Iron Man and Connor

My son, Connor, has a brilliant mind. I mean, it’s intimidating. I’m just saying that we should all be grateful he has decided to use his powers for good.

Case in point, he’s only 13 years old, but he made this.

I KNOW, RIGHT?! You know what I made when I was 13? Farts. That’s about it.

Connor is what they call in the biz "a pretty big Marvel fan." I mean, the year the first Avengers movie came out? That year at Thanksgiving dinner, when we went around the table saying what we were grateful for, Connor said, “Joss Whedon.”

So, always jockeying for the position of Coolest Dad, I told my older kids that I would get tickets to an advanced screening of the new Avengers movie. And we went last night.

Three weeks ago Connor got it in his mind that he would build his own Iron Man outfit, from scratch. He began hoarding cardboard, plastic, weird parts of stuff I was sure I had thrown away and asked him not to dig out of the trash ... etc. He used his own money for LED lights, and he asked me to buy him some spray paint. And during this time, he’s been down in the basement whenever he has spare time.

So, here’s how last night played out.

Me: Ok, guys! We need to go! Get in the car!
Connor: Dad, I need to get dressed first. In my Iron Man outfit.
Me: Uhm... you’re going to be uncomfortable sitting in it.
Connor: I won’t wear it in the movie.
Me: Why wear it?
Connor: You can take a picture of me in front of the giant poster, and ... you know ... maybe other people will want to take a picture with me, too. And then I’ll go and change into my Tony Stark shirt for the movie.
Me: Uhmmm....ok. [I sneak off to talk to Katie.]

Me: So, Connor is going to wear his Iron Man outfit to the movie.
Katie: Sweet. He’s worked really hard on it.
Me: Yep, I know. I just ... I’m a little worried about his expectations ... of, like, how he thinks the public is going to receive him. Like, I think he believes strangers are going to want to take photos with him.
Katie: You’ll handle it just fine.
Me: Really? Because if people don’t love it, it’s going to hurt his feelings. And then I’m left with a deflated teenager. And that hurts my feelings. And I realize this isn’t about me. But kind of I’m not up for watching our son be sad.

We pull up to the theater. We get out of the car, and Garren, my 15 year old, starts dressing Connor in his Iron Man get-up. A few people walk by on their way to the theater and mumble, “Cool suit.”

“Whew,” I think. Someone acknowledged him. That’s all he needed.

Then Connor says, “Abbie. Light me up.” He spreads his arms away from his chest, and Abbie walks towards him. “You have to peel off the Pringles cap and turn on the LED light.”

Then we start walking towards the theater - and Oh. My. Goodness. Cars are stopping and taking photos. People are looking out the windows of neighboring stores and, getting all animated-like, hitting their friends and pointing at Connor.

The closer we get to the theater, the more reaction he is getting. Then we get inside, and the place is all abuzz. Theater employees are snapping photos - groups of people are grabbing Connor and asking him to jump in their photos that they’re taking in front of the poster. Including a group with a  Thor and a Captain America. Couples on dates are asking him to take photos with them. People are asking him how he made it and making a huge fuss over him. Two security guards finally walk up, lean into me and say, “That’s the best one we’ve ever seen.”

Thank you, Provo, Utah! Thank you for making my son’s night. Thank you for validating this 13-year old’s hours of work and ingenuity and moxie to actually head out in public and put his efforts on display. I salute you.

Sidebar: I am equally proud of my son, Garren. Garren spent hours with Connor, supporting him in this work, talking Connor off the ledge when things were going south, cheerleading him when things were going well. And last night? Garren asked for no recognition, no attention, no reward. He loved watching his brother have a moment. I love these two. I am grateful to be their dad.

A Conversation with Connor

Amongst my throngs of children is my 8-year old son, Connor. Connor is one ambitious dude, with auspicious dreams that reach beyond society’s modest celebration of the common and mundane. In other words, you know your kid’s dream of being the next NBA poster child? Well Connor’s dream just gave your kid’s dream a wedgie.

Connor has a “workshop” out in our garage. He has managed to collect some tools, thanks to his mom, who encourages his creative energy, and some friends and neighbors that have generously donated to his cause. And by his “cause,” I of course mean “building a ship, so he can sail around the world.”

This is his singular focus. Everything revolves around “The Ship.”

Me, to Katie: “Can you believe that Abbie will be off to college in six years?”

Connor, overhearing: “Six years? Well, I won’t be here to see that, because I’ll be on my ship.”

“Connor, come in for dinner.”

“Can’t I eat out here? This ship isn’t going to build itself, you know!”

