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Well, that was pretty much how it happened; D-Man is a great eater. Eats everything that doesn't eat him first, actually. Well, maybe not green beans and hard-boiled eggs. But certainly everything else. So when he didn't dive in at lunch, it was a hint something was amiss. The problem was masked by the fact that "M" threw up all over the living room floor the same morning. (You should'a seen it: She was lying quietly on the floor when I asked what was wrong with her. "I'm just sick is all" she said. I hadn't even finished thinking, 'OK, sure you're sick' before I noticed her breakfast making a hasty retreat right down her arm, through her hair and onto the carpet. She got up on all fours, moved away from the current small puddle and heaved again. She moved back once more and heaved once more. Repeat. Repeat. 45 pounds of puke out of a 40 pound girl - that's kid math for ya'. And would it have killed her to keep it confined to one square foot of carpeting instead of spreading it across a third of our living room?) So, I simply thought there might be a bad bug making it's way through town and we'd all have our turn with it.

Obviously, this was not the case...

The 'blister' on D-Man's toe was about 70% of the size of a dime and the toe itself was nearly double its usual size. Red as Esau, to boot. The blister was of course filled with pus and had a base of black skin. Now, I'm no doctor but I know that black skin - unless you're born with it - is not a particularly good sign. I drained the pus, washed it with H₂O₂ and put a few drops of iodine on it, (we were all out of Smeckler's Powder).

(SEE? This is what you get when I'm not unusually rushed; chemical formulas and obscure Simpsons references. Ain't it grand?!?)

The good news: he's reacting well to the antibiotics and pain meds. The black (dead) skin they took from his toe had living tissue beneath it, so the infection hadn't spread into the bone, (and my initial fears of them having to amputate his toe - at the hip - were unfounded), they've finally given him a room and he's eating again.

The mysterious news: he's developed ANOTHER, similar injury on the same toe -- while he was at the hospital and the toe was wrapped. His temperature is still high and apparently the cultures have not yet produced an answer as to what exactly is afflicting the big guy.

The bad news: neither he nor Mom are back home where they belong yet. But all in all, if that's the bad news in all of this, that's pretty good news...

THEOLOGY THURSDAY...

The other day I realized that I have been using a phrase in these articles that's fairly widely used but not so widely understood. That phrase is, "God's Chosen People." It's pretty well known that this is a reference to the Children of Israel - the Hebrews or 'Jews' - but I strongly believe that the word 'chosen' is misunderstood even within Christian circles.

In common English usage, the word chosen is all too often thought of as synonymous with the idea of being "favored," so that when one hears that God has "Chosen" a single group of people, we tend to think that means God is playing favorites among His children. But if you study The Bible, you'll see that this simply isn't the case...

As I've said previously, Yeshua (Jesus) has promised that those who follow Him will face difficult trials and will be held to different - higher - standards than non-believers. In the Old Testament, God dictates an entire book, (Leviticus), that is dedicated to explaining the proper ways we humans need to atone to God for our sins; exacting requirements as to the type of offering to bring, (an animal without blemish), how it should be slain and what should be done with its various parts. Rituals that are no doubt difficult to execute properly and nearly impossible to remember completely.

Do these Biblical definitions of being "chosen" sound like a cakewalk? Is this the "winning the lottery" type of thing that a number of people imagine when they hear of God's Chosen? Obviously not. So what does GOD mean when He uses the phrase?

In Genesis, God sees a righteous man who walks in His ways. He is fair in all his dealings and is obedient to the Will of The Lord. His name is Abram, and God tests him severely time and time again. Abram succeeds each of The Lord's trials because he always remembers to put God's will ahead of his own and to trust in God's might and power to accomplish all things.

In other words, Abram is able - through the strength of his faith - to reveal God's strength and nature to everyone around him. Having so shown Abram what he was made him of, God was then able to tell Abram His great plan for him; God would choose Abram in whom to father a great nation. A people through which God would show Himself to the world again and again.

And this is NOT good news to those who have been chosen. Quite the contrary, actually. Because if God is to be seen in the details, it can only be through an overwhelming victory when one would never be expected otherwise. Take David and Goliath as an example: if a 9-foot tall man had killed a 10-year-old boy on the battlefield, it would only be noticed if there were an inquiry in an American court of law. Jericho? Are there any other cases of a city being destroyed by trumpet blasts? And would Exodus have meant anything if Moses went to Pharaoh, said, "let my people go" and Pharaoh said, "FINALLY! We've been trying to get rid of you guys for ages!"?

Sure, many frogs would have been spared from an airborne death, but the whole of history would have been changed...

In short, as God's Chosen People, the Jews can only win when the odds are stacked against them. It's good news if you consider that they win with God's help, but a bit staggering if you remember that the odds are always going to be against them.

Then again, they've survived this long, so that has to say something...

As I write this, The Wif and D-Man are at the hospital. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but that's how it came to me tonight: there was a time when we were all a happy, mostly healthy, family facing life's normal challenges and then there was a time when I was eagerly awaiting a static-filled call from The Wif updating me as to D-Man's status.

UPDATE: She just called, (and I'm NOT Bullshitting you. Never would about this stuff), and they're all going to be transferred to Children's Hospital in order to drain the wound, sedate the big guy, inject him with antibiotics, draw blood to identify the toxin...

Here's my easy OUT in all of this: My Mother is there, too. I knew she would be from the instant that she asked where they were headed when I called her, actually.

...

But let's back up for just a second. (I'm sleeping about as well as you imagine I am right now. Except that I feel an unusually strong - and not unexpected - need for sleep at this moment. Because it's going to be needed as you read this.) I'm going to be unusually clinical and brief for reasons that are both unusually brief and overly clinical...

At roughly 1:30 this (Tuesday) morning, The Wif heard D-Man moaning and groaning in bed via the "baby monitor." In her range of experience, his suffering was beyond normal but she didn't want to set a precedent by bringing him into our bed. So she instead sat with him in the living room until she felt too cold to continue there. Then she came into our bed - D-Man in tow...

He was fussy. Seemed as if he didn't want to sleep.

6:50: We both got up and awaited the awakening of his siblings. Short wait -- long wait. Mommy went to work and I cooked waffles.

8:40(ish): Phone call: visit canceled, so we're back to our original schedule. Confusing to some, befuddling to me...

9:15: D-Man refuses to nap and instead yells like crazy. Not new behavior, but not established behavior. We're ALL in limbo here.

11:50: I'm getting lunch together when I realize that D-Man is moving more slowly than normal. But he seems to be ready to eat. Except that, at...

12:08 I realize that he hasn't eaten anything. Not just somewhat unlike him, this is completely out of character for him. If he's done with lunch in just a couple of mouthfuls, then one of us is delusional. OK, he may be sick. I clean him up from his very brief interaction with lunch and then hug him.

He's hot. Noticeably hotter than usual, actually. But a fever would explain his recent change in behavior, right?

I medicate him, try to feed him and give him the milk for which he asks. I then check his temperature and as best I can tell from our mis-united set of circumtances, D-Man's fever is 101.3. I do some research and learn that without another, specific cause, this temperature is only the START of concern - and only if it persists for a number of days. Which is a great relief until...

Roughly 7:08PM: at which time The Wif says, "have you noticed this spot on his toe?!?" It is then that all things go weirder than you'd expect...

A spot on D-Man's toe? The Wif says he has a blister - being far more shoe-centered than the average Philippine, one would tend to take her word for it. But then an argument breaks out about whether it's a blister or not, (any educated reader should know that since the estrogen sources in my house now number more than one this is the source of the most discord). Eventually...

Flash forward to 7:40 PM: I've pierced the wound and it's bled into my sink. I've seen the bite and he's been taken for treatment. I've called my MOTHER and she was there...

Early on in our marriage, it was obvious that The Wif was less than amused at those times when I was right about things. It didn't really matter which "things" were in question: if I was correct about the way the wind was blowing, The Wif's amusement level would dip far below acceptable levels.

And earlier? When I said, "The Wif was less than amused" when I was proven right about anything? What I actually meant was, "The Wif was ticked enough to spit nails." (I'm not exactly sure what that phrase is meant to evoke, but I can promise you I know it when I see it.) And like any inexperienced husband, I immediately set out to tease her about both the fact that I was right far more often than she'd like AND her reaction to said event. I created a short phrase to drive the point home; "You were right." That eventually evolved into a call/response in order to drive home the idea, even; ME: "...and HOW do you know I was right?" SHE: "Your lips were moving."

(To be honest and to update things, she almost NEVER responded with "your lips were moving." Twice, I think I can recall. Her more usual response was, "yeah, yeah, yeah." And as of this writing, I haven't been right about anything in the last five years. At least.)

Well, that was obviously before I started this blog. Because had this thing been online at the time, I would have made the change I'm about to make right now:

How do you know I'm right?

Because my fingers were moving...

Well well. Well, fraggin' well. So what do you know? Mind you, I'm really NOT bragging about being right in this case because a blind man whose "assistant dog" had lyme disease, a hearing disorder and a sinus infection, (did I miss anything? Oh - numb paws!), would've been able to see that coming. It's not like it was a real stretch.

So this mook was in Bangkok? Is it so difficult to imagine that there are people there who could operate a needle in order to extract some blood? Is it too impossible to think that a DNA test might be arranged from within another jurisdiction? Actually, from Bangkok I would think that not only are there certified Needle Operators available, but that the procedure might actually be necessary in some cases in order to obtain certain "services" that one hears are available over there.

Necessary to protect their investment, and all, one might imagine...

Of course, there's always the possibility that the fine folks of the boulder "law enforcement" team would want to ensure the same, high level of quality investigation that we've seen from the very day of the discovery of the six-year-old corpse. Unless that's expecting too much of them...

RECENT QUOTES...

"You're not my Mommy."

"I don't want you to be my Mommy and Daddy."

"...and then I'll be moving to a new home soon."

"My Mommy and Daddy miss me - but you're my Best! Friends!"

"MA-MA!"

"Mommy's Home!"

"Love you, Daddy!"

Sure, if you ask someone who actually knows what they're talking about they'll tell you that all of this is normal. But I'll bet they can only say that because they've never been through it themselves. Someone should write a book...

