Category: Family (Page 10 of 16)

Santa Claus brought Laura two wall-mounted bookcases to house her extravagant book collection. It wasn’t too hard to build them. Let me rephrase.

It wasn’t too complicated to build them.

Building two bookcases was hard. But I had fun, and I got back in touch with woodworking (even if it was pretty basic).

Here’s how it went. First, a neat picture that doesn’t really showcase the finished product, but I like the photo, so it goes first. See the bookcase in the background? Look, there’s a Christmas Spider-man in the front. Neat.

Here’s the finished product, two simple laminated bookcases, 13 inches deep by 24 inches wide and 48 inches tall.

My first step was to draw up a little design in qcad. Here’s a PDF of the file as well as a DXF for import into a wide range of vector/CAD drawing programs.

Next, just to see how the things would look in the space I had, I rendered them out in POV-ray complete with a subroutine of random books. Download the source.

With all the theoretical stuff done, the only thing left was to build the thing. Should be simple.

Yeah, right.

Day One

I took my measurements to the lumber yard ordered two 48×96 inch pieces of plywood, had the guys cut them up for me ($2 per cut), bought some self tapping anchor bolts (walls are concrete in Puerto Rico), some 1 3/4" #10 wood screws, some contact cement (for gluing the laminate), and four sheets of white laminate @ $10 apiece. All total, it came out to $150 (which would, of course, go up later… but that’s coming).

First thing I did was assemble the wood into its final shape to make sure the cuts were correct. Everything came out perfectly. When possible, let your local lumber yard do your cuts for you. It would be a pure luxury to have such a great, high speed, powerful table saw. A man can dream can’t he?

With the box assembled and checked, I rested on my laurels and did not do another thing that day. I KNEW what was coming, and I wanted to savor my small success.

Day Two

Let’s cut and glue some laminate, shall we? I’ve never done this before, but the directions sounded easy enough, use your utility knife to score the laminate, then carefully break it along the perforation. Check. Except, I kept tearing it. My perforations were uneven, not deep enough, or would veer off at the worse possible moment. Sigh. I salvaged what I could and quit for a few hours, resigned to the fact that I would have to buy more laminate. Perhaps the sweat dripping from my brow was causing me to rush.

A couple hours later, I rejoined the battle. I successfully cut a few small pieces of laminate. I shall now glue them. Cue the blood red sticky brain cell killing noxious contact cement. Horrible stuff! Good thing I was doing it outside where there was a nice breeze… and – drops of rain. D’oh. I scrambled in with my tools and glue covered panels sticking to my arms.

After a half hour of drying, I was ready to press the panels together. SUCCESS! The glue held well, and I trimmed off the excess with my router’s laminate trimmer and all was well. I ran back and forth because of the rain a couple times and managed to glue two or three complete panels.

I should mention, however, as a precaution, a caveat if you will, that upon later examination, I noticed the red stuff all over my hands, arms, and legs was not, in fact, entirely glue. Some of it was blood, drawn by the fine slicing edge of the fresh cut samurai laminate. A mighty warrior he was, for his blade was NOT dull. It was razor sharp upon the edges where it was cut. I had learned of the master’s skill the hard way. Day three would feature me with multiple bandages.

Day two also contained a mishap that is only amusing in hindsight. Content with my assembly and swelled with pride at my modest accomplishment, I left the assembled box in the middle of the family room floor that night. I stepped out to put the house to bed, admired my handiwork, put the doggies in their houses, closed the doors, turned off the fans and lights, grabbed my bottle of water, and strode toward the bedroom.

The fall was not even registered. I was simply and abruptly crushed into the box. Yeeaaii, ouch, &#(%& (this is a family blog afterall). Was this what soldiers who fell into booby traps in Vietnam felt like? OMFG, it hurt. I had flayed the skin from my shins, forearms, and where my wristwatch had caught the edge and dug deep, the skin had already started to swell.

Luckily, copious quantities of ice saved me from a week of misery, but at the end of day two I recounted:

1. Blood – Check
2. Sweat – Check
3. Tears – Check

Things were going smashingly. We’re right on schedule.

Day Three

Day three was more of the same, more cuts, more blood, more cursing, more lifting, moving and avoiding the rain. Glued a few more panels, made a few mistakes. I was approaching something resembling a finished product.

Day Four

After four days, I had finally done it. I had constructed a box!

Feel my power! The box had two sturdy sides, a top, a bottom, and a back and was laminated inside and out. Yeay! Now I’ll need to do the shelves. Uggh!

Day Five

Suffice it to say, there are no more days. It only took five days. By 2 am, it was on the wall and loaded with books.

"It looks great, Jim," my ever supportive wife remarked. "Now all you have to do is make the other one."

