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November 2006
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Cold. Not exactly a word that goes un-mentioned around these parts. After all, we DO live at about 8,500 feet (your milage may vary), so we're subject to all those "mountain conditions" that you flat-landers hear about and one of them that comes around on a daily basis is cooler temperatures. We run roughly 10 to 15 degrees cooler on average than Capital City on any given day of the year, so July's and August's are nearly livable up here.

But there are days when it doesn't provide the same rewards. Days like, oh... Yesterday, for example...

While we got better than twice the amount of snow they saw in the big city, we know how to handle it up here where it arrives in greater force far more often. Now, I don't mean to give away secrets I'm not cleared to handle, but this means that our roads are clear - especially since we happen to live on a school bus route, and NOT including our driveway, natch. So if I can navigate off our property safely, I'll have smooth sailing clear until the time I encounter a city-maintained street. It's the nature of the precipitation.

But nothing - and I mean NOTHING - can prepare you for the first day of the season that the outside temperature reads "- 6". It's surreal in a way that is actually amusing because you're tucked safely behind wallboard and siding and insulation and have on-demand heat and light at your beck and call: "- 6? HA! I laugh at it's attempts to chill my flesh from beyond the walls of my well-appointed domain! Who does it think it is, to attack me without the aid of catapult and a goodly supply of diseased horse corpses? What, no Greek Fire?!?"

Yeah, it's all funny until the dogs run out of food and you've got to step out onto the deck, open the metal trash can - lid bound via taut bungee cord, it is - and scoop out a ration of food with their stainless steel bowl, all in that sub-zero environment. Then? At that point? It all becomes a very real battle for survival.

And did you notice the vast amounts of metal mentioned in the above 'graph? Did it strike you that certain metals, (which is to say "ALL!"), do not always react well with human skin in conditions of cold and moisture? You caught all that? Well then. You're excused from reading the NEXT graph...

It may just be the fact that I tend to run hot - an average temperature far below that accepted as average but an unimagined tolerance of cold temperatures and the ability to raise the ambient room temperature even as a digital thermostat records the phenomena. (I know, because I've watched it happen) It may be that the very fact that human flesh is over 100 degrees warmer than the outside temperature that completely accounts for the fact that MY BLOODY FINGERS KEPT FREEZING TO EITHER THE TRASH CAN, IT'S LID, THE BUNGEE CORD, THE FOOD DISH OR THE DOOR HANDLE!!

...that finally made me realize that an escape from the heat is a retreat to the cool. This will, of course, frame the discussion for years to come. But for the time being, I expect I'll be able to carry much of load on my own broad shoulders...

Things around here are falling apart. Not so far as the kids are concerned, (and I'm certainly not going to make THAT mistake again), but just as goes The Stonestead in general: the leaking water heater fights every attempt I make to repair it. The joint is rusted enough to allow a steady flow of water through it, but is still sealed enough so as to fight even my best efforts to loosen it.

Now, it's perfectly reasonable to assume that as I age my "best efforts" might have deteriorated, but what I've given up in strength I've gained in the field of Ingenious Solutions. And, having to now constantly lift a multitude of children and heft their gear hither and yon and constantly re-supply the home's stores in order to feed this flock of locusts, I can safely say that I've lost no strength along the way. So it isn't that, and more to the point, we now need a new water heater, apparently. I'll add it to the list...

BUT! Water + Time is perhaps the very most destructive combination known to man. At least of those we try to contain within our homes, anyway. And while the leak used to run through a certain wall and settle itself under the tiles of our laundry room - which was just fine with me since the room contained a floor drain - it now runs the length of the home and has been slowly eroding the structure that holds up our stairs only to settle in the carpet on the far side. So not only do we step in a pile of wet every time we approach the home's lower level, but the water has soaked through an area in which the dog has previously experienced a rather serious bout of gastrointestinal distress. So you can imagine what the rest of the room now smells like...

The kitchen faucet is, I suppose, trying to compensate for the Unrequested Fluid Overflow provided by the water heater by continually shutting itself off. It's the damndest thing - and it's even cute in the setting of a very limited exposure to the problem - but for those of us having to live with the thing, it's absolutely maddening.

