Father's Day

Today our whole family visited Valley Fair. Anna and Henrik broke off into a pair, while Anders and I were the other pair. Henrik and Anna did most of the rides in Camp Snoopy (I know that's not exactly the name, but I want to call something Camp Snoopy, and Snoopy is definitely in the title.). Anders and I went off in the other direction.
I had taken Anders to VF last year, with mixed results. It rained just as Anders was overcoming his mortal fear of rides in general. Then we darted around the crowded inside spots for a while before leaving. It did not make a strong positive or negative impression on Anders.
This year Anna and the boys gave me a trip to Valley Fair for Father's Day. I love amusement parks, always have, probably always will. We used to go often when I was Anders age and younger, then when we moved to Iowa those trips dried up. So I realize that I'm making up for something, but today was the best visit since I was a kid. Anders flew the eagle, drove the antique car "giving it a little gas," and rode his first roller coasters. He loved the High Roller, and tolerated without complaint the Renegade. Anders is two years younger than I was before riding my first coaster.
I could not believe how the whole park opened up to Anders this year. Rides he did not notice last year became stops this year. We even took a break from the regular park to go on a couple of laps around the Lazy River.
Ripe Tide, a 720 degree twisting drop through fountains of water, proved the low point for Anders, and he talked about it more than anything else for the remainder of the day.
Henrik had good time too, going on numerous rides. He went on the carousel three times! The one ride, however, I saw Henrik ride he was crying because he bumped his head on Lucy's Swing-set.
Henrik and Anna left for his nap, then came back for us. Anders and I spend nearly seven hours at VF! It was the best day I've had in a long time. It's also so convenient to have such a substantial theme park less than 15 miles from our home.
I think this will become a yearly tradition. I suspect that Henrik will zoom right up to Anders' level in no time.
I'll try to make it less than seven months before I write again.

Henrik's 3rd Birthday

Henrik turned three yesterday.  I've been thinking a lot about that day since the calendar turned to November. Life has changed drastically in three years from where we live to the dynamic of our family.
Henrik loves numbers and letters, stop me if you've heard this before... He loves to slide down the stairs on his bottom. Trudy is his great friend. She tries to sleep in his bed, next to his face, which means that twice a week he wakes up screaming in abject terror as he finds a pile of fur in his face.
Henrik loves Anders and will do anything to gain his attention, but if Anders is stepping to close or horning in on his things, then Henrik will take a swing at Anders. Henrik has a little "daycare edge" that Anders never developed.
Henrik has finally found an interest in potty training. It remains intermittent, but we are on the road. I am hopeful that three will be better than two. Two was rougher with Henrik than Anders. Meanwhile, Anders at three was not my favorite age. I've had a ball with Anders since he turned four. I guess not knowing is what makes it fun.
We, however, remain those parents that aren't nostalgic for our kids being helpless babies. I love that they are getting older and more self sufficient. They even play with each other for a minute or two before Anders horns in on Henrik and he swings back.
One of the funny thing that Henrik does is say "mine" rather than "my." Couple that with his white-blond hair, and Henrik could be an extra in a WWII movie, in an establishing scene at home where the movie Nazi goes home after work to be with his family.
Henrik also gave himself a nickname, deeming himself "Hammy." He loves when we call him Hammy, he smiles and lights up like a Christmas tree.
Looking back, I realize now that the stress of a second preemie triggered a rather severe amount of aging between 34 and 35. I won't go into every part of my physical decline, but my beard turned much whiter.
I thought much of Henrik's birth as I woke up on November 9th in Donald Trump's America. These past two weeks have felt like the days after Henrik was born, "So, we're doing this again, huh?" I'm still trying to calibrate how much to feel and engage this time around, which may sound weird, but I did the same evaluation when Henrik was born. When Anders was born, I reached out to everyone, looking for support everywhere. For Henrik's term as a preemie, I forged ahead with just Anna. Trump's election left me despondent and caused me to leave Facebook and Twitter. I've lost faith with my fellow Midwesterners. I'm fairly confident that I know how these next four to eight years will go, which terrifies and exhausts me at the same time. Spending three months in the hospital with your premature son will also terrify you, then exhaust you.
I'm glad that the first president Anders remembers will be Obama. That will go a long way, and whenever Anders thinks of the "The President," Obama will come to mind first.
Anders woke up at about 10 pm on Election Night, just as it was sinking in what was happening in Wisconsin, and how Michigan was not turning toward Hillary. He was wearing my "Boilermakers for Obama" t-shirt as his sleep shirt. I didn't have the heart to tell him, as he had made homemade Hillary signs and an "election bowl" for my office. I let him watch for about 15 minutes, just telling him that it was really close. He replied, "She can still win." I said, "Yeah, it's too close to call, it could go either way," or something like that.
The next morning I lingered in the kitchen before trudging up to his room to wake him up. Telling him was one of the hardest things I've yet done as a parent. He wailed and heaved uncontrollably, then Anna came in and they shared a long cry. Meanwhile, I chased Henrik around as he babbled and toddled excitedly. Later, Anders mourned by slowly doing his President Puzzle. While he calmed himself, if I could read his mind, I believe that Anders was saying, "How did that bad man make it onto this puzzle?" I don't know, Buddy, but we are going to be tested in ways that we don't fully comprehend yet over the next few years.