Well, we've survived the first full week with the kids living here. It is at this point that I'd like to add, "and even with extraordinary circumstances thrown in," because The Wif spent every night of the past week at the store, cooking in the kitchen or at the Church. Sometimes all 3 in the same evening, I'd note.

But even given all the time I spent alone with the little charmers, I don't feel as though I can add the "extraordinary circumstances" tag because that's pretty much what life's all about, right? We can be dedicated to making our lives easier, only to curse the mundane nature of it all or we can decide to accept a certain level of chaos and then end up complaining because it wasn't our exact brand of chaos. In the end, EVERYTHING ends up being an "extraordinary circumstance" if only because so little of what goes on here is within our control in the first place. Things not going as planned? REALLY?!? Is this your first day here?

But then I suppose there's also the question of the size of the extraordinary circumstance, and from what I've seen the actual experience is directly inversely proportional to what you'd expect. That's a somewhat geeky way of saying that the big, foreseen changes are - in the end - rather minor. It's the ones you can't even guess at that take your breath away...

Having the three little tykes move in was a change. I won't even try to lie to you about that: suddenly, we're always "ON," the living room is overflowing with toys and pieces of cheese and chicken are ending up in places that only this house's next owner will discover. OK - that's pretty much what I expected, give or take. It's the little things - when combined with my own unique filter that I apply to everything - that make me laugh out loud. Like the Winnie The Pooh® training potty that now inhabits our bathroom. Pooh? Potty? Too obvious...

The funny part is that the thing has a "flushing handle" on the side that spouts encouraging messages followed by a flushing sound. When you add to that the fact that our bathroom is roughly the same width as your average casket, you can see where one (READ: ME) might trigger that danged handle from time to time. And when it says, "Way to GO!"

Yes. Yes, indeed...

Having given the 'low-brow' answer, allow me to move on to more sophisticated material: The Imperial has been rather quiet except in the ways you'd expect of a 7-month-old. He'll scream for attention when afflicted by one of the 'Big 3' but aside from laughing from time to time he's been relatively quiet. Until recently...

He's been babbling a lot more lately, but tonight he took the cake: lying across my lap he seemed to recite a multitude of lines, (all while shielding his eyes from the light by doing the "woe-is-me" palm exposed thing across his forehead), then he lifted his arm and pushed it into my chest. Given the fact that he was speaking in a completely in-understandable way and seemingly vanquished his 'father' as his foe, I could only assume it was Shakespeareian in nature. It almost looked like Macbeth. Re-written as "Macbaby," natch...

"Hark! Is this a binky I see before me? The tool by which my hand may yet accomplish its most wicked of fates? And do I dare perpetrate such a foul act upon He Who Holds Me Firmly Each Night?"

"Ah, why the heck not?!?" And then he firmly drove the business end of his binky into the mid-range pectoral muscles on my right side.

I've read Shakespeare. I should'a seen it coming...

Yes. I already know what most of you would like to tell me: yesterday's post was a scrambled mess. We both know that, but I also know why. It seems that when I'm rushed, tired or in a real hurry I have a tendency to try and substitute esoteric language and mangled sentence structure in place of anything resembling actual, meaningful text. It's made all the worse when I'm only visiting the keyboard for 5 or 10 minutes at a time between delivering bottles, changing poopy diapers and dancing like a fool for a young audience. But those are just the new excuses to an old problem.

If YodaSpeak I should attempt, a different website, visit, you should...

At any rate, the problem is mine - as it exists as some kind of psychological disorder. The problem is yours insofar as it manifests itself as a crappily-written website. So we're even! Everyone's happy!

Except that I've more carefully re-written my TT post from yesterday before I submitted it for publication in the newspaper. You can view the improved, less-craptacular version at: [capitalcity].yourhub.com/ and then selecting [MyHomeTown]. For reasons completely foreign to me, I'm usually somewhere in the "featured" section. Just look for the blue shirt and more chins than a Chinese phonebook. That'll be me...

The other apology is really a non-starter; this page seems destined for a change in the coming weeks and months. A change I cannot even imagine from here, but I can tell you this: my early evenings are now spent with The Imperial climbing, grabbing and drooling all over me. I feed him half a bottle after The Simpsons, hand him off to be bathed and changed, then he's back all over me, a-smilin' and a-droolin'. I give him the rest of the bottle and he usually dozes off in my arms. After a quick nebulizer treatment, I put him in his crib, close the door and return to my chair.

Where I listen to him sleep on the baby monitor. Best show in town...

THEN THE UPDATE...

Man. If the other day was rough because we had to tell the kid that her visit was canceled, today was all the harder because the visit wasn't canceled. Harder on us, anyway. It is the sort of experience which is so far afield of the average human experience that words fail to describe it. So I won't even try - unless someone out there actually HAS been through this stuff, and then we can talk.

Just suffice to say that sometimes water IS thicker than blood -- except for maybe two hours a week...

J.O.T.W...

There was a blonde who found herself sitting next to a Lawyer on an airplane. The lawyer just kept bugging the blonde wanting her to play a game of intelligence. Finally, the lawyer offered her 10 to 1 odds, and said every time the blonde could not answer one of his questions, she owed him $5.00, but every time he could not answer hers, he'd give her $50.00. The lawyer figured he could not lose, and the blonde reluctantly accepted.

The lawyer first asked, "What is the distance between the Earth and the nearest star?"

Without saying a word the blonde handed him $5.00. Then the blonde asked, "What goes up a hill with 3 legs and comes back down the hill with 4 legs?"

Well, the lawyer looked puzzled. He took several hours, looking up everything he could on his laptop and even placing numerous air-to-ground phone calls trying to find the answer. Finally, angry and frustrated, he gave up and paid the blonde $50.00

The blonde put the $50 into her purse without comment, but the lawyer insisted, "What is the answer to your question?"

Without saying a word, the blonde handed him $5.

The blonde slept undisturbed for the rest of the flight...

I can't believe I missed that angle. I guess being surrounded by such adorable and innocent young souls has thrown off my otherwise rather-high level of skepticism. For that, I apologize. In the future I'll try to read more daily kos during nap time in order to bolster the forces.

OF COURSE what's-his-confessed-idiot who claims to have killed JonBenet confessed for another reason - and one likely consisting of several zeros stamped on a company check - rather than for just a simple ride back to the Free People's Republic of boulder; it would seem that there could be a media deal in the works for this guy's story. Can we say, "Cha-Ching!"?

Of course, the question from this point is going to be whether the book/movie/filmstrip/YourTube.com production will garner a larger audience if this doofus is telling the truth, or if he's making it all up. From what I've read of the story, (very little, admittedly), this guy has already painstakingly \ laid all of the sociopathic groundwork to support either conclusion. Murderous psychopath? No wonder he asked a "friend" to read aloud a poem he wrote in remembrance of his victim. Delusional perverse Wannabe? No wonder he wrote an ode to a murdered six-year-old beauty queen..."

Either way, the bidding starts at 300 grand...

On the financial front, (because I know you're all just dying to hear more about that), I'll lead with the BIG news first: that big beautiful black truck you all know as The Death Star has been mine for 13 days now. Which is a long way of saying that we paid off my truck last pay day. I own her, and she drives like you can't even imagine.

Overall, that leaves us with just 2 debtors left to pay - aside from our first mortgage. We still owe on Ezmerelda, (The Wif's car), and a small TSP loan The Wif took out a few years ago. (On a rather large side note, I'd like to say that with one vehicle owned outright and just a 401(K) loan and a car note at 4.75%, plus our first mortgage, many Americans would consider us to be debt-free already. Since we only owe on one car, [everyONE borrows money to buy a car, and you've got such a low rate!], a small loan against a retirement account, [THAT'S a GREAT loan, because you pay interest to yourself!] and a first mortgage, [NOBODY actually OWNS their home!], the vast majority of my fellow citizens already consider us to be without obligation to creditors. And with all due respect, those people are complete idiots. Morons. Cretins. Fools on a bad day, one and all. And by "all due respect," I of course mean, none. Believe me, I've had these conversations more than once. Otherwise educated people who relish in their high credit score - as if succeeding at being a slave to creditors is something to be proud of. People with advanced degrees who brag at having removed money from an investment earning 12% in order to pay themselves back at a rate of 4%. [Just in case you're keeping score at home, that's a net loss of an 8% return overall.] Successful professionals who boast of just being screwed a little because they're borrowing money at roughly 3%. [Thereby increasing the cost of that new van from $27,000 to nearly $30,000 and negating all your horse dealing at the purchase, but let's not think of that, shall we?] Here endeth the side note.) As a total? Well, after just more than 2 years of concentrated effort, we owe just 10,055 dollars - give or take...

And here's where I got lost in my evaluation of everything we've been through lately: I could cope with and even understand the fact that God would give us such young children so late in life. Actually, it's almost Abrahamic when it's considered with all known information at hand. The timing - again, with all information available - was all too perfect and included every last detail. EXCEPT for the fact that we weren't yet out of debt! Everything else was so obviously so perfectly planned, HOW could He have missed that fact?!?

Then I realized the truth: He hadn't given us kids too soon, but rather just in time, because the radio show guy we listen to gives his listeners the opportunity to call in and scream, "WE'RE DEBT FREE!!!" once the family has paid off everything or everything except their first mortgage. So God hadn't preempted the plan, he'd merely given us another two voices to scream on the radio.

Just in time for us to introduce the phrase into D-Man's rapidly developing vocabulary, to train "M" to scream JUST when we've asked her to do so, and within all those parameters still concentrate on paying off that last $10,000. It's a perfect plan.

And speaking of such...

THEOLOGY THURSDAY...

By now it should come as no surprise to any of you that as a Christian, I believe that The Bible is the Holy Word of The Lord, dictated to us and recorded through the ages so that we might benefit from the Words of our Father. I believe that the history of God's Chosen People has been sent to us through time and tradition so we can learn from the errors of those who have gone before and reap the true harvest that God has planned for us.

But as a student of The Bible, I'm willing to admit that there are some problems related to the duration of the text. Namely, the human element...