Day Six

Guess what? The second bookcase only took a day and a half. How’s that for a learning curve. I developed a technique for cutting the laminate. I got the gluing down to a science. Measuring, drilling, pressing, etc., all went a lot easier the second time around. Stuff that seemed irritatingly awkward, now went off without a hitch.  I guess it’s like that with everything.  I’m just happy I got to build something and I got away from the computer for a spell.

Cool.

"That’s great, Jim," cheered Laura, "Now you can redo the bathroom cabinets."

Parenting is like war, in fact it’s so much like war, I learned everything I needed to learn from Gen George S. Patton. Here are my tips for raising successful well adjusted children (which mine are, thank you very much).

1. "Never fight a battle when nothing is gained by winning." and "Failure to adhere to verbal promises will destroy your credibility." This means if you issue a decree or threat of punishment or reward carry through with it. If a child misbehaves, take action and stick to it. If you promise a reward, make it happen. You’re tired? Tough. The opposite is also true. Don’t make empty threats or empty promises. If a battle is not worth fighting, don’t fight it, and don’t rattle your saber. Children will figure out when you are tired, your supply lines thin, and your morale low, and then it’s nothing but work work work. When Daddy or Mommy say something, the kids had better well know you mean it.

   "Child, if you do not put your clothes away, you will not go to Grandma’s house."

   What will you do if the child does not put his/her clothes away? Are you actually suggesting that you will in fact not go to dinner at your mother’s or mother-in-law’s house? Just don’t fight this battle. Don’t make a threat when you have no intention of ruining the entire family’s night out over it. I see parents make this mistake all the time. First couple of times the kid dutifully picks up, but he quickly figures out he can leave his clothes on the floor and still go out with the family.

   Now what do you do? You’ve got to escalate the battle. Sounds like work to me. No, the best war is the war not fought. Just ask GWB.

   Make it easy on yourself and the kid. "Child, you have a choice. You can pick up your clothes now or when we get home. Which shall it be?" No threat, no reward. Just the way things are.

2. "You must be able to do everything your soldiers do, and you must do it better than any of them." Be more capable than they are. Be that person they need you to be. If you are a soldier leading others into battle, you must be more physically fit, smarter, better trained, with more discipline, and more drive. If you are a leader of soldiers, you must be the BEST solder. Same thing with your kids. If you expect them to be honest, trustworthy, faithful people, YOU must be the best of those things. You must exceed the standard. If they can’t look up to you, to whom can they look?

   I don’t know where we’ve gotten this from as a collective society that we can just live our lives for ourselves and ignore others, as if somehow we all live in our own little personal bubbles. You MUST always think of the other. If I let myself be unfaithful to my wife, I’m not just doing something that makes ME feel good (and after all if it feels good, how can it be wrong?). I’m destroying the notion that ANYONE can be faithful, that love has even a shred of value. If you are not honest, how can you expect your children to be so? If you decry the state of society for its selfishness, smallness, and lack of civility while you grab and scrape and hoard for yourself, who do you think your children will become? And don’t just emulate this great parent; be this great parent.

   From personal experience, it’s a lot more fun to be this parent too.

3. "Do not fear failure." And "Go forward." This means you must move on. Don’t let your children dwell too long on their failures. If they need a time out, give it to them, and move on. What lesson did they learn? Use that lesson to further develop them. I would say this also works well by your own example. Admit your own failures. Ask for forgiveness when you screw up, show that you know how to pick yourself up and do better. If they see you don’t fear failure, they won’t either. Fear of failure is the big bogey man and needs to have his ass kicked and kicked hard.

   Jack Welch likes to say, "Hit ’em then hug ’em." Of course the "hit" is rhetorical. If you need to punish, do so, but then give ’em a big hug, let them know that their failure isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s an opportunity for improvement.

4. "The more senior the officer, the more time he has to go to the front." As a parent, it’s your duty to engage your children. You must share with them the reality of things. Get up in their faces. Get in their business. Engage. Once you have abstracted yourself from your children and hide behind a desk far far away, you’ve lost the campaign, my friend. Spending time with them on the front lines, will show them that you care about them. With that closeness comes an esprit de corps that will enable your family squad to take on any challenge.

   This is especially important once kids grow into teens and the "cool" factor starts to invade. Parents invariably become "uncool." Fear not the uncool. Embrace it and get in there. Your kids will appreciate your presence in the end. As a captain in the Army, I used to hang with my troops. I’m sure I put a crimp in their style, but you know what, I knew what problems they had, what they were into, and was able to deal with it. They respected me because they knew I really cared about them. I’m not perfect, but my kids know that I care about them, and am willing to get in the foxhole and be shot at with them.