Anders's First Concert: Beatle Paul

Yesterday, Anders and I attended the McCartney concert at Target Center. Anders loved everything about the evening from the subterranean, heated parking garage through watching the clock strike midnight on the ride home.
Anders made a sign for Paul, well for all four Beatles really. It was almost blown away as we were crossing an intersecting street on the Nicollette Mall, but a nice man caught it in stride and returned it to Anders, to the commendation of a woman crossing the street at the same time as us.
We ate at Brit's Pub, then walked to First Avenue to take a picture with the Prince Star. Many pictures and mostly wilted flowers remained there. We got in our seats across the street at Target Center by 7:30. Paul didn't start playing until about 8:50. We filled the intervening time with M&Ms and Minecraft reading on my phone.
The concert started strong with "A Hard Day's Night." The first third of the concert alternated between Beatles songs and newer songs or B sides. Anders crashed after "Temporary Secretary," the 5th song, then rallied around song 15 when Paul played "Love Me Do." He stayed awake for a long stretch, the crashed again. I could not believe that he mostly slept through a rocking "Band on the Run" and the pyrotechnic display on "Live and Let Die."
For much of Anders' sleeping time during the concert, he would wake up to clap at the end of songs and when Paul said "thank you," Anders would reply, "Your welcome!"
The best part was the "Hey Jude" sing along. Anders sang at the top of his lungs. At one point, he stood up, danced, and yelled the words, "Na, na, na, na, Hey Jude!" Anders said Paul pointed directly at him during the song and when Paul said, "You were great!" to the audience at the end, Anders treasured those words as a personal compliment to him.
He also really enjoyed "Birthday" during the encore.
My favorite parts were the circus music and lights display on "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite" from "Sgt. Pepper's," and the "Let's Go Crazy" riff (with purple symbol) in honor of Prince. My true favorite part was watching Anders react and say things like, "Paul McCartney!" That's Paul McCartney!" "You're welcome Paul McCartney!"
This morning, we are both in rough shape. I knew Anders wouldn't sleep in and he did not disappoint. As I was half way through telling Anna about the show, Anders burst in Kramer-style and picked up the narration with the "Hey Jude" section.
It's a priceless experience that will grow in significance over the years, or even tomorrow once the tired-sweats subside.

Henrik turns 2!