“Connor, did you finish your school work?”

“School work is for suckers who aren’t brave enough to sail!”

“Dad, we should go to In-N-Out for dinner; because once I’m on the ship, I won’t be able to eat hamburgers much.”

Often Connor’s hopes are dashed by a hard dose of reality. Like the fact that he doesn’t have any ship designs. Or enough wood. Or an ocean anywhere near the vicinity. And usually reality is pointed out by one of his parents. And sometimes, no matter how logical reality seems to you, you still feel like a Class A Butt-Munch for being the one to break it to your son. Like you took his dreams, put in a brown paper sack with some doggy doo, lit in on fire, put it on your neighbor Steve’s porch, rang the bell, and had Connor watch Steve stomp all over his dreams. And no matter how much you tried to make it look like Steve’s fault, you know the bad news came from you.

So I decided to take the opportunity to lift Connor’s spirits. An afternoon with Dad. We took a bike ride together last week and rode over to Taco Bell. (Because it was the closest fast food, and not because of our profound appreciation for diarrhea.)

Once there, we chatted a bit and I shared with him that I greatly admired all his wonderful ideas. That I thought every one of his ideas were incredible, and that I was sorry that sometimes it was difficult to make his ideas a reality – but that I would always do whatever I could to support his ideas.

Then we chatted in general about things that made us happy, things that made us nervous, etc. I asked Connor, “Is there anything that makes you embarrassed?”

“Uhm, yeah. Lots of things, actually.”

“Like what?”

“Uhm…public tooting.”

I just about fell out of my Taco Bell booth – but this time, the stomach cramps were from laughing.

“Public Tooting? Yours or somebody else’s?”

“Mine.”

“Well…do people know it’s you?”

“Not usually.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don’t make a face where people would know it’s me. I just kind of look around casually, like everything is normal.”

“Well, when you’re on your ship, you can toot all you want and nobody will know but the fishes.”

So scoff if you will at Connor’s vision. But someday, when you think your life is pretty great because you get season tickets to your son’s NBA games, I will be relaxing on the shores of some remote island paradise, because my son, Connor, built a ship. And we’ll scuba dive and snorkel and swim and tan and eat fresh seafood…and toot all we want, thank you very much.  See if anybody in the Staples Center appreciates you doing THAT!

The Tooth Fairy

I figure that of all the traditional mythological characters, most of my energy goes towards substantiating Santa Claus. Well, first, of course, is Prince, but after that, Santa Claus.

 I really don’t have any patience for the Easter Bunny. I outted that sucker immediately. Why on earth would a rabbit go house to house hiding painted chicken eggs? I’ll have none such nonsense going on in my home.

And somewhere caught in the crossfire is The Tooth Fairy.

I will freely admit I do not have a great track record with The Tooth Fairy. My approach is so half-baked. My heart just isn’t in it. Many are the nights Katie and I are going to bed and one of us will remember, “One of our 18 children lost a tooth! We need some loose change to exchange for this tooth!” And it is surprisingly difficult to come up with change on some nights. I’ve had to look for change in the couch. I’ve had to go out to the car and check my little loose-change compartment. I’ve even had to – and I wish I were making this up – take money out of my child’s little Piggy Bank and put their own money under their pillow! I know it’s not listed in the Bible, but I’m pretty sure this is going to come up on my final exam for entrance into Heaven.

I know I’m not the only parent to have completely spaced the Tooth Fairy business and to have been woken up the following morning with a child waving a tooth clenched between their thumb and forefinger, yelling into your face, “The Tooth Fairy didn’t come!”

Your brain freezes and you find yourself saying the most inane things to cover yourself. Things like, “She must have been really, really busy,” or “Maybe she couldn’t find it,” or “Maybe she was with Prince and they were partying like it’s 1999.” Once I actually heard myself say, “Well, it was the Sabbath. So, you know…we aren’t…supposed…to work…on…you know…the Sabbath.”

My seven-year old, Connor, recently lost a tooth. And we didn’t get the job done the first night. So we gave some lame excuse, and told him to put it under his pillow again that night. And as I slipped my hand under his pillow to find the tooth, I came across something else. A note.

“Dear Tooth Fairy,

Where is my money? I’m not trying to be mean, but seriously, where is it?

Connor”

Yes, to my son, this magical sprite was no longer a wonder and a marvel. She was no longer delightful and mystical. She was a lady that was holding out on him. And she must be dealt with justly.

I almost left the tooth, just to see what the next note might say. I can only imagine.