5. "Every leader must have that authority to match his responsibility." Your children are leaders. Give them an authority commensurate to their responsibility. Guide them, don’t micromanage them. Set them free, but don’t abandon them either. Let them do the things for themselves that they should and can do. Do for them that which they cannot.

   Delegate choices to them. Which pair of shoes do you like better, this one, or this one? What would you like to eat for lunch, a sandwich or roasted chicken? If they are not accustomed to having authority to make choices, how do you expect them to make the right ones in a difficult moment under fire?

There you have it folks. Bet you didn’t think Patton had any good advice for parents, did you? Lest you think that any method inspired by Patton must be cold, hard, and cruel, I add this: We have never raised our hands to our children. We have never used any form of corporal punishment and have a strict policy against it. We have been consistent, firm, and present and the rest has taken care of itself.

In the car on the way to a day at the beach in Manatí, Puerto Rico, discussing pirates and lost treasure in the Caribbean:

Olaia: Why did the pirates lose their treasure?

Jaimito: Because they had holes in their pockets?

Me: Hey Olaia, look my cup is mysteriously moving. It’s magic.

Olaia: *Smiles* Daddy, it’s because there’s some water under it and the fan is blowing.

Me: What a scientific little mind you have.

Olaia: Now let me tell you about why it rains.

Jaimito, age 4: Daddy, does magic exist?

Me: Oh, I like that question. But I have to ask you another question, Jaimito. It depends, what is magic? Do you know, Jaimito, why things fall to the ground?

Jaimito: Um, cause you dropped them?

Me: Well, yes, that’s right, but the falling part. How come, Jaimito, that you stick to the ground and don’t fly up to the ceiling?

Jaimito: ‘Cause I don’t have a cape?

Me: *Falls out of chair laughing*

Laura, Jaimito, and Olaia were all out last night. Laura was at some cocktail event for the Puerto Rico Chamber of Commerce, and Olaia and Jaimito attended the birthday party of a cousin. They saw "Cars." I wish I could have gone, but no, I got to stay at home and look after Javier, just the two of us, hangin’. What a treat it was, though. I think I got the best deal. He’s such a fiddle-muffin, always in motion, joking, smiling, laughing, getting into stuff. We got into stuff together. He likes that I help him get into stuff. Then we bounced on the bed. He loves that. Of course the only problem with little children, is that they never ever tire of whatever they are doing that is fun. Again. Again. Again. Do it again. And if you don’t do it one thousand million times, they wail. So we have to find something else fun to do.

Next, let’s jump on the couch. Jump jump jump jump.

"Okay, Javier, Daddy’s tired. Can we take a break?" And I plopped down on the couch and flicked on the TV. Let’s see if there are cartoons on. Javier climbed up and slumped down on the couch imitating my male couch-slouching posture. We were a couple of perfect guys, lazing on the couch. Lovely.

Then I made dinner.

"Hey, Javier, are you hungry? Let’s make dinner. What would you like." He understood, and immediately began to wail.

Daddy, I forgot, I’m hungry. You reminded me and now I want food right now – right this instant. No forget that, I want food five minutes ago.

"Okay, little man, hold your horses. I’m on it. Let’s get you some juicy." I took out a cartoon of country style pulpy fresh orange juice. The wail volume went up a notch.

DADDY! I want it NOW.

"All right, Javier, look, you had better stop crying. You will not have ANY juice until you stop crying this instant." Javier knew I meant business. There are no second chances in this house. Daddy demands instant and complete compliance or the consequences come raining down. Javier’s tears instantly shut off while I finished pouring his juice and handed it to him. "I knew you could do it, little boy. Daddy’s proud of you for holding on and being patient." I patted him on the head and gave him a little hug.

Now I must get to our dinner, I thought. "So, Javier, what shall we have? A little Daddy-style Spanish Tortilla? Sounds good. Hmmmm."

I got out the mixed vegetables, the eggs, and a glass bowl. Normally Spanish omelets have potatoes, but Puerto Rico is so damn hot, I can’t eat a lot of carbs for dinner. As soon as I have rice, pasta, or potatoes, my body goes into flop sweat mode. It’s a pain, let me tell you. Dinner, for me, ideally consists of vegetables, fruits, and a bit of meat or beans, or any variation thereof. I dumped in the mixed vegetables, eggs, garlic, and whipped it all together. I popped it in the microwave for four minutes and bam, quicky Spanish omelet. I put some cheddar cheese on top and we were good to go. Javier, however, had different ideas.

Daddy, I’m going to eat all the bread at once, stuff it all in my mouth and then only nibble at my eggs. Oh, but the orange juice was great. Daddy, he smiled and seemed to say with his little teeth full of bread, I love you. And he took a quick drink from his sippy cup for emphasis.