Henrik had a birthday, and we are done with the preemie life! I have never been so ready for something to be officially done. Going through the preemie experience a second time was like a bad movie sequel. It was the same basic plot without the magical feeling of seeing something for the first time.
Regardless, I am the luckiest person I know. A piano could fall on me tomorrow, and I'd feel the same way. We went through Hell twice, but exited unscathed, twice. We had not right to do so, but here we are.
I have so many more emotions wrapped up in Henrik's prematurity and hospitalization than I did the first time. These feelings create many cross currents. Yet, I settle on thankfulness. I carry with me a strong sense of thankfulness.
It's appropriate that Henrik was born close to Thanksgiving. I see him and am filled with thanks. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.It's a realistic holiday. Things could be worse, maybe things could be better, but how are you going to approach life? I choose thanksgiving. I didn't always, and I go through patches where I am less thankful than I should be, but I find my way back to the path of thanksgiving.
I'm thankful for Texas. We had so many generous, helpful, knowledgeable, and generally wonderful friends, family, and colleagues who helped us through the tough times. We had medical expertise, meals, babysitting, and that was just Deepa and Ray! So many people helped us in so many ways. Houston gave us Henrik. Whenever I see a "H" on an Astros cap, I think Henrik as much as Houston! I never imagined that someplace could feel so much like home in only three years. I owe so much to that ugly, crowded, fetid, wonderful, friendly, caring, generous swamp. as.
I could keep rambling, but I can't really think clearly. Happy Birthday, Henrik, We love you more than you will know until you have kids of your own. God Bless You! God Bless Texas! And, as always, don't mess with Texas.

Summertime of Life

Today Anders turned six. As the anniversary approaches, I think increasingly about the events of six years ago this week. This year was especially strong in my mind since July 25th fell on a Saturday, as it did in 2009.
"You never know what's going to happen." -Anders
He loves this phrase, and it's so fitting.
"Remember the good times." -Anders
He uses this phrase when Anna and I are bickering or if he's getting in trouble.
"Get out of here, Clowns!" -Anders uses this when clowns appear in parades, and he fears that they might threaten Anna. It happened today at the Nordic Fest Grand Parade. Anders and I were on the curb, while Anna was a few rows back with Henrik. Anders had to find Anna and make sure that she was okay.
Anders has turned into such a sweet and thoughtful kid. He's also quite perceptive. Anders is even finally warming to the idea of Henrik, and even Henrik the person, in spurts.
I had this whole thing I was going to write, but then Anna and I started talking about the Andrik Project, and now I'm exhausted, that and two days of Festing. I love seeing all the people I knew or still know in Decorah. It's also fun to see the boys interact with them, or not, mostly not, at this age. Anyway, at least I enjoy it.
The summary of what I would have written is that what I can now see is that I entered the summertime of my life six years ago. Spring was over. That's fine. Spring is volatile with wild extremes. You might have snow or 90 degree temperatures. There could be blooms and flowers surrounding you or days of uninterrupted rain drowning one's spirit.
Summer, and I'm talking about summer in Minnesota, is more stable than spring. It's between 80 and 90 degrees, mostly sunny, chance of rain. That's life in your 30s with young kids. It's good. The days are long, but it's honest work. Sometimes you'd like a break from the heat, but summer is fleeting. It will be August soon, and you will be thinking about the next season. While it's July, you live in the moment because there is too much happening all around you. There is no choice. Life is so unrelenting that I'm happy to have July 25th to force me to reflect.
One final thing, we are the luckiest people I know. I hate when people say that we were "blessed" because were we not blessed when the boys came prematurely? In other words, did we go from "unblessed" on July 25th to "blessed" later when Anders was fine? Same exact thing with Henrik? I don't believe that line of thought.
Well, that's should clear out the Hashtag Blessed Crew from this weblog. I get cranky when I keep writing after promising to stop hundreds of words before.
I'll spare you the cliches, but all of those life cliches hit us like a ton of bricks on and after July 25, 2009. Some days, I'd like nothing more than to come home and fall asleep to a "Seinfeld" rerun, but if I did that today, I'd have a Period Table of Elements block thrown at my head...that's life in July.