In the earliest days, God personally walked and spoke with certain Biblical and historical figures; Abraham, Jacob and Moses - among others - knew the intimate pleasure of a personal relationship with the God of all creation. As a result of their joy with this personal interaction, their story was faithfully recorded for all the ages in the form of a very big, very important book. God's love letter to us, His children.

But through the ages His Holy text has been translated from the original into language after language, and most recently into different meanings WITHIN the same language. So it should be little wonder to modern believers that certain words have lost their meaning to translation, transliteration, historical context or editorial intent. It is in this light that I wish to further examine the Third of the Ten Commandments...

For those familiar with the text of The Bible it's safe to say that God laid down a number of rules for how we should live our lives in order to walk in His ways, but none of them were more important to our day-to-day existence than the Ten Commandments. The Ten Commandments was the sort of "Reader's Digest" version of the Old Testament at the time; a guide to life that you not only hoped to model your life upon, but in doing so hoped to also encounter others familiar with the Word and were trying to follow it as well.

The Third of The Commandments is: "Thou shalt not take the Name of The Lord in vain." And while I'm not willing to say that this is the MOST misunderstood of the Ten, I AM willing to bet good money that it ranks right up there...

As a youth playing football in the next door neighbor's yard, (the home with the cute blonde teen chick who was just about 3 years older than I, so I was always trying desperately to make a good impression), my Brother - The Quarterback - threw me a sure-fire touchdown pass. Except he threw it at least a good foot beyond my reach. "God! I could'a had that!" I screamed.

And at that moment, the Father Next Door took me aside and provided me with a free dose of counseling: "Christ came to earth to die for my sins," he said, "and I'm not about to let anyone," I was staring at the fence railings at this point. An incomplete Christian, to be sure, "take my Lord's name in vain."

Even at the time I recognized that there was something wrong with this picutre, but it took me until the time I was a Father nmyself to put it all toghether:

Saying "God!" or "Jesus!" or "My Lord" outloud isn't a violation of the Third Commandment. Swearing against The Lord is a sin, but simply uttering those names isn't, if only because those aren't the name of the Lord.

So what does it mean to "take the Lord's name in vain?" Well, even supposing the translation is correct, it would first mean recognizing the Name of The Lord is Not 'God' or 'Lord' or even 'Jehovah,' because there are no "J's" in the Hebrew alphabet would be a good start. And hearing someone say, "Oh my God!" would not necessarily violate the Commandment, if that were not the intent.

In the original, the Commandment reads "Thou shalt not carry the Lord's name in vain. You'll note that it's that pesky "in vain" part that continues through the translations and ages. And when it's all put together with the proper understanding, we can easily see that if we are to "carry" the Lord's name, we should not undertake the task lightly. We should be serious in our prayers, serious in our efforts, somber in our conduct and upright in our business dealings.

Because anything else - should we call ourselves Christians - would be in vain...

I have a question for which I need an answer. If anyone out there can help me with this, I'd be ever so appreciative...

How do you tell an intelligent, precocious, not-quite-five-year old - who's very aware that she's supposed to be visiting her parents on Tuesdays -- and that today is, indeed Tuesday - that her visit has been canceled? A child who made a point the previous evening of setting aside some freshly baked cookies in order to take to said visit? What do you say when - after a morning of her helping to make breakfast, frolicking in the brand new sand box and shopping with 'Mom' - she stops dead in her tracks and says, "Hey - I was 'posed to have my visit today!"?

So you see; I wasn't lying when I said I needed an answer. I just don't expect one. At least not one that'll do any good. It's such an impossibly difficult situation to handle; you have to be as honest as you can without doing any harm, but even scratching at the truth could be a fatal wound to so young a child...

If you say nothing about it all, the child may well assume (or even may be told) that YOU'RE the ones keeping them from their parents. You can't blame the county because flocks of people are toiling there with only the best of these children on their minds and it would be criminal to make them the bad guys in the child's mind. It's a heartbreaking circumstance over which I have absolutely no control, and I can only do with it what I do with all like situations.

And I pray for a prompt, beneficial conclusion...

I love overalls. Not on me mind you, because I'd look like Michelin J. Hatfield on a bad day, but on the boys, they're perfect. It's like installing a handle onto their backs. The Imperial got himself all crawled into a corner and can't find a way out? Grab the back of his overalls and carry him back to the center of the room. D-Man can't be convinced to leave the kitchen where hot grease is currently cooking tonight's chicken strips? Grab the handle and carry him to the next room! What convenience! I'm so glad to be living in a time such as this!

This morning I was (NOTE: At this point I really must insist that all county employees and legally-appointed guardians with an interest in this case leave this site and find something else to do with your allocated Internet-browsing time for the day. Seriously - you can do much better than this site.) carrying D-Man by his overall handle and dropped him onto our bed. He giggled and laughed and stumbled to his feet and came at me with his hands out. The acknowledged message was "AGAIN!"

So I picked up the boy, got a firm grip on his handle... and took a step away from the bed. (Are you a caseworker for the county? Because you gotta tell me if you are!) From there, I tossed the toddler into the center of the bed. Based upon the squeals of delight and his repeated requests for another go, this new game was a definite hit.

So next time, I took another step back. Frightened only enough to really enjoy it, D-Man never backed away from his desire to have me toss him onto the bed and I took another step back. Eventually I was throwing him onto a bed the size of a postage stamp from a distance of 3.75 hectares.

And are my arms tired!

On one throw, D-Man landed on an over-inflated section of our down comforter, literally LAUNCHING two nearby pacificers over the head of 'Mom' who was seated at the head of the bed and even on the phone at the time. I was laughing as much as he was, she was a bit confused at what had happened.

The other humorous "Binky" incident of the day was when I was getting ready to give The Imperial his afternoon bottle. I had made the usual preparations and had him seated on my lap in my chair when he sneezed.

And sent his pacifier about 6 feet into the room. These guys crack me up!

I've also learned what it takes to be properly prepared for the various situations you might find yourself in. For instance, at dinner time when you are going to be responsible for feeding a toddler AND an infant, you need to remember to bring along the toddler's plate, an extra bib, a wet washcloth, 4 replacement spoons, two towels, another wet washcloth, six different jars of baby food and a small-yield nuclear device atop a mid-range delivery vehicle.

In case hezbollah decides to break the cease-fire, but also because little else is capable of getting the dried mixed vegetables from the corners of the high chair...

Just so you know, I'm not completely out of the loop of current events in the world just because the current events in my home have so totally become cattywampus. I have, for example, heard about the recent SHOCKING events in the JonBenet Ramsey case and briefly considered writing about them here. I even asked myself; "shouldn't you write at least something about the arrest?"

I then promptly beat myself to a bloody pulp for asking such a stupid question...

First things first, and as usual I lead with the easiest target; the American media. WHAT is WRONG with these idiotic knotheads? (Funny aside -- the very last correction my spell-check offered on 'knothead' was 'knowledge.' Yep, they're the furthest thing from being related) Did you hear the initial reports last week? Sure - but did you listen to them, because it's a different question...

The tagline most of the media was using was: 'there's been an arrest in the JonBenet Ramsey case today - Johnny Q. Suspect was picked up in Bangkok on unrelated charges.' Now, it pains me to even have to say this, but if there were an arrest IN a certain case, wouldn't the charges surrounding that arrest at least be RELATED TO THAT BLOODY CASE?!? Yes, of course they would. So why not go with something more accurate, like, "a possible suspect in the JBR case is being held tonight on charges from an unrelated case?"

Secondly, there's a whole political angle to be considered in this. Namely, there is a seemingly large contingent of moonbats who seem to think that all of the day's events have been staged and ordered around events in Iraq, in order to make the President look good. These are people who first and foremost are blinded by their own hatred for our current President - and therefore view all news that might even be tangentiality slanted in his favor as manufactured toward that purpose, and who second have failed the basic sixth-grade civics class. Repeatedly.

These are people who imagine that the President holds vast amounts of power - can manipulate world events, change the news cycle, re-focus the business crests and even change a single piece of punctuation in a news story if it suits his nefarious purposes. The reason they believe this is obvious; what fun and/or glory is it of oneself to go against a President constrained by Legislative action and Judicial Restraint? What kind of a scalp is THAT to display? How much better it is to go against a man who is all-powerful? How brave is it to kick at an anthill when Caesar is just in the next block?

By elevating the power of those they oppose, they are increasing their own courage and bravery in speaking out against them. (It should also be noted that when they agree with the person in power - [see also: Clinton, Any] - the enemy of THAT person is an all-powerful press/media/establishment who must be resisted at any cost. It's a Win-Win!) The lesson here seems to be that when you're a nobody fighting against a bureaucrat, it's in your own favor to elevate your enemy because in doing so you increase your own standing as one "fighting the power."

Here entereth keith olberman. Or such is my guess. I also noted that a wack-job judge in Detroit recently answered the call of the party and took the "brave step" of ruling against the domestic eavesdropping practice of our government. And since the judge's ruling can only have the force of law in the Detroit area, that city - well-known home of a large islamic community - is now much less safe against the evil designs of our enemies. But this ruling had the misfortune of being handed down just prior to the JonBenet Ramsey "arrest."

Which means the ruling was pretty well forced off the front page altogether. Since this tends to favor the President, I'm certain that The Idiot olberman will eventually put it all together and blame Karl Rove for the whole chain of events that forced the judges' ruling into obscurity. Mainly because it's his stock-and-trade, but also because he's been blinded by his hatred of the President, his advisors, his cabinet, his policies and everyone tied to him. To The Idiot in question, everything on the planet now revolves around these things because every thought he ever has revolves around these things. It's perfect symmetry and therefore makes perfect sense...

That Karl Rove. So smart, so diabolical. Just imagine - having someone kill a six-year-old girl a decade ago because he knew he'd have to use it just last week.

(I can't be bothered to spend the valuable God-given minutes of my life on The Idiot olberman, so if one of the 8 people who watch his show should happen across this post, could you please just let me know if he happens down this particular rabbit trail? That'd be great - THANKS.)

