up late to decorate and prep for a birthday to make them feel special, and the endless list of thankless sacrifices that only a mom can give. My kids may never understand how much she loves them, but I hope that some day when they are grown they realize how much she has sacrificed for them.
I also think that my wife is gorgeous and is as every bit as beautiful as the day we met, ( she stopped me coming down the stairs in our apartment complex and offered me a cookie, but thats another story.) She has the most beautiful brown eyes and a smile to match. And I don't just think she is beautiful because I married her. Even if we weren't married I would still think she was beautiful.
One thing that I love about my wife is that she is fun to hang out with. One of my favorite days was when she and I, before we got married, spent the whole day together at Disneyland. I can honestly say that I don't get bored of my wife and really enjoy hanging out with her.
I love my wife. She is beautiful and I love to hang out with her and am looking forward to when the kids are grown and we can spend some time together. This may not be the most eloquent blog entry and I know that it doesn't communicate just how much I love my wife, but I just want her to know that I love her and think the world of her.
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