Well, to be honest, it's only a problem during those times you need a steady, reliable flow of water available in the kitchen. Other than that, it's a fraggin' breeze to live with...

Which begs the question, "Why should I be forced to spend $500 on a kitchen faucet just to guarantee a source of water?" But in my experience, the question answers itself; 'because the $100 models only seem to last about 8 months.'

I'd protest, but what good would it do?

Our stove can no longer be counted upon to dispense heat along its two largest burners. This is not the first time we've encountered this problem, as we've purchased replacement parts at least 4 times in the past. I guess that would make this week's order #5...

But I'm sick to death of it. The whole battle, that is. We spent about $600 dollars on this unit and so far the job it most reliably fulfills is that of storing various seldom-used cookware out of sight. (In the drawer provided - NOT in the oven itself. I've seen MA destroy too many meals and individual cooking hardware by turning on the oven to repeat that mistake myself. Strictly Forbidden, that practice is; Broken the cycle, I have, it would seem.) And why would I be so sick of such a battle already? Well, because I've already fought and lost it.

When we moved in, we knew that a great many things here would have to be replaced. It was a grand part of the grand debate about which house we'd buy, in fact. This price versus the work needed compared to that price and it's immediate livability. We landed here - largely at The Wif's urging - and once we had some cold, hard wedding cash in hand, we bought a new fridge and new electric - at The Wif's urging - stove.

I hated it from day one. In fact, I hated it even as we were signing the papers to buy it. The Wif will probably tell you that I picked this stove, but that's only true if you consider the fact that my free will was hobbled, (think: Misery/Sledgehammer), long before we reached the store. It was a bit like being told that walking in counter-clockwise circles is good for one's health just prior to being placed in a jail cell.

"The view? Who cares?!? I'm making mad progress on my left turns!!!"

There were even problems with the delivery of said items. That alone should have told me all I needed to know, but I was instead concentrating upon pleasing The Wif. 'Happy Wife, Happy Life' and all that rot, I guess. But the problem is that she's ticked now. She's ticked at the fact that she cannot cook pancakes on the big griddle because there is no working big burner upon which to rely. She can turn the knobs but is not certain of a response to follow.

(About time she walked a mile in my shoes if you ask me, but nobody did...)

So I'm about to get my new, gas stove. Duel-fuel, actually, but that's only if the water heater's leak can be contained long enough to avoid spending $1000 on an "on-demand" gas-powered unit instead of further spreading the alluring scent of canine diarrhea throughout the house. And all of THAT is contingent upon The Wif not completely blowing her stack over a kitchen faucet that shuts itself off as the temperature of the water its passing changes.

I guess it's like dealing with the kids: whatever cries the loudest gets the most attention. Or in this case, the first Thousand Dollars. But why is this happening and why now and why with such ferocious attention?

Because we're newly out of debt. As of 11/17, we have only our mortgage that we owe on; everything else has been paid off.

We're driving vehicles we actually own. The siding that we took a second to pay for? We own it all, every square foot of it. Oh sure the bank still technically owns the three-square-foot section of newly-canine-diarrhea-infused carpet downstairs, but that's the ONLY damage I'm still paying on.

Which, in a way, puts everything into perspective very, very quickly...

CONGRATULATIONS ARE IN ORDER...

I've been sitting on this for some time, but I now both announce the obvious and ask the question: do I mean you?

Honestly. Have you done something worthy of laud lately? I ask NOT to demean but instead to clarify the purpose of this post. My goal here is to build up, but in order to do so, I must first define the lines upon which we walk.

So. Have you a reason to be congratulated? A promotion, perhaps? A marriage? A divorce (when one was sorely in need)? A birth, a reconstruction or the attainment of a dream? Maybe you've paid off just 382 dollars shy of one hundred grand of debt in a mere 28 months? You tell me...

(I include that last one for inspiration only; where we are now is a wonderful place to breathe. And if Mommy wants to stay home from now on with the kiddos? Well, as long as the bills get paid...

...

Oh, wait. We have no bills. Back to the story.)