Happy Easter

I see that I haven't posted since July. I've been a bit busy. I hope this post makes up for it.

Today is Easter. I am never late for church on Easter Sunday. With two small sons, we are often late for church. Heck, when it was just Anna and me, we were often late for church. I am never late for church on Easter Sunday because the opener is "Jesus Christ is Risen Today." This is my favorite hymn, and perhaps my favorite piece of music.
We go to a big suburban church in Apple Valley, MN that was having services every hour on the hour all morning. We arrived three minutes early, but you would have thought that we were late as all the seats in the sanctuary seemed to be filled. There were rows of overflow seating in the spacious lobby, but that would not have truly felt like attending church. Knowing that I was entering a sanctuary full of Lutherans, it was a good bet that there would be some seats at the front. Bingo! The only problem was that they were right next to the brass section assembled for the lead off number.
I held Henrik, ready for anything, expecting a freak out over the noise. Instead, he soaked it all in. Henrik looked older, contemplative, even regal as he looked up and off into the distance.
Maybe he was thinking of the miles he had traveled. I was. Last Easter was the first time we took Henrik to church or any large social gathering for that matter after his 96 day hospitalization. As I held my younger son, I thought of all that we had been through, the good fortune, and God's grace.  A single tear ran down my cheek, a cliche, but I was glad it was alone. We are stoic, Scandinavian Lutherans after all.
Then, toward the end of the service, I had a moment with Anders during "Now All the Vault of Heaven Resounds." He was sitting a row in front of me, as Henrik had been messing with him earlier. Anders was "making portraits of his classmates" in the bulletin. He's currently obsessed with the official portraits of the Presidents of the United States. Anna was out walking Henrik around. I was singing, but mostly listening to, this hymn, "Christ has triumphed! He is living!" I began crying again, a bit harder this time. I replayed all the thoughts I had about Henrik, but with more force this time. The years deepen the bond and add more power to the feelings.
Then I thought about where we were, Minnesota. Anna had never wanted to leave, and she spent most of our marriage convinced that we would not return in our vital years. Yet, right after the service we were headed up the road to Aunt Kathy's for Easter Brunch!
I didn't think about it at the time, but visiting our new niece, Elin Johanna, for the first time yesterday at a place where Anders had been hospitalized for 48 days in 2009, likely brought back to us some traumatic stress. Meeting Elin was the highlight of the year, but doing so at a place where we have many mixed memories was harder than I considered at the time. Neither of us had been back since November 2009. but various things triggered memories, for Anna the Paul Granlund statue in the lobby, for me the walk into the hospital past the ER. Anna figured out that Fairview Southdale had set us off as we bickered over nothing in the Southdale Mall.
The coup de grace was that the pastor's sermon featured his yearly visit in March to the grave of a four year old former parishioner. For Anders, still obsessed with death, this was the only part of the sermon he really listened to. This girl was two years younger than me. Her tombstone read "See you later Alligator."
Their isolettes evoked coffins. They looked fragile enough to pass away. These notions I pushed away every day my sons were in the hospital, and I continue to push away these ideas. Anders and Henrik rose out of these circumstances to become our normal, healthy kids. When I think about the NICUs, I feel guilty that my kids made it out unscathed or made it at all. That's what I usually think, when I still allow myself to think about it or else I just ask "why?" Yet, on Easter, every Easter, and it's only become more powerful over the last year, I rejoice. I celebrate my family, and God from whom all blessings flow.