Lastly, there are all the questions surrounding, well, everything about this story. Frankly, it all smells worse than the salad container that I'm sure The Wif has left in the fridge at work when I get a shot at cleaning it out in another 7 weeks. Everything's wrong. Well, nearly everthing; the perp does look almost creepy enough to have committed such a crime. My guess is that this guy was traveling overseas (Bangkok, no less - and we ALL know the kind of things that go on over there!), where he maybe got into trouble with the local authorities, maybe he ran out of money or maybe he just lost his passport and needed ride home.

Having already proven himself as a nut with a history of obsession over the JBR case anyway, (you all heard the "story about the poem, right?), he could easily pass himself off as someone with knowledge about the case, and he could land in boulder - which even for all it's faults HAS to be better than Bangkok, right?

And here's the point of this: I hope the boulder 'authorities' have fallen for this idiot's lies hook, line and sinker. I know they're pressing to extradite this guy back and it's my most sincere hope that they'll have to foot the entire bill for every minute of his travel, his law-enforcement escort's travel, the customs paperwork, all filing fees, that they'll have to reimburse the Bangkokian's expenses and that this guy is ultimately exposed as a fraud so blatant that in retrospect even a blind warthog with a sinus infection should've seen it coming from more than a mile away.

And then that wretched city/county entity is forced to spend millions and millions of dollars on PR efforts, spin-meisters and contractual media consultants. And then they declare bankruptcy in February, 2007. Thereby forcing all those smelly, aging, aged smelly neo-hippies who found they couldn't make a living by doing something that society would actually PAY them to do so they've instead decided to buy their drugs and patchouli and phish CDs with student loan money that they've got on permanent deferment because they constantly enroll for just enough credits to either qualify as a 3/4-time student or to just slip under the radar of over-paid and under-productive enforcement officials into getting a part time job at the mall, but find that their degrees in "ancient civilizations," "women's studies" and "whole earth ecology" - with an emphasis in the studies of the compost methods of the pre-columbian midianites can only secure them a job as either a 'survey technician' or as one of those guys who sells shoes - but that foot-y, slide-y thing that takes the measurements? It's just too complicated, man! It's got, like, two or three different lines of numbers and things and then you've got to work that movey part and keep track of the store sock - IT'S JUST TOO MUCH, MAN!

Official Disclaimer: That's just how I'd like to see this thing end. Your mileage may vary...

It's only now - given my very, very recent change in status - that I've come to realize how completely deficient my Mother was as, well... as a Mother. For example, she fed me peanut butter sandwiches when I was old enough to appreciate/digest/ask for them - rather than waiting until I was exactly 51 months, 3 weeks, 4 days, seven hours, 52 minutes and 17 seconds old before allowing a single peanut to share the same zip code with my tiny, fat little bod. She also changed my crib sheets every day - instead of only once a week - thereby robbing my body of the chance to build antibodies against such maladies as malaria, Swine Flu, (see also; Flu, bird; Flu, monkey; Flu, hippo...), and my Mother fed me apples aplenty whence my youth was upon me.

Sure, it sounds good, but can you say, "alar?" Of course we all knoe, but did she care? (MI) Further, she insisted on feeding me - whenever possible - with bottled water, even to the point of insisting on mixing my cereal with bottled water so that I might have the purest possible dining experience available, since I was a newborn infant into this world.

Well, the last one's total BS - but only because we didn't have bottled water "Back In The Day..."

My Grandmother? She not only worked at a donut shop, but was fond of feeding me A&W Root Beer and Mr. Goodbars. (To this day when I see her hutch I check the drawer to see first that there's a stash of M.G. candybars, and that the box containing her wedding silver is still taking up most of the space in that drawer - blocking room for any more Mr. Goodbars.) Her child-rearing philosophy seemed to be, "well, they haven't died yet, so I must be doing something right."

Today's modern collection of hens would - and are - having a fit...

My Great-Grandmother? Well, if contemporary "Henery" is to be any guide, she would have been beaten to death at eight years old - not JUST out of fear of eventually being responsible for the line that would bring me into this world - but for walking too nearly to Dr. Cowper's Concetrated Opium-Based Baby Formula With Extra Cocaine.

OK. I'll admit that's a bad example of what I'm trying to say here. But please don't kill Nana!

(NOTE: Take a quick look at the very top-right corner of this page. No, you really should have finished reading this whole thing before looking up there, but good on ya' for following directions in such a prompt manner. What you see there is but a mere test of our new Photographic Messaging Service - or PMS. hey, wait a minute... OK, the name might need some re-working but the principle is sound: you can bookmark the page and peek in from time to time, or you can go there after seeing this notification and hit 'F5' at the page. Up to you, but this is just one more service we're going to provide on this end.)

Didn't I tell you I'd provide notice of the youngun's arrival at The Stonestead in my own style and with all the class you've come to expect from this site? Well that headline was it; but I know you didn't need to be told that...

Actually, as I write this we're still... uhhh, like 20 hours from being back here with them in tow. But since I'm not likely to update this page between the moment you're reading it and Sunday night, (great - now my secret's out), I have to say these things now:

D_Man will love living here, but will pitch an absolute fit on Saturday morning when we strap him into his seat in The Death Star, and for exactly that reason: he's sick of going back and forth between homes and would like to finally settle in here. (This should in NO WAY be seen as a negative reflection on his most recent foster home, because as far as I can tell theirs is a very, very desirable place to land - should you ever find yourself within this county's system.) I think I've designed a reasonable way around D_Man's fear, but there's only one way to know for sure.

So we'll probably be late to our Saturday appointment. Should anyone reading this need to know that...

As for "M" the transition should be quite simple and far too complex all at the same time. It's the nature of the difficulty of what we should expect in a transaction of the nature of which we're transacting at the moment. But it still sucks -- and for everyone involved. Is it too much to hope that everything's put into place in time to salvage "M's" future?

Not from here and by ourselves, certainly. But that's not how we're trying to approach it, so we should be OK...

As for The Imperial, I can only stand in stunned silence as things progress far beyond all the limits I'd originally imagined. I was earlier heard to say, "what do you do with an 8-month old? You stick him somewhere and entertain him or let him entertain you until he starts crying. Then you hand him off to someone who will change him or feed him or do whatever he needs to have done."

And I can tell you without a doubt that this view suddenly becomes the purest of krep when the man-cub in question clings to you to the exclusion of all others. (The Imperial has truly become the "Sword In The Stone" in this regard; stuck to me and so far very difficult to remove therefrom.) Further, I can tell you that I long to hold that fat little belly in my hands again - and he might well be thinking the same thing.

Without using adjective "little," of course...

And like any parent - even though I'm not officially one yet - I'd lay down my life for theirs without a moment's hesitation.

And THAT'S the kind of thing that defines a man...

And that's it for tonight. I have to get to bed so I'm ready to host the little people this evening. And from now on, I guess. But having them here is sure to tighten my schedule so I'll never leave you hanging for a joke again, right?

(And you thought there wouldn't be a joke this week...)

The other day I saw a car with a bumper sticker - in my own small mountain hamlet - which said, (that should be: 'read' and it's in reference to the sticker and NOT the car), "We're creating terrorists faster than we can kill them" and I have to admit that I agree COMPLETELY with the point this person is trying to make: The United States should immediately concentrate a large amount of its budget and available natural resources into developing a faster, more efficient terrorist-killing weapon.

It only seems logical to me...

Of course, this is not exactly the point this particular knothead was trying to express. He was just too stupid to understand that his emotive effort might be understood in this particular way. He was also just stupid enough to be perfectly expressing the left's view of America's place in the world; that the United States is the root and cause of all evil and if we'd just stop being such a big meanie to all the smaller children on the playground -- or even just go away entirely -- the world would be so much better off for it.

And if that seems like I'm jumping to too severe a conclusion, just consider the first two words of this floormat's self-chosen motto: "we're creating..." It's so easy to understand when you're constantly looking into a mirror rather than out a window! WE'RE at fault for going to fight in a country that constantly threatened us because WE didn't take the time to understand what WE had done to make them mad in the first place.

I get it now. It all makes sense if you're willing to completely suspend reality.

Still, I'd vote for the larger, faster weapon first...

THEOLOGY THURSDAY...

As a Christian, one of the things I struggle with - and am probably most often asked about - is why God would allow bad and sometimes downright disastrous things to happen to people. After all, if He is our Creator and Father, why would He want to see people suffer? Worse yet, why would He allow harm to come to those who follow Him; wouldn't that tend to introduce some doubt as to His omnipotent nature?

Well, let's address that last point first. God never says that following Him will be easy. In fact, The Bible is full of examples and even promises of where walking in God's way will prove difficult. Many of the church's early believers met with rather unpleasant ends at the hands of those trying to squelch the news of the miracles of Christ's ministry, and in John 16:2 Christ tells His followers, "...a time is coming when anyone who kills you will think he is offering a service to God." From historical event to today's headlines, it should be clear that simply taking on the name of God is not a pathway to an easier life.

So WHY, exactly, does God allow His children to suffer? One thought goes that God is testing or trying us, and I'd have to say that I agree with a certain aspect of this belief. But I'm sad to say that many of my fellow Christians seem to think that the purpose of such "testing" is that God might take an inventory of us. They belive that God sends us trouble so that He might guage the nature and makeup of our hearts and/or character.

It is here where I diverge in my beliefs. I believe that since God the Father created me and knew me before I was born, He is already well acquainted with what is in my heart and the strengths that are contained within my character. In short, He's not testing me in order to find out what I'm made of, because he already knows the answer to that. He's trying me in order to reveal those strengths He's put in me - both to me and to those around me.

Because that's another aspect of carrying the name of the Lord; the ability to reflect His Glory and His Grace through life's struggles. For the believer, it's important to keep in mind that God has a plan for each of us and that each of us are included in His plan. To that end, we know that as we are tested we not only have to learn the lesson He has in mind for us, (lest we have to repeat it), but also rise to the level He would have us attain.

I realize that to some this sounds as if I'm pushing a brand of unbridled optimism, (something that might be called 'Flanderism' by those familiar with The Simpsons, I suppose), and perhaps to some this might even be described as delusion or denial. Be that as it may, the Biblical mandate is for us to endure all suffering with a smile, not only because we know that it's good for our character but because it might well reveal God's presence to those around us. It's win-win for those of us who care about such things...