Congrats. I don't suspect that you had to endure any ugly struggle to enjoy those kudos, but then you made those intentions clear to me on the 16^th floor long ago. Back when I was still floundering but you were intent upon your course.

And Good For You. The best you are always wished from our stonghold...

(A NOTE from your humble narrator: yes, I am ashamed of myself when I look back at the dreck I foisted upon you yesterday. In fact, I feel so bad that I may change the name of this website to foistabledreck.com. It would certainly make more sense and be far more accurate in its description that what we're doing now. In my own defense, I would say that... well, hold on a sec. Let's close these parentheses and get on with business. And since "brevity is the soul of wit" and I know I haven't been 'witty' in quite some time, watch how I run now...)

We had our first meltdown this weekend. Not a tantrum. NOT a disagreement. It was not a matter of us 'not seeing eye-to-eye' with a child. This was a complete free-fall. A world unraveling right in front of our eyes.

Some might call it overdue; I call it prophetic...

Things were going pretty much as expected for a Saturday night. I was left at the table trying to determine if Binky Boy was actually through with dinner or just taking a break while the rest of the family went about their business. There's a MommyRule in effect that says that we all stay at the table until everyone's done, but I hold the final vote and I figure that there's no use in keeping everyone hostage and miserable while "M" spends scores of minutes trying to hide a dozen green beans or Binky Boy grapples with the texture of new food versus the old flavor of Chicken In A Bisket crackers.

(I do it mostly for Mommy's sake - so that she's free to pursue her interests and self-imposed obligations around the home without the onerous sense of having to sit idle while the children dally needlessly at the dinner table. That - PLUS the fact that I now remove my socks in the inside-IN fashion in which they'll be washed and stowed and will save her time in her sorting of the laundry - make me the nation's greatest hero. But I don't do it for my own glory...)

Anyway, during the Saturday night post-dinner Feast Of Our Own Acting I notice that D-Man is pushing a certain vehicle through the house. I'm still at the table trying to convince Binky that he needs to eat to survive, (as if looking at me wouldn't be proof enough), when I hear D-Man give a brief squeal of disapproval and then see "M" pushing that same vehicle through the kitchen.

What has happened would be obvious to even the most daft of observers; the toy has changed hands only through the force of The Older Sister, and that's something we don't allow here. I call her on it, site my evidence and prove my case. As I'm contemplating what should be done from here, Mommy re-enters the scene and Lays Down The Structure: "What happens when you take toys from your younger brothers?"

"Um... a toy gets taked from me..." 'M' replies.

Hearing this, my mind imagines that I'll have to come up with an answer as to "what to take" and starts racing; the doll? The blanket? A book - and WHICH book? HER BIKE!! she doesn't HAVE a bike. The elmo? That's D-Man's anyway. Her alphabet placemat? What would be the point of that? Crayons? D-Man uses them too and besides, where do we have the room to hide them all? Shoes - as if I'm kidding? BLOOD! We'll take her blood! Just a liter and a half or so, or until she decides that she's light-headed enough to con

"White-kitty is going away" I hear Mommy say. She/They walk into the bedroom and one of them starts screaming as they come out. Mommy throws (not kidding) White Kitty into the top of her closet as "M" screams an affectation to the contrary...

And I stand impressed. If tortured, I would say that Mommy has NO IDEA as to how to handle unruly children. She's proved me wrong, and proved something else besides: That Daddy defines the battle lines from the satellite surveillance pictures, but Mommy calls the lines at the new horizons every day. They're constantly changing and always new and always surprising in a way that's, well, surprising.

But it also has to do with the fact that only a woman knows the true weakness of another woman. It's true in a way that I can prove, but wouldn't do so in a broadcast fashion. If you doubt me, drop me a line in challenge and I'll set you right.

I'm sure it's online here somewhere...

But more about the meltdown. As Mommy removed White-Kitty, the "men" retired into the bathroom for "Bath Night." And it only took a couple of minutes of hearing "M" SCREAM, "NO! NO! NO!" before I had to intercede. White-Kitty is gone for now. Should I take one of the horses? Should you skip Sunday School tomorrow? Should you spend the rest of the week sitting in the middle of the room and doing nothing else?