“Dear Tooth Fairy, Look, I thought we had an arrangement. I think you know how this works. Don’t make me report you. I will have you fired so quickly it’ll knock your own teeth out. You’ll be ‘The Fairy Formerly Known as Tooth.’ You’ll suffer a time period of mediocrity, before you take your name back and rise again to a respectable level of fame. Just make it easy on yourself and leave the money.” 

The Craig Bunch: Our Christmas Card

THE CRAIG BUNCH Episode Guide for Season 13

This is brief listing of some of the episodes from 2008.  Each is a mix of hectic and calm, laughter and tears, desperation and inspiration.  And of course, every episode teaches a very valuable lesson!

The Florida Episode: The Craigs fly across the continental United States to Florida and pack in as much Disney, seashore, and scenic alligator sightings as they can. Take Home Message: Family togetherness is important. Cramming three different amusement parks into three consecutive days? Less important. Spread it out, folks.

The Child Development Episode: Garren (age 9) plays club baseball, involving many weekend trips up to St. George. Connor (age 7) can usually get out of trouble by saying something funny. Roxanna (age 5) has no filter and says whatever comes to her mind. Take Home Message: Garren won’t be playing club baseball anymore, Connor will continue to work on new material, and the family agrees that Roxanna’s comment “You smell like rice pudding” must be a compliment.

The Theatrical Episode: The entire Craig Family performs in the Stake Play: A musical review called “We Go Together.” Their ditty? As 7-month pregnant Katie belts out the Oklahoma classic, “I’m Just a Girl Who Cain’t Say No”, Ken and the kids dance around on stage.  Tanner (age 2) steals the show as he shakes what his momma gave him.  Take Home Message: What’s a stake play without a little harmless innuendo?

The Birth Episode: (Originally aired during "Sweeps," of course.) Katie delivers 10-pound Rebecca Craig…at home…unassisted by anyone but Ken.  Take Home Message: Immediately calling your midwife when you are in labor is important. So is keeping a clean guest bathroom. We’re just sayin’.

The Church Service Episode: Ken completes his first year as The Ward Bishop and loves the members of the Elk Ridge Ward. Take Home Message: Sometimes bishops are forced to feign amusement each time someone comments on his rapidly graying hair. Bishops have feelings too.

The Family Reunion Episode: The Craigs join The Entire Craig Family and then the Fillmore Family for a summer of family reunions in Utah. Take Home Message: During the summer months, the Craigs will leave Las Vegas at the drop of a hat.

The Bakery Episode: Abbie (age 11) starts her own bakery business out of our home, supplying a variety of homemade breads to a burgeoning clientele list. Take Home Message: Man cannot live on bread alone…unless it is Abbie’s homemade bread, because then, yes you can, people. Yes you can.

The Music Episode: The Craig kids are tapped as musical prodigies as they masterfully play the piano, trumpet, flute, drums, and cowbell. Take Home Message: The kids take after their mom. Dad is useless unless you are interested in “music appreciation.”

The Holiday Special: Katie directs a group of home schoolers in a Christmas play and produces it at a homeless shelter and two retirement homes. Take Home Message: Putting 30 kids in costumes on a stage is entertainment, no matter what happens. Everybody loves them.

The Christmas Episode: After surviving the biggest Las Vegas snowfall since 1979, the Craigs take time to express all their love and gratitude to their family and friends. Take Home Message: They recognize how truly, truly blessed they are to know such wonderful people and such wonderful doctrine as the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Merry Christmas from The Craig Bunch!

Mouse House

The family I grew up in was not what you would call a Pet Family. I had a hamster as a child, and then we went through a short six-month stint with a black and white Shih-Tsu puppy that quickly received his walking papers one afternoon when he did something unspeakable with a baby’s dirty diaper. (I said it was unspeakable!)

It’s not that I didn’t care for pets, as much as they were just never really around and I was fine with that. The family I am currently leasing however is bound and determined to have animals in our house. In the past couple of years we have had several pets aboard Craig’s Ark, and most recently, mice.

Two of my sons, Garren and Connor, each wanted a mouse, so we got Jenny, a small white mouse, and Minnie, a larger, brown mouse. Both females. A week had gone by when one morning my son Garren came downstairs looking a bit despondent.

“What’s wrong, bud?”
“Oh, you’ll have to come see.”
“What is it?”
“Just come see. In my room. Jenny’s dead.”

I’ve never been a fan of mice of any kind, but as distant as my relationship was with these rodents, I felt bad for my son. He was clearly taking this death personally.