And given the fluid nature of life and the way things "tend to run" I can already guess what some of you are saying. So let me respond with something I wrote to The Wif recently: "You cannot jinx the Lord, but you can make Him laugh..."

What a day. Actually - and just in case anyone's counting - what a week it's been for us. Sadly, tonight's only Tuesday but we've already lived at least a full week in just these few hours. There are times when I think that this will always be the case, but then I realize that we will eventually - all of us - settle into a nice, calm, familiar routine of our own making.

But it's just when I've settled into that way of thinking that I realize I'm completely insane for thinking such a thing. But that's what we're here to discover, right?

Another half-Tuesday of work for us, followed by several hours with the kids. And then to return them to their current f0$ter home. But one of us - namely D-Man - had already foreseen the final trip of the day and was already protesting it from even the earliest family move. But I'm already Way ahead of myself...

We met the b!rth p@rents today. The plan was that we would arrive within the last 15 m!nutes of the k!ds' visit today, introduce ourselves as the people who would eventually adopt their kids and then have everyone walk away happy. And as unlikely as it all seems, that's pretty much what happened; we swept in, said 'Hi,' collected their kids into our arms and they walked out.

And that was that for now. More interaction to follow, but that was it for this week. No screaming. No fist fight. Not even an embarrassing encounter. Mostly...

But I can't begin to tell you how difficult it is for me to share a room with p@rents who are at the end of their weekly court-mandated visits. While the "Good-bye's" and "TWO DAYS" kisses are spreading throughout their "home court," (which is to say, the county owned, regulated, designed and controlled visitation rooms - which is in and of itself a thought far too horrid to contemplate), and we're supposed to be there to smooth things out between fantasy and reality. For both the p@rents and the k!ds. I know that it's what we signed up for in the first place, but it wasn't printed on the brochure in just those words exactly.

And that's not all the bad news, either; "M" shows all the early signs of a disassociative disorder. She clings all too easily to strangers and pays all too little attention to the constructs provided to her by those caring for her. Always looking for a better deal, one might suppose. And why not? It's been her lot in life for as long as she can remember. Time and God's grace, I suspect, will be her only cure...

The good news? Well, The Imperial seems to have bonded with your humble narrator in a way that has to be witnessed to be understood. And in the same way really tends to irk The Wif and the other hens in her circle of influence. But I got to see The Imperial's true spark - and into his very soul - tonight, and it all came to be with a single familiar phrase: "Gimme Five." He slapped hands and started bouncing in a way that was new to me but 8 months old he and his temporary dad.

His ever-important, ever-meaningful, ever-in-his-psyche, temporary Dad. I only hope Dad knows what he meant to this little guy. Because this little guy is not likely to forget him - in one form or another - EVER.

The other good news - among a list far too populated to even start mentioning here tonight - is that D-Man was pitching a rather violent fit every time we strapped him into his car seat. And while this would seem to be rather a problem in most normal circumstances, these are not normal circumstances...

D-Man has been in the back of my truck before. He has ridden in a car seat there more than once. He has gone hither and yon and yon and hither in that seat and it never seemed to bother him in the least. Until lately, when being strapped into the car seat seems to mean (to him, anyway), a return to a status of being, "without us."

So his violent protestations at finding himself in the back of my truck? Well, they're very soonly overblown. Because that's where he's going to find himself quite often.

But soon enough, he'll learn that his bed is just slightly further away than his car seat is from me. And then I'll rue the day...

So, a cease-fire has been declared in the Mideast. I guess that's the end of that and we can all get back to the REALLY important business of bitching about the price of gasoline. I mean, now that a lasting peace is finally breaking out all over the region we can all rest comfortably, right?

What a fraggin' crock...

Let me see if I understand this; Israel, a formally declared nation with recognized boundaries and an all-too misunderstood history is forced into signing a cease-fire agreement with...

WITH...?

Well, with a somewhat loosely affiliated group of murderous thugs whose only goal is to drive the Israelis into the sea, and to that end have taken root in - and essentially seized control of - a nation on Israel's northern border. So Israel has signed a cease-fire agreement with, WHO exactly?

A nation and a terrorist organization within a nation, I guess. As a best case scenario. The problem is, what happens when Israel abides by the terms of the agreement, but this loosely knit Scumbag-Only group decides it's time to lob another 2 dozen missiles per hour into the Northern cities of Israel? Whom will the un boycott? Towards whom will sanctions be targeted? Lebanon? Well, they have the perfect case of Absolute Deniability: "we are but pawns in a larger game!"

Yeah, right. Here's all you need to know about things in the Middle East as they are transpiring today: when rockets are fired against Israel, it's business as usual. A kidnapping of an Israeli soldier now and then? All's well. An arab teen straps on a bomb belt, walks into a pizzeria and blows himself to bits - along with killing or seriously wounding at least another ten Hebrew teens? Well, that's expected.

But if an American or two should happen to be caught in the shrapnel, well, then it's time to get serious about the threat to us.

As if...

We've all heard the phrase, but it takes personal experience with it to make it real in our psyches...

"You Can't Go Home Again," is the title of a novel by Thomas Wolfe. (And a reminder of how little of the world of literature I'm personally familiar with.) I can't speak for the contents of the book, but it's safe to say that the phrase holds a unique meaning - no doubt experienced by the author himself - to those who re-visit the old haunts of their youth. Sure the locations are pretty much the same, physically unchanged except for the forces of time and tide, urban renewal and eminent domain, but the meanings have changed; and to tell the truth, it's not even so much that the meanings have changed, it's that they've completely evaporated.

And left us with just the physical reminders of What Once Was, but we're left to supply the necessary emotions. Because they moved out when we did...

OK - Now that I'm no longer trying to win the Pulitzer, let's cut the crap...

I had to travel back to "Olde Town" today -- a birthday party for MonkeyFace necessitated the trip, and I was carrying The Imperial in FULL NAP mode in the back seat of The Death Star. It's hard to believe that an infant could alternately snore AND sing, but he pulled it off all the same. (It's also hard to believe that a sentence could contain so many nicknames, but that's just a casualty of circumstance.)

Along the way, I passed my old High School, my High School girlfriend's house, the church of my youth, the bar I visited as a guest in Junior High, the liquor store where I bought my first beer on my 18^th birthday and even managed to travel the old 'party route' which I could still drive in my sleep.

Except today I drove it in The Imperial's sleep...

Perhaps it was the increased focus of perspective that's granted by the mere presence of an infant sleeping in full trust of your abilities (enjoy it now!) behind the wheel, but that tiny snore meant something:

It meant that none of this old krep mattered any more. I was in a new place, carrying new passengers with new needs and that changed everything.

You can't go home again? DUH -- Who would want to?

EXCEPT FOR ONE GUY: Well, I wouldn't have made the trip into those parts known if I didn't have to. But for MonkeyFace's birthday, I'd even go into Arvada. And I did. Not only into the Ol' town but into the very depths of the new slums themselves. It's somewhat strange that EVERY store front around "Wall E. Weasel's Three Decades Old Near-Tasteless Italian-American Sauce Bread Day Delight And Noise Factorium" has faded away, deteriorated and become something else along the way, but Wall E. remains in its original location.

Actually, that's pretty easily explained: NO ONE would ever venture into this part of town for any other reason; they want to visit Wall E. The shop two doors to the west was sporting the sign: "Got Milk? We do!" By way of saying that they'd already conceded the battle: Yes! We have milk, but we have already acknowledged it is no contest for a dancing rodent who supplies pizza and game tokens!

...For the games he owns within his own house. But who's to judge?

First, let me say another "Thank you" to everyone. You've been great and you continue to be great. In fact, you've raised the bar to a point that you can never, ever reach again.
GOOD FOR YOU!

Seriously. And as grateful as I am for all of the offers of clothes and toys and car seats and help around the house and meals and offers to be my caddy...

Hey - a guy can dream, right?

But of all the support we've received, I have to say that the most moving part has been the personal stories that all of you have shared with us. You have touched our hearts, and I'm proud to become another small part of your story.

Thank you.

Of all the things you expect to hear in the course of your life, I've broken new ground lately. The first was, "Here's your death certificate." Oh sure, death certificates are presented to survivors every day, but you never expect to hear the phrase, "here's your..." in combination the issuance of such.

Another thing Least Expected To Hear In One's Lifetime has got to be something I heard last Sunday: "HEY! These crackers taste like soup!" Yes, we had made the mistake of serving 'Chicken In A Biskit' crackers to "M." And she responded by letting us know that she was onto us and whatever switcheroo we were playing...

But the best of them all has to be the Killer Katerpiller. Unfortunately, it cannot be described here and must instead be recorded for the ages with whatever video equipment we decide to buy in the next couple of weeks days. Until then, let me say that the close second is hearing a two-year-old, who can barely talk anyway, drop his voice an octave and a half in order to "do" a new character voice. Creepy? You can hardly imagine. Hilarious? Well, you just might have to be there.

But that's what getting the new video equipment is all about anyway...

J.O.T.W...

And now -- for no 3 reasons in particular -- BAR JOKES!

Three mice are walking down the street. Two of them walk into a bar. The third ducks...

A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks, "Why the long face?" [Hat Tip: Scooter]

A piece of rope walks into a bar. The bartender says, "We don't serve your kind around here!" Disgruntled, (for he was fully gruntled before he went in), the rope walks out of the bar and sits on the curb. After stewing there for a minute or so, he stands up, twists and spins and spins and twists himself until he's all gathered up. Once in this state, he scuffs and scuffs his feet across the sidewalk. He then rubs his head back and forth and back and forth on the pavement.

His makeover complete, he goes back into the bar and orders a whiskey. The bartender comes over and says, "didn't I tell you? We DON'T serve rope in this bar!"

Calmly, the rope in his new form looks directly at the bartender and says, "I'm a frayed knot..."

Alanis Morissette walks into a bar. The bartender asks, "Why the long face?"

A termite walks into a bar and asks, where is the bar tender?"

Here's the scene: I'm home this afternoon, fumbling my way through life due to severe doses of Sudafed&Reg; and cough syrup. I'm trying to make sense of one of my favorites when I find myself looking at downtown Fargo as it was in 1908. Not what I imagined I'd be doing with my day, but I trust this guy. He's good. What the heck, I'll click on "next."