Enquiring minds already know...

Let me set the scene: it's the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I know that I'm going to be released from my office obligation early today - precedence says maybe as early as noon, but it also says that under a Republican Administration it's more likely to be a mere 2 hours.

Pity, thy name is Federal Employee...

All the same, a couple of days prior I noted a collection of fluid collecting at the bottom of our stairs, and this would be the oppotunity I needed in order to set it right, right? After all, I'll now have a couple of unclaimed hours to my name, so now would be the perfect time to...

Allow me to backup just a bit first; this is once again a self-imposed gunshot wound to one or the other of my feet, because I already know that the leak causing the pool of water in question is from the water heater. It's leaking from the anode, (and who among us hasn't experienced THAT from time to time?), and this leak is the direct result of ANOTHER leak the water heater had that -- instead of taking the time to fix properly I simply wrapped an old towel around the pipe in question to stem the flow, and -- resulted in a constant pool of water on the top of the unit. Which eventually rusted through the joint.

And I'm coming home early on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving - new anode in hand - with the plan of putting it all right in a couple hundred minutes and without further complication...

This is no doubt proof of the benefit of age; the cavemen got old by being lucky and smart - in whatever combination served them best - and then survived their later, slower years by the grace of their good memory and willingness to listen to that tiny voice of experience that YELLED at the base of their skull: "YOU MORON!! DON'T EVEN THINK OF ENGAGING THIS PROJECT ON THE DAY BEFORE THANKSGIVING!!!

Even so, my initial reaction was that I'll either have a fixed leak or a great story for the days to come. Without even considering the last, best, choice: that I'll keep the fact of my early release a secret from The Wif, find some quiet, shaded, out-of-sight place to park my truck, (AH - how we yearned to find such a spot just a couple'a decades ago, eh, Dood? A different time and different purpose and surely a different accountability/command structure in place, but the goal hasn't changed, has it? "Just a few dozen minutes uninterrupted to the dedication of seeing out of the fulfillment of my own plan. Please?" only to learn that the plan has a whole different feel with 20 years behind it), and nap for roughly 90 minutes or so.

And I can now regulate that, because I own both a watch and a cell phone with alarms in them. YES. I'm just that pathetic...

But I've found that I'm far too honest a person - perhaps after being caught in so many lies in the past - to try and carry out a falsehood at this point. So I come home - new anode in hand - and explain what it is, what it does and why we need a new one before feeling the need to collapse into bed. But "M" is singing, (in an octave usually reserved for rescue dogs), Mommy is suffering from a newly-bothersome tooth-vein, D-Man has the world's worst case of diaper rash and Binky Boy is...

Binky? Binkster? BINKMEISTER?!? BINKENHEIMER?!? WHERE IN THE...

Oh! He's in his Tupperware cabinet. Good for him.

At least that's familiar territory for everyone involved...

*WHEW* That was really something, wasn't it? Another Thanksgiving Day has come and gone and something like eleventy-gazillion turkeys gave their all in an effort to over-stuff an already largely overweight American public.

Ain't it grand...?

Well, even given the knowledge that - if it were possible - we'd be able to re-animate half those birds at the end of next week from the remains that we'll all throw into the trash, it would still be grand; such opulence! Such a standard of living! A display of wealth that would make a Caesar wide-eyed with envy!

(And I'm not being nearly as sarcastic as it sounds. I'm not bothered by the levels of waste that are imagined on a National level at these sorts of occasions, but am rather deeply irritated when it happens within our walls. I guess it's the real versus the unknown in a way but I also know that I'm charged to be concerned with running an efficient household before I'm able to concern myself with how the rest of the world operates. Micro Vs Macro, I guess...)

So how was your day? I can safely say that - for whatever reason - this Thanksgiving just past was one of the calmest I've ever experienced. I honestly don't know why, what with all the diapers and wipes and pinkery that now infuse our lives, this would seem to be an easier day than recent Thanksgivings, but it was. It just seems so much more effortless. And that's given the fact that most of our Thanksgivings together have been just us - together. But this one included guests and we had to be dressed and ready and clean and cooked and ready to go right on schedule.

