Can't Kid a Kidder

With every ounce of deceptive enthusiasm I could muster, I gleefully asked Caleb:

"Do you want to help me take the garbage out, buddy?"

"Um, Daddy..." he put his finger to his chin, obviously choosing his words carefully. "I think you're crazy."

The Finisher

After nearly five years, I'm beginning to understand and become comfortable with my role as a father: I finish half-eaten food.

Half a banana on the counter. A little bit left in this juice box. A bowl of soggy breakfast cereal.

I'm the scavenger on our Savannah.

Duh

A new semester is getting the best of me. Thus, no blog posts for some time.

Caleb: Mom, can you get me a magic wand?

Mom: Sure, bud. Do you need a real one or a pretend one?

Caleb (confused): Um, I need a magic one.

Good Idea

Maddie was helping me shovel snow this morning. Helping, you know, like pushing snow back into the sidewalk and such.

After shoveling, I picked up the bag of salt to spread around.

"Maddie, will you help me melt the ice?"

"I don't know how to melt ice, dad. But salt knows how, so why don't we just use that?"

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."