I next'ed and then... and then... Nothing. The web, she no workie! It was working fine just a second ago - did I maybe uninstall the Internet in my haze? Did SkyNet go live? What gives? I get out my wireless unit and fire it up; nothing. Ahh, I'm starting to get it - the cable's gone. No lights on my wireless gateway.

I cycle the PC, cycle the gateway and try again. Still dead. Having done all I can on this end, I decide to call my ISP and report the outage. Needing their phone number, I look in the August "bill envelope" but their particular request for funds has not yet arrived. The July envelope has disappeared to parts unknown. I know! I'll just look up their phone number on their website...

What a dork I can be: if I could find the number that way I wouldn't need the bloody thing! It's somewhat amazing how quickly these types of things integrate themselves into our lives, no? Kind of like getting your left arm amputated - I think you'd still be reaching for the toothpaste with the missing arm for quite some time.

Fortunately, it's a unique age in which we find ourselves. Branding in America has reached untold new heights where the company name, website and phone number are all the same - all you have to do is remember one and you've got them all.

Once on the phone with them, I'm asked the ever-popular, "English? Press one" (Do NOT get me started on that one) and I am then led through a mercifully short phone tree: To report problems, "1", For TV service, for high-speed Internet, "2" ...Brief Pause... "We are currently experiencing an outage in your area and are working on restoring service..." Oh, I thought, isn't that WAIT A MINUTE! This could be a canned message for anyone heading down that 'problems with your service' trail. "WHAT STREET ARE THESE WORKERS ON?!? WHAT'S THE HEAD TECH'S NAME?!?" I yelled into the phone.

No response, of course. But the robot did give me the option of receiving a call when service was restored. I hit "1." I had high hopes. My Internet service was restored 10 minutes ago, but still no phone call.

I'm sure they're working on it, but I'll be danged if I'm going to call to check...

MORE INSANITY FROM THAT SIDE...

Even though the summer primaries go largely unnoticed by the general public - and ironically, completely ignored by those who complain the most about their elected officials - there are some interesting things to be culled from this week's results. For those who read tea leaves, this was a bumper crop...

In the most watched race in the country, the pro-war but otherwise liberal Joe Lieberman lost his primary race to a left-wing, unbelievably whacked-out, anti-war candidate. Thus putting skin on the radical skeleton the democrats simply refuse to keep in their closet. But that's OK with those of us on this side, because the worm is about to turn.

(A phrase which means that even the lowliest and least powerful of creatures will eventually have his day, and I can't imagine a creature with less power than a Republican in Connecticut.)

The day after losing the primary, Lieberman filed the necessary papers in order to get on the November ballot as an independent. This should create chaos on that second Tuesday: a relative unknown - having won the primary is running under the official banner of the democrats. He's built his reputation and won the election on a strict cut-and-run from Iraq NOW! message, so he's got that segment of the vote tied up. The man who's been in the office and warming the seat for nearly 2 decades - liberal in most ways but solidly behind the effort in Iraq - will be a familiar name on the ballot but this time with an "I" after his name. As if the uninvolved voter will notice.

Even though all kinds of things can happen in the next 12 weeks or so, I believe the result will be to split the democratic vote along the lines of sanity. This will mean that the Republican candidate will finally have a chance in Connecticut.

Is it too much to ask for a 'butterfly ballot?'

In the other interesting race of the week, the infamous and 'embattled' Cynthia mckinney of Georgia lost the run-off to retain her seat in Congress. To be honest, I completely expected this result. I mean, she's an utter and complete nutburger! Not that by itself this is a disqualifier - especially since the democratic left seems all the more eager lately to rush toward embracing the crazies on their outermost fringes. The problem is, she's just not their particular brand of crazy. Sorry, Cindy-baby. We know you're a certified kook, you're just not our kind of kook. Good luck with whatever you do next - we'll call you. We'll do lunch sometime!

I tell ya' - I love the fall/winter months already. But this November is going to be downright fun!

THEOLOGY THURSDAY...

If I were called upon to craft an ad campaign for today's Christian Church, I'd immediately contact the U.S. Marines and ask permission to use one of their old slogans: "we're looking for a few good men."

Don't misunderstand me; I'm not saying that the Church is utterly devoid of good men. To the contrary, one of the reasons I feel compelled to attend and serve in the church I do is because of the fellowship among the men I've met there. These are men who are serious about their role in their family, aware of their calling within God's kingdom and are passionate about pursuing a relationship with Christ. And since iron sharpens iron, this is a good community in which to find oneself.

But I fear this is not the image that today's church projects to outsiders. I think that all too often men see the church as a series of catch-22's; they're told that salvation can't be earned with perfect attendance on Sundays, but that they should come to church to be a good Christian! Once there, they hear that they need to serve, but that good deeds don't buy the way into Heaven. Similarly, when the plate is passed they're told that this isn't about financially supporting the building they're in and that God doesn't need their money, but the plate comes around all the same.

With so many mixed messages, it's little wonder that the church is referred to as a Bride...

Further, one of the modern trends within Christian Houses of Worship is to discount masculinity. I suppose it could simply be fallout from a larger societal trend or even a misguided attempt at teaching the principles of humility, but if we are to become more like Christ, is this a faithful attempt at teaching scripture? Isn't Yeshua the picture of strength when strength is called for? Doesn't He stand up to those who are questioning Him, stand silent when He saw fit and kick over a table from time to time? He came to us a man, and as men we are called to be more like Him.

And even from the earliest verses of The Bible, man's first and probably most common sin is to stand by, doing nothing - instead of standing up for what's right in God's eyes...

So what's the right message to get men into and involved in the church? I can honestly say that I don't have the answer to that. But as you can imagine, I have a few suggestions for the church: first, don't turn the Lion of Judah into a fuzzy, little declawed kitten. Yeshua is a shepherd, but He's also a warrior. The Prince of Peace, but one who was willing to kick over tables in the name of what's right. He was much more than a preschool teacher - after all, the Romans had no interest in crucifying Elmo.

Second, along with stressing the message of the Battle Within, let men know that there is a final, royal battle to come. And that they have a part to play in the army that will fight it. They have only to ask for their assignment.

Lastly, I'd like to see the church re-focus themselves on the need for redemption. That is, to make it clear that as great as it is that Yeshua died for us and in our place, we can only hope to be washed in His blood if we first approach the Cross by asking for forgiveness of our sins.

He will take them from us if we ask, but we have to ask first...

I'd forgotten what it was like, being around young children. The constant use of Kleenex, the never-ending attention to medications and dosage schedules, the awareness of the possibility of contamination. And then there's the things you worry about that actually involve the kids!

They're killing me - already - on more levels than I care to think about; emotionally, as the pictures (ALWAYS NEW! ALWAYS UPDATED!) will prove. Energetically, as my 40 year old bones and muscles constantly prove. But mainly? They're slowly killing me because I discounted a very important fact: young children are constructed entirely of a bundle of skin that barely contains various noises, several screams and at least 2,231,726 different strains of the common cold...

So right now my head is equal parts skull and hair (2% each), and 96% phlegm. I'm coughing as if I've swallowed the ghost of Jimmy Durante as he was choking on a half dozen Skittles® and my throat feels like I've been gargling road tar. In short? I'm done here for now.

Except to say that me and The Imperial had some quality time alone today. I sang, he awed. I fed, he danced. I threw up my arms, he giggled. He's quite the little man. And even though I'm a day early, I'd like to share with all of you the Old Testament Blessings I've said over the boys:

"'The Imperial' is a Blessing from God; a surprise infant in our lives at just the right time. He will grow into a brave, strong man: the protector of many. Long will be his days."

"'D-Man' is a jungle cat; swift and strong, he strikes without warning and is merciless to his enemies. His name will grow in the camps of his enemies, and his legacy will be long remembered."

"M" has yet to receive a Blessing. Mainly because she hasn't sat still long enough yet...

Oh - and BTW, you'll know when they've finally landed here on semipermanent basis. I'll announce it here in my own fashion. In my own style, and in my own, unique yet classy way.

You'll know it when you see it...

I'm worked up, if you will. I've had enough. But aside from writing about it here, there's really nothing else I can do about it, so you're free to consider this a spleen-filled rant...

This really, really pisses me off. Not that they pulled the photos - because that's exactly what they should do; that part surprises me, actually. The fact that they ran them in the first place is not only frustrating but also all too telling of a deep seated and wide-spread bias in the Archaic Media Machine. And it's a bias with a name and a history: anti-Semitism.

At one time it could probably have been said with at least several grains of truth that the media machine - aka, LSM for readers of this and select other sites - had a seriously anti-religious slant. There was nary a positive word to be found in reference to anyone who spent even an hour of their week in worship of a greater being. Unless the greater being in quesion was a tree, I suppose. But that's no longer true and if you analyze it in the proper way it could make your head explode.

Let's say that a group of religious zealots, spurred on by their hatred for two groups who believe something different from what they believe, repeatedly strap bombs onto their own children and instruct them to detonate themselves at discos and pizzerias - cheering madly when the explosions kill children of those other religions. Let's say this same group of religious followers also lobs rocket after rocket indiscriminately into population centers of their enemy, then hide behind the skirts and diapers of their fellow believers NOT engaged in action - in order to use their own innocents as fodder for their insane religious war. Let's further imagine that this same group of whack-job religious nutburgers hijack planes and fly them into commerce centers of their other supposed religious enemy, killing 3,000 innocents. (You shouldn't have to work TOO damn hard to imagine these scenarios.)

As these attacks continue and the picture becomes increasingly clear, the "media establishment" as a whole finally take a stand and come out with a fairly clear new directive. In FAVOR of those KILLING THE INNOCENT!! If you're paying even the slightest amount of attention, you know that's the truth: the repeated admonitions to Jews and Christians that we need to "open a dialog" with the murderous islamists to see what WE'VE done to upset them! The continual reminder that, not ALL muslims are satanic killers, despite the fact that the "arab street" is deathly quiet with all the non-condemnations of violence in the name of their religion. The press and their leftist allies are constantly reminding us that WE shouldn't turn this into a "holy war."