Well, not exactly; the guests were my folks and brother. So long as the food was good   there was dessert  the house was warm  the house was standing  the children were about, we could've served ketchup on cardboard with a side of warm thumbtacks and it would've been a good Thanksgiving.

And even without the brass tacks, it WAS a good day. One of a great many past and an ever-greater many to follow...

A DISCOVERY...

Some of you will remember and other won't; others don't care and still some are concentrating on their High School foosball records...

When it comes to bathtime, D-Man used to be rather water-a-feared. So much so that he would refuse to even approach the bathtub at Any. Given. Time. Too much to fear, too much bad experience behind him already at his very tender age or any other limited number of guesses along these same lines. For the record, "M" also experiences this same fear but to a lesser extent - which would make sense. Same family-of-record, same experience. More work for us...

And to be honest, I struggled with that at first; why wouldn't a male toddler (a "man cub") enjoy the water? One of a boy's heart's desires is to stumble onto a collection of water, and the bigger the better.

But it all became clear: Something happened to these kids, they are now deathly afraid of water when all indications should be to the contrary...

But I found an answer: I gradually immersed the child into the water - along with my presence - until he went willingly. How willingly? Given the state of how much he splashed and played in the water during tonight's bath, I can honestly say that I've been in swimming classes where I'd stayed drier.

But that - apparently - is just me. Mommy tried to bathe my eldest son after an effort in the sandbox that left him, his shoes, his socks and his poopy diaper simply covered in sand. And nowhere else to turn.

But he wouldn't enter the bath, because Daddy wasn't there. He climbed into the tub, but wouldn't sit down, wouldn't let Mommy bathe him and wouldn't let go of Mommy's sweater, because he recognized the softness of Mommy's approach.

And that there was No Way it could save him from drowning...

By the President of the United States of America.

A Proclamation.

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consiousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.

So, to what/whom do you direct your thanks? To the good works and evidence and gain of your own talent? That's rather narcissistic, don't you think? To the "random nature" of the secularist's universe? Seems kind of pointless to credit good fortune to complete chance, frankly. So the question is a serious one: IF you are a grateful person, to which source are you grateful? Because if all of life is simply a random series of events with some being on the fortunate end and others getting the short of the stick, (which - if you're being beaten with said stick would be a very good thing, no?), WHY would anyone EVER be thankful for anything?

Without a source of beneficence there are no blessings and no rewards and no real returns on anything we do. And that in and of itself is a reason for gratitude. Another is that a life without finding a reason to be thankful for something is a rather miserable existence.

And that's a point I don't have to waste time proving, because each of us has an ingrate somewhere in our lives and we've long ago recognized them as rather miserable people. But that's the choice they made...

As we near the All-Important Friday after Thanksgiving, let's take a quick second to realize why it means so much to us, our culture and our economy. And more importantly, why we're in such an all-fired hurry to reach said day...

In the past, the traditional argument was always that Said Friday marked the official opening of the Christmas shopping season - and since this has always been the "Season Of Glee," who would dare deny its arrival? But that whole line of reasoning quickly disintegrates when one takes the time to recognize that local retailers have been suggesting Christmas Upon Us since just before Halloween and just after the Back-To-School specials hit the shelves. Such is the nature of modern retailing, after all.

But this Friday is also known by an official, un-official name: Black Friday. Thus named because THIS is the day that retailers generally reach a profit. And while it's interesting that so many public retailing establishments plan for this day - and generate grand sales that start at dawn and are generally very well-attended, we still need to remember something important as we take in all the brightly-lit red and green displays so prominent at this time of year:

Today isn't yet that magical Friday. So let's instead remember to actually be thankful and maintain an attitude of gratitude in all we do; but especially so tomorrow, because it's an entire day set apart to just that purpose.

So let's take advantage of it...

I had long ago warned of the possibility of things changing here because of the vast amount of changes taking place in my life. After all, one is absolutely driven by the other so an upsetting of the apple cart in my life should be reflected here. It's the nature of the thing. But it's also a truth that I guess I was trying to avoid for reasons that are pointless, beyond the grasp of reason and long-forgotten as well.

