Stroke of Genius

Daddy, that's me, by the way, had the brilliant idea to put a miniature Christmas tree (with lights) in the kids' bedroom. Naughty bedtime behavior is now quickly thwarted by the threat of removal.

My hat's off to whoever came up with all this about "You'd better not pout, I'm telling you why."

A family afternoon

Photos brought to you by Heather Hatch @ redtulipphotography.blogspot.com

A Post from Katie

While dining at the Creamery yesterday with the children, an elderly - by elderly I mean in their 80s - couple was enjoying an ice cream behind us. Tim and the kids were in line while I remained in the booth with Henry.
"Miss, is that your husband there?"
"Yes"
"Is he a return missionary?"
"Yes, sir." I start thinking, "cool, this guy knows Tim from his mission."
"I like the way he parts his hair. You don't see many youngsters parting their hair today."
"Well, sir, we are in our 30s."
"Still, most youngsters don't bother with the part anymore. His hair looks nice. Good job."
"Thank you sir. I'll be sure to let him know."
A compliment?

Indoctrination

Each night, Maddie assigns me a topic for her bedtime story. The pattern is pretty clear ("about a princess named Aurora," "about a princess named Brenda," "about a princess named Cleopatra," etc.) but I always wait for my assignment. Once the name is established, however, the details are up to me. A few examples:

Badelia the German auto-manufacturing princess from the magical kingdom of BMW.

Conagra the food marketing princess from the land of Naperville.

Debra the doctor princess from Harvard castle.

Helen the private equity princess..."Daddy, tonight can Helen just be a dancing princess?"

My Kind of Game

From the play house: "Dad, you're the monster in this game."

"OK." So I growl and approach.

"No, daddy. The monster lives over there around the corner."

"OK." I retreat behind the corner and then begin another growling approach.

"No, silly monster. The monster stays in its home all the time."

"Well then why doesn't the monster just live inside on the couch?"

"OK."

Perfect.

Fall

Off to school. Apply for jobs. Take a midterm. Take a final. What score did you get? How do you feel about your grade? Do you think we can negotiate this? Is that your final offer? Net Present Value.  Capital Appreciation Model. FASB. Did you hear back about the interview? Who got the offer?

Then: The late afternoon sunlight is yellow and orange. Pumpkins at the door. Rake leaves. Kids run through. Rake again.

"Bury me, Dad."

"Me too!"

I guess I can do this after all.

I Wonder Where He Gets It

After riding my snappy Raleigh Cruiser home from school and locking it up in the backyard, Caleb was waiting to greet me at the door.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

"Hey, bud. How are ya?"

"I'm tired and my back hurts."

Caleb's Song

Old McDonald's had french fries. E-I-E-I-O.

Chloe is a Leo

No one bothered to confirm certain identity elements before we named the cat. Turns out Chloe's a boy. Maddie now calls him Leo but Caleb has been slow to adopt the change.

For my part, I'm warming up to this cat business. It's like a free babysitter. The kids go out in the backyard and play with her for hours. Good work, Chloe...Leo.

In other news, Maddie couldn't sleep in her bed tonight because it felt "unbelievable." I was surprised to learn that was a bad thing.

My Dead Body

Is this heaven? Or hell, I guess? I don't feel dead. But if not, how is it that we now have a cat?

I made all those statements: "Over my dead body." I remember it very clearly.

But there it is. Black and white. Whiskers. It's a cat. There's a saucer of milk out my back door. Where did I go wrong?

She even has a name. Chloe. Chloe the Cat. Caleb and Maddie follow her around all day.

Katie made her a house. Oh dear.

Got it, Buddy

Pointing to a photo of himself and a friend from school, Caleb astutely pointed out, "That's me in Tiger shirt. That's not me. That's Paco."

"OK."

"That's me, Tiger shirt. That's not me."

"OK." Katie turns away.

"Mommy, I tell you so'thing?"

"Yeah."

"That's me in Tiger. That's not me. That's Paco."

"Mommy, that's me in Tiger shirt."