Well I got news for these asshats: WE aren't turning it into a holy war. We're JOINING one because we were invited into it - by four flying bombs that visited our shores on what should've been a quiet Tuesday morning!

And yes - I know this is rambling and on the verge of incoherent, but you were warned about that from the beginning. I DO SO have a point and I'll get to it eventually. I'm just ticked...

AT ANY RATE... the media's bias against Christians is second only to its bias against Jews. So too the United States and Israel. Therefore, if there's trouble in the region, it's the fault of the Jews and Israel. If America becomes involved, it's because the Christians behind the scenes are secretly controlled by the evil Zionists who won't rest for even a moment until every arab is dismantling mecca itself - brick by brick - at the business end of an IMI GALIL.

So it's no wonder photographers doctor pictures to make Israel look bad. It's all he CAN do, because the Israelis have guns and helicopters and tanks and all this poor guy has is a camera. He's got to fight somehow, after all. And if news agencies run the phony photos? Well, it's not their fault; they only put out the news - they're not responsible for checking its accuracy. Besides, even if the photos have been doctored, they should be true. So they're actually doing us a favor by showing us things they way they really are - even if they aren't.

The problem with all this is that their knowledge of the truth about the history of Israel can be held for safekeeping in the bottom of a shot glass and still leave plenty of room left for a full ounce of liquor. They believe the lies they've been taught because - hey, they're teachers and professors so they MUST be telling the truth. Not to mention that I'm convinced a great number of them are wankers, mentally unable to research anything. They have assistants for that sort of stuff, so why think for themselves if it can be avoided?

Here enters the truth about lies; it's like murder - your first one is difficult, but it gets easier after that. And if you blindly buy into any lie you're told, you're far more ready to create your own if the truth you see doesn't mesh with the lies you know...

JUST SO WE'RE CLEAR...

Let's get one thing straight while we have this opportunity. This is (probably) not going to become an All Kids All The Time blog. I still have other interests and am still very passionate about all sorts of things going on in the big, bad world. Those will continue to catch my interest and I will continue to present them to you here, filtered through my "unique" way of seeing and expressing things. I know this pleases some of you, (approx. 3), and bothers others of you, (namely the female population). It's how it's going to be, so you'll have to adjust.

But know this, too: what I wrote in today's first post IS about "our" children, and your children and all the children of the world. Especially my ADORABLE little Israeli niece. Because we need to recognize that those sick, evil, murderous bastards are coming for us. And they'd like nothing more than to see us suffer by first spreading our children's organs across a public conveyance.

If our first duty to our children is keeping them safe, then it's time we get serious about it...

So, we're coming home tonight - having dropped the kids off after their first overnight visit - when The Wif tells me she had allowed the older two to play with the maps (circa 1997) in the backseat of her car earlier. Immediately, things start to fall into place for me (mentally bookmark this location)...

Just this very morning, after a brief bit of fussing had been placated, I heard "M" day that D-Man was happy now that he was looking at the map. Except she didn't mean a map like we all think of a map. D-Man was looking at - and she was referring to - a program from the morning's church service. Ah well, I thought, she's seen a map before and I suppose this is made of paper and folds also; she was simply mistaken about what her brother was looking at.

BUT! Had she seen a map before? At such a young age and part of a system that doesn't look kindly upon out-of-state travel, how likely would such a thing be? TV, maybe? Well, I don't watch much Spongebob (yet), but I guess a map might be featured there from time to time. Don't really know how much effort they'd put into the explanation of what the object is, tho'. Movies? After seeing that Veggie Tales was too long, (30 mins) to hold her interest, I doubt it.

But now I had my answer! The Wif herself had introduced the youngun's to the whole map concept! And recently, too! Huzzah!

(Flashback to the bookmark following this evening's confession by The Wif) I then said to her, "Ah. I wondered why "M" said D-Man was looking at a map this morning while he was looking at the church bulletin."

The Wif gave me one of her trademark looks and replied, "well, probably because she thought the bulletin was a map."

Incredulous, (and I should note I feel that way far more often than I actually use the word), I looked at her and said, "this is going on the website."

Although that threat doesn't hold nearly as much sway as it used to...

A GLIMPSE OF MY FUTURE...

As I type, The Wif is quizing me on a recent purchase I made. Of diapers; "Ooooh, this is a good price - $Something forty-whatzzit on an Ubernumber pack, (I'm paraphrasing for the parts I didn't listen to). Do you remember..." "No" "...how many were in that..." "No" "...pack you bought last whateverday..." "No" "...and how much..." "No" "...you paid for them?" "No, I don't, Hun." "You know - when you went..." "No" "...to [insert name of popular retailer here] and..." "No" "...got that [favorable adjective], little, [name of infant's toy/accessory]?"

Holy COW -- this has devolved into a Mad-Lib! I sure didn't see that coming. But then, you never do, do you?

Sneaky bastards...

At any rate, where just a year ago I was directed to go to 8 different stores in order to secure the best price on bulk chicken boobs, fresh ground chuck, paper towels, toilet paper, sugar-free pudding mix, low-carb tortillas, paper plates, dish soap and dryer sheets, (7, 8, 9! Crap, I must've missed a stop!), I now fear that all of my time will be spent on the road shuttling through a gauntlet of retail and grocerical destinations in order to save fifty cents on a marginally larger pack of Size 4 diapers. (No, I'm guessing at the size as well). The truth is, I just don't care...

Ladies; this is NOT hunting. It might seem like the thrill of the chase and all that to you, but it's simply junk. Now, if the diapers we needed were somehow culled from the hides of saber tooth tigers - and only by the one who recorded the kill and only within hours after the fall of the beast - we'd care. Oh yeah. We'd care a lot, actually. And we'd suddenly become very involved in the procurement process.

But until then, let me explain the process; I will go and buy diapers for two reasons. First, because my child needs them and that's the softest side of me you're going to see in this interaction. Second, I will purchase the things because the need of having them far outweighs the risks of not having them around.

Namely, if I stumble into one pile, there will quickly be two piles needing cleanup.

AND THAT'S ANOTHER THING! What's with diaper bag designs? (And if you ever imagined I'd be writing about diaper bags here, you're WAY ahead of me!) "Fuzzy Wuzzy." "Muppet Babies." "Pinky McStrangeit" and the like. What gives? The Wif tells me other day that we need a whoozie-whatzit and it's in the diaper bag, in the car. Feeling surprisingly (and unnecessarily) confident, I head toward the door. "The Peter Rabbit bag," she yells after me.

Yes! Of course! Good Ol' Peter. I know the guy well -- played him in a kindergarten play, I did. I wonder how Pete's doing these days? Last I heard, he and Mr. Cottontail were living high on the hog after cleaning up on that class action lawsuit against the Playboy chain. Bunny tail indeed!

But was there a diaper bag with an extreme close-up of an in-your-face rabbit with sunglasses, five o' clock shadow and a glimmer that seemed to say, "I hope someone has bail money!"? No. There was not. There was a blue bag. There was a yellow bag. Try as she might to convince me, there was no Peter Rabbit bag to be seen. Or rather - no Peter Rabbit bag with a design obvious to the brand to be seen...

So let me ask this: why isn't there a "Walker - Texas Ranger" diaper bag? You could have the Ram, the red beard, Tonto - ALL of them on there. You could even install an effect that would sound like a right cross connecting with a smuggler's chin that activated each time a diaper was removed from that section. Wouldn't that be sweet?!?

How much better then, the scene in the mall when Dad meets Dad: "Oh, you got the smurfs, eh? Who's that, Papa Smurf? Well, CHECK THIS OUT, PAL! WALKER - TEXAS RANGER! KAPOW! KAPOW! KAPOWKAPOWKAPOW!!!"

OK - I've identified the need in the market. Let's have someone get out there and serve the next generation...

The first thing I want to say is: Thank You. Both specifically and in general. The support you've all expressed and the offers of work, prayers and goods have been absolutely overwhelming. I've gotten to where you've made it difficult for me to count my blessings. Even if I leave out the kids. Which I can't do...

But all of you are tied for second sixth. Thank you for supporting us in this endeavor.

...

And another Thank You to whomever is visiting the [capitalcity].yourhub.com site and is rating my weekly column a '5.' It's much appreciated and I certainly hope I'm earning that rating rather than being granted it because of charity.

NOW - a haiku...

Sweating copper pipes
heat, solder, a smart person
does not wear sandals.

Yes, an international way of saying I now have first degree burns on parts of my feet. But the water heater no longer leaks!

...from where it used to. It now leaks from the drain valve instead. Fortunately, I put the temporary fix on it with a length of hose, an empty cottage cheese container, two feet of aquarium tubing and a pinch of epoxy. Please don't make me prove it.

As most of you realize, I got to change a diaper this week. What most of you don't realize is that it wasn't my first. It was just my first in quite some time. I've become rusty with time and lack of practice, but I suppose that's about to change very quickly...

I should probably start by telling you my motivation for doing the change in the first place. Because it's not like I woke up that morning just begging to have to handle, remove and clean up after a really poopy kid. (Just in case you were wondering) No, the problem was that he TOLD me he had to go. Dragged me into that McDougal's bathroom twice - because the first time we interrupted a young man transacting business in the room - and he grabbed the toilet seat and looked up at me. "No," I told him, (no doubt setting back his training a number of months), "you don't want to play in there" and with that led him out of the room. The stench that followed was then just a slight surprise. And my problem.

Fortunately, the kid is just perfect in nearly every way, and waiting out a diaper change is only the slightest of them. He lie patiently there on the foldout table while I got a diaper, 287 square feet of toilet paper, opened the door to consult with The Wif as to the location of the wipes, checked that I had the right kid, made sure the trash can was accessible and gathered up my courage. He was starting to look kind of worried, but then I removed his shoes and he knew the process was underway.

Not long thereafter I realized that this particular child has the ability to soil a diaper in a way that few can imagine; it's like he fills it with a sort of brown mercury - a nearly-congealed puddle, moving as a single mass with every motion. I also realized two other things; if I were going to be doing much more of this, we've grossly underestimated the number of wipes we'd need. And I was taking much longer at the job than the kid was used to.