The Return

Well, a lot has happened since Father's Day.  I'll start more recently then work backward until I get tired of writing words.
Yesterday, Anders and I met Former Vice President Walter Mondale at a town hall at Westminster Presbyterian Church (Mondale's home congregation) on the Nicolette Mall in Minneapolis.  I saw this event in the paper last week and asked Anders if he wanted to go, which he most enthusiastically did. Anders has been obsessed with the presidents since February when I gave him a place mat from the LBJ Presidential Library.  He knows them all, in order, and knows many fact about each of them.  In addition, he knows many of the vice presidents including Mondale, so his enthusiasm was not a surprise especially considering that Fritz served as Jimmy Carter's VP.  Carter is either Anders' 2nd or  3rd favorite president after Eisenhower who is clearly #1, then it's Carter or Van Buren in some order.  We were a bit out of place at the event as we were about 30 years too late for a Nuclear Freeze protest or 50 years too late for a SANE meeting.  We sat in the second row of the church, right behind Ted Mondale.  Anders listened for the first half hour.  He laughed at a Hubert Humphrey joke Mondale made, then got excited when he mentioned Reagan.  The final half hour was all about holding off the stink eye from Ted Mondale better than he held off Skip Humphrey in the 1998 DFL gubernatorial primary.
Mondale was great, so kind and gracious to us.  I told his aide that my son was four and he would not be able to stand through a book signing.  I told the vice president that his autograph would go in Anders' autograph book next to Mickey and Minnie Mouse, at which he laughed.

Anders was on Cloud Nine for the rest of the day.  He kept asking me if I had his autograph book, when he was not holding it like his most treasured possession.  Anders was almost off the ground as we walked down the Nicolette Mall.

Anna and the boys flew out of Houston on June 26th. I drove out on June 28th in this beast with Greg driving our car behind.

One should probably have a CDL to drive a rig this big. It took about half of Texas to learn how to handle this monster. Houston was the hardest, but I guess I'd say the same about them all: Dallas, Kansas City, Minneapolis.  The cooler temperatures were an immediate and welcome relief once we crossed into the North.  On day two, however, things took a torturous turn as the parking brake warning alarm started going off at Emporia, KS.  The parking brake, which by the way, was not engaged.  When I called U-Haul for help, their solution was to turn hard right or hard left.  As you can see from this picture, taking their advice would be about the only thing worse than listening to "DING! DING! DING!" in the cab for ten straight hours.  It's that sound that your car makes until you put your seal belt on, well increase the volume three times, then multiply by ten hours and you have it.  That would have been bad enough, but by the time we rolled north into Minnesota the real brakes were about 80% shot. Around Owatonna, I tried to merge into one lane for upcoming road construction; instead, I coasted past the line and gently cut off my fellow drivers as the two lanes ended.
I was happy to be fairly sound the next day when we unloaded the truck at our storage unit.  Upon finishing that task, we headed down to the Twin Cities to go house shopping in Eagan, a SE suburb.  Anna and Mandy had visited many homes and neighborhoods the day before so we had our search narrowed down to four homes.  The first home we saw together was our favorite.  I had seen it online a couple weeks before and had a feeling that it would be our home.  The problem was that there was another offer on the house, but it had not been accepted yet.  We put in our best offer, and late that evening learned that our offer had been accepted!  It's never over until closing, but so far the inspection and the radon test have come back in our favor.  We just need the appraisal, and then we close on the 30th.  We showed Anders the home from the car since the seller still live there and the elementary school that he would attend.  He liked both venues.  I thought Eagan would be old corn fields, but it's full of lakes, hills, and trees.  It seems like a great place for us, plus it's much closer to St. Paul than Sugar Land was to Houston, and St. Paul is no Houston when it comes to traffic!

We gave Henrik some rice cereal tonight because he was just too sad to obey our old doctor's order and wait for his next appointment, which is next month, to give him solid food.  He loves to eat and wants solid food so badly!  He took the rice cereal well enough. I think he was more surprised than anything.  Yesterday, Henrik Arthur looked like a baby picture of Dennis Arthur that Dorene has here, while today he was back to looking like me.  Above is Henrik Eats in its excruciating length (if it works, which it may not, and if it doesn't I don't know why, Mom).
I'm tired of typing.
Good night.