I grabbed my CSI kit, which I had purchased with $2.00 and three Lucky Charm’s box tops, and headed into the boys’ room to investigate the scene. It was quiet. Too quiet. It felt almost eerie. I knew why I was there, and I knew what had to be done, but I wasn’t prepared for the grisly sight that awaited me. There was Jenny, lying at the bottom of the mouse cage… Well, there was half of Jenny, lying at the bottom of the cage. Where was the rest of her? As unbelievable as the answer was, it was equally obvious. Sitting on top of Jenny, fat and sassy, with blood all over her hands and face, was Minnie. Minnie was eating Jenny. Before I could even look away, Minnie froze and looked up at me as if to say, “…And you’re next, jack-face!”

I escorted Garren out of the room before he could view the ugliness. I took care of Jenny’s remains and thought long and hard about turning Minnie into the authorities. What had made her turn? Did she actually kill Jenny? Were we that late with her breakfast that she thought, “Well, I guess this will teach them to be late with my meals!”

If this had been a movie, it could go three different ways from this point. One, a possessed mouse terrorizes an unassuming suburbanite family. Two, a suburbanite family’s house has been built on an ancient Indian burial ground and the wronged spirits of days of yore are seeking their vengeance on the family…and the first manifestation involves a small animal’s demeanor taking a horrible turn, foreshadowing what is to happen to the family. Or third, Stuart Little III: What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas, where Stuart avenges his sister, who was eaten by a brown mouse that doesn’t like her meals to be late.

Since it isn’t a movie, and Garren wasn’t amused by my ramblings, we immediately purchased another mouse. And as soon as we put New Jenny in the cage, Minnie immediately pounced on her. This was disconcerting. Now that she had the taste of blood in her mouth, she wanted more.

We made the easy decision to keep New Jenny and get rid of Minnie the Cannibal. Minnie happened to be Connor’s, so I put Minnie in a box, and off I went with Connor and Minnie back to PetCo to exchange Minnie for a less-cannibalistic mouse.

I grabbed the first pimply-faced teenage employee I saw and began my line of questioning.

“Hi, Jeremy, uhm, we adopted this mouse about a week ago, and I wanted to exchange it for another mouse that we would be happy to adopt. See, this mouse ate one of our other mice, and then attacked a second one, so….”

"Oh, yeah…. hmmm…sometimes they just do that.”

“Well, you certainly are a student of the rodent world, Jeremy. Anyway, could we exchange it?”

“Did you consider buying a separate cage and having two cages – one for each mouse.”

“Yeah, we aren’t going to do that.”

“I understand. I just have to ask because my boss will ask me if I did.”

“Fine.”

We walked over to the cages to select our new mouse, when the manager of the store approached me.

“Hello, uhm, we cannot take that mouse back. YOU adopted it, so YOU are responsible for it. We aren’t running a shelter, you know. You should probably just buy another cage.”

“What, are you guys paid on commission? I’m not buying another cage.”

“Well, it costs me money to keep animals here. There’s food, and then payroll to have somebody take care of them…”

“How expensive could that possibly be?”

“Well, I also…maybe we shouldn’t be discussing this in front of your son.”

I looked down at Connor who had one finger inside a birdcage, and the other in his nose. “I think he’s fine.”

“Well, then ask yourself this question, how would you feel if somebody else came in to buy that mouse to feed to their snake!?”

I could sense that this man was trying to shame me into something, so I tried not to laugh or sing Lion King’s “Circle of Life.”

In my mind I pictured one of those futuristic, sci-fi machines that scans the human body for trace amounts of some chemical or someting. It was hooked up to my body, searching for one, single cell that felt the smallest degree of something resembling guilt. Nothing. The charts were coming up negative.

I was about to tell the guy, “Look, take the mouse back or I’m going out to your parking lot and letting her go.” But his comment had actually given me an idea. I knew a neighbor who had a snake and regularly fed mice to him. Problem solved. Almost. Connor still needed another mouse.

With full confidence in my new pimply underage friend and his understanding of all things mousy, we requested another small, white, female mouse – New Minnie – to cohabitate with New Jenny.

So I came home and put New Minnie in the cage with New Jenny. Then I put Old Minnie in a plastic tub on her own. Then I called my neighbor…who got rid of his snake. So now I was stuck with three mice. And not long after that, I was stuck with five mice, thanks to my friendly neighborhood PetCo employee who can’t tell a female mouse from a male. Yes, Minnie was a Mickey.

This sounds like another possible movie plot, wherein a kind, albeit slightly irrational, father blows up a PetCo.