Don't get me wrong - he was great. A real trooper, in fact. Sat there patiently looking at me, no doubt wondering if I'd be finished before his bed time. We got along fine through the process, but I have to admit to being a bit discouraged when I noticed he had finished half the magazine he'd started reading.

Well, that's not completely truthful. It was a book.

"War and Peace," to be exact...

With any luck, I'll just start to master the skill when it's no longer needed.

THINGS I'LL LEARN IN THE NEXT TWO DECADES...

Well, I suppose I'll get to see what prom dresses will look like in 2012, for a start. I know that seems like a long ways off and it is. Except that it isn't. So instead of thinking about that, let's consider the next few years...

I'll have to learn the strengths of each of the 3 kids and teach to them as I get them to learn both time and geography. I know these things fall to me, because The Wif continues to show me she's utterly out of her league on either count. It's not that she's ALWAYS been late for any and everything throughout her entire life, it's just that she thought she was on time! She thought she still had enough time to do her hair or change into that 8th outfit or re-carpet the tile in the laundry room...

I guess one of the things I'm most grateful for - aside from the chance to provide a loving, stable home to these adorable children, and then see them grow and mature and eventually marry and have kids of their own - is that I now have a whole team of ambassadors into the future world of technology. I'll teach them now, and then can very quickly stop trying to keep up with it all, because I'll have people here who can explain the future to me.

And that's just the beginning...

J.O.T.W...

(This one is thanks to Ma or Unc or whichever one of them sent it to both of the others of us before the other one sent it out to the rest of all of us...)

At dawn the telephone rings. "Hello, Senor Rod? This is Ernesto, the caretaker at your country house."

"Ah yes, Ernesto. What can I do for you? Is there a problem?"

Um, I am just calling to advise you, Senor Rod, that your parrot died.

"My parrot? Dead? The one that won the International competition?"

"Si, Senor,that's the one."

"Damn! That's a pity! I spent a small fortune on that bird." "What did he die from?"

"From eating rotten meat, Senor Rod"

"Rotten meat? Who the hell fed him rotten meat?"

"Nobody, Senor. He ate the meat of the dead horse."

"Dead horse? What dead horse?"

"The thoroughbred, Senor Rod."

"My prize thoroughbred is dead?"

"Si, Senor Rod, he died from all that work pulling the water cart."

"Are you insane? What water cart?"

"The one we used to put out the fire, Senor"

"Good Lord! What fire are you talking about, man?"

"The one at your house, Senor! A candle fell and the curtains caught on fire."

"What the hell??....Are you saying that my mansion is destroyed because of a candle??!!!

"Si, Senor Rod."

"But there's electricity at the house!!! What was the candle for?"

"For the funeral, Senor Rod."

"WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL"?

"Your wife's, Senor Rod...She showed up one night out of the blue and I thought she was a thief, so I hit her with your new Tiger Woods Nike Driver."

SILENCE...................

LONG SILENCE..............

"Ernesto! If you broke that driver, you're in more trouble than you can imagine!!"

New visit this weekend, new pics to be posted, new page design also. And if you're really eager to meet the tiny people, they'll be at church with us on Sunday. You Aunts and Uncles are ALWAYS welcome to attend.

I firmly believe, and - having already heard and dismissed all the arguments to the contrary - will never be dissuaded that one of the great ills of the latter half of the twentieth century was the intentional blurring of the differences between the sexes. Inherent differences. Important differences. Differences that not only exist, but should, (and do), matter greatly.

Now, if I have to go out of my way to say that such things are to be considered as generalizations and that there are always exceptions and differences in scope along a rather wide spectrum of the range of expected and accepted behaviors discussed, but that such variances don't contradict the larger point, it would take roughly 60 words...

For example, women apparently don't ever want to know - or see physical evidence of - how things work, are attached to one another or how they're powered. They want wires out of sight, think nuts and bolts are utterly taboo - how else would you explain the small porcelain cups that go over the anchors of the toilet bowl? - and prefer not to know about how the signal gets from the satellite receiver to the television. To this end, you'd think wireless networking would be right up their alley, but you'd be wrong; they just couldn't care less.

In a similar fashion, women have access to their own vast storehouse of information and are aware of things that men couldn't even imagine. They know about the coverings that are somehow needed throughout the home, and the coverings for those coverings as well, (if you doubt me, take a look at your bed - there's a cover in a cover, maybe even together inside another cover). Women know about things like lanolin, poly/cotton blend ratios, calamine lotion and any number of things that I'm only able to write about here because I have a very, very good spell check program installed.

When children - or even the threat of children - are introduced into the household, this effect is magnified by roughly two thousand percent. The women get together either physically, over the phone, via email or through the use of carrier pigeons and you suddenly hear talk of "saucers" and "nipples" (just when you least expect it -- there they are!) and "cups" and "rings" and the like. Sure, they may be words we're more familiar with but I have to take a second and warn the men in the audience: you DON'T know what they're saying. Trust me, you might be able to pick up on some of the words used, but it's like taking a semester of Spanish and then traveling to Madrid; you may catch a word here and there, but you really don't speak their language at all.

And I warn you now, lest you walk into a baby shower and hear your wife say to you, "Honey - could you grab that nipple just to your left for me?" Because she DOESN'T MEAN IT the way you understand the language.

Trust me on this - I sure don't want to make THAT mistake again...

THEOLOGY THURSDAY...

To many of the "unchurched" in today's society, the meaning and importance of prayer is an absolute mystery. I'd like to take some time to let them know that they're not alone; there are plenty of people in the pews on Sunday, (or Saturday), who also don't fully grasp the concept. And I dare say it's very nearly 100% of them...

(By the way, I'm not even pretending to try to pass myself off as an expert on this. I'm fully within that 100%)

In a very real sense, everyone understands at least a certain aspect of prayer. We all feel free to say to one another, "I'm thinking of you," or "I'll send good thoughts your way," or even "I'm wishing you well." But in the end, what is the real meaning behind those sentiments? Sure it makes us feel good to know that friends or family are supporting us in a certain effort, but without an appeal to a higher power, such support is essentially meaningless to our mission, (motivational aspect aside).

Heck, even "good luck" is a form of prayer in this sense; a general appeal to forces larger than one can control and a hope that those forces somehow fall into place in a manner favorable to the person on our mind. This idea that God is a cross between a Holy Search Engine and a precision guided T-Shirt cannon is a serious misunderstanding of prayer.

Some believe that through prayer people here on earth are able to change the mind of God. In truth there is actual, Biblical evidence to support this position; Lot negotiated successfully with God - to a point. But in a larger sense, we should never be led to think that a conversation with God would put us in a position of being superior to Him. Some are led to prayer by this false notion, but it should be stomped out whenever it rears its head.

Another school of thought says that through prayer we're able to bring ourselves closer to the Lord. That if we just remember to pray to Him rightly and regularly, we'll be set right in His eyes and it will be by prayer that we save ourselves. For both Jews and Christians this approach presents serious problems; namely that Jews don't believe they can approach The Creator through prayer but rather by walking in His ways and by offering atonement for sin when it (inevitably) happens. Christians understand that God sent His Son to earth to live among us as a perfect example of what a Godly life would look like,

But neither of them think for a second that they - alone and even through prayer - would be able to bring themselves into God's Holy presence. Prayer in and of itself is NOT a pathway to God.

So why bother with it? Why pray at all if it won't benefit you in your business dealings or your marriage or your finances? What would be the point to the whole exercise?

Because - as I understand it, anyway - there is one primary point to prayer: by the very practice of regularly kneeling and solemnly bringing yourself into a purposeful conversation with God, you are as a matter of practice and by default subjecting yourself to the idea that there exists someone larger and more important than yourself in the universe. After all, you don't pray to a Lord that can be brought low with a handsaw, or stuck by lightning even affected in the least by all the meteor storms in the universe.

Those meteors aren't a threat to our God, but rather a witness to us of His might and power. The Holy Lord, The Creator of the earth and skies.

The One who deserves our praise and hears our prayers...

Happy Birthday. Long may you prosper...

ANOTHER VISIT, MORE PROGRESS, MORE PICS...

Right off the bat: If you have the webpage, check it again. And again, and again. If you've had a dream about the whole thing, check it ever the more frequently...

;-> ...

For those of you out there who have been, are about to be, ever imagined yourselves being or are just curious about what it means to be a Father-To-Be, I have a piece of advice: sooner or later it will fall to you to change a diaper. And at that time you will only need to remember two things: 1) if you own the room in which this is likely to take place, plan on repainting it at the next possible convenience. (NOTE: You should also plan on slapping another coat of latex on it at every opportunity.) And if you DON'T own the room, you should - just as a matter of courtesy, alert the next Uniformed Official of the locale as to the state of the room. Namely, that the younger of you two has created such an odor that the walls are likely to reek of kid-poop-stench for such a time and to such an extent the room will either need to be burned to the ground and the ashes buried in a long-forgotten sulfur mine - or - 2) DEAR MERCY - DON'T EVEN TRY TO IDENTIFY THAT BROWN BLOB ON THE BACK OF YOUR FINGER!!!...

And to that "end" - so to speak. The kid gets enough fruit. What he needs is some fiber, already...

Sorry - very limited time tonight so you're left with small pieces of dreck. Sure it's crap and it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but at least it's just small portions today! Good on ya!

One of the reasons I'll be abbreviated in this post, (why is that such a long word?) is because I have a bed to assemble. Half-assembled, as I type this, actually. Which is to say that the last six letters of that description will be redundant if I don't get back to the job before the BIG, BAD county authority comes out tomorrow morning.

As usual, if I were feeling a trembling of fear it would not be coming from the folks with the certification but instead from She Who Bears The Name. If recent history is to be any guide to what I should expect, the largest adjustment will not be the addition of small bodies to The Stonestead but the change in the negotiations between The Wif and I. She's in full, "D-Day was planned by amateurs on a coffee break" mode and it's wearing me a bit thin. What are we to do with the boys? What about the girl? Will our bed fit in the downstairs bedroom? Yeesh. Seriously - I'm thinking that we could sleep in camp out fashion in the living room for the first 3 weeks and sh