But, "if not now, when" as the old canard goes so I'm here to announce an official change to a policy that's already made the unofficial change: the "motto" or "mission statement" of this website is now officially that of, My Family and What Matters To It. Which means that you will now read here a greater number of stories related to the misinterpretations of life as offered by a 5 year old, many more D-Man-isms and even the breaking news of when Binky Boy takes his first steps, (any day now, BTW).

And while this gives the women in the audience a reason to cheer I should probably offer up a word of warning: that which matters to my family will include a wide variety of subjects and each of them is fair game for this site as they come up. Same-sex "marriage," the GWOT, the general health of the military, (not just because they're the ones fighting this Must-Win battle but because both of my boys will be encouraged to serve their Great Country), and even abortion - because this family is now home to the result of an "unwanted pregnancy" and not a day goes by that I don't Thank GOD for keeping the bio-mother too "busy" to visit the clinic.

The abortion debate is all rather interesting as an intellectual exercise, but if you know the story of my youngest son and have seen the pictures of him I host on this site, then you also know that the debate has a face. And that face has a killer smile and the deepest, most pronounced dimples you've ever seen...

So that's that. Now, what about yesterday? Well, what about yesterday. It should be so obvious to all of you that things changed. Took a turn as it were. Which is to say that things were things and then - somewhere just after the penultimate paragraph - things changed. Things got up-ended and based upon the content provided yesterday you're all free to speculate as to what happened just prior to the final 'graph being dashed off and the entire file uploaded to the interwebs.

And yes, you're exactly correct if you guessed that the event in question is that we won the lottery. Provided you have absolutely NO understanding of sarcasm...

The Weekend was interesting in a way that's difficult to describe as "interesting." Sunday was - for once - the most relaxed of the three days in question if only because the time was our own as soon as we returned home from church. We were free to do as we chose, and for most of us, the choice was "nap."

But not so for your humble narrator; I instead chose the more difficult path of navigating the overhead rafters while carrying very heavy loads while all the while trying to silence all evidence that I was in the attic carrying overly-weighted plastic bins up and down the ladder. It's not every day you get to experience that sort of enjoyment - much less while everyone else is napping - and thank God for that.

So with the help of "M," the Stonestead's entrance steps, (the steps I was supposed to use to enter the home this past April - for those of you keeping score), are now adorned with alternating red and green lights. Except where she got too cold to replace the burnt out bulbs and in those spots where we ran out of green lights. But the idea has been firmly planted in her brain for next year all the same...

Saturday was much more busy in the, "Let's Leave The Home At Seemingly Random Times" sense. I had to work a wedding, (the Bride's family paid me to be the guy who stands up and voices a protest when the crowd is asked if anyone present has reason for them not to be wed; apparently my choice of, "Lurleen! Don't Memphis mean nothin' to you no more?!?" was enough to forfeit my paycheck. Which is just so wrong because I told them from the beginning that I was no good with names...), and when I asked "M" if she'd like to go to church to see me work, she was trying to find a polite way to say, "I'd rather watch Snow White be skinned alive by Hannibal Lecter while eating runny eggs."

Until I mentioned that I'd be wearing a tie - so she'd have to wear a fancy dress - and that I'd be working a wedd-

YES - I Want To Go!" she said. And so we did. As her brothers napped I showed her what an iron and ironing board were for. I put on the shirt and we left the house. Having been warned that once the wedding started she wouldn't be able to make a single sound, we attended the entire service, (as if I had a choice).

It was here that I understood that I can no more look into the mind of a 5 year old girl than I can grasp the chemical composition of Neptune's atmosphere. For they are equally foreign and equally unknowable...

I don't know exactly what she expected of a wedding ceremony, but I know she expected something. It was from that knowledge that I was able to extract the warning that, "you have to be quiet -- this is someone else's day" while also knowing that it would resonate with her. Still, even though she said she enjoyed the ceremony, I couldn't escape the feeling that she was disappointed because there weren't any Sprites around, nary a Leprechaun was visible and there was only the one Unicorn in attendance.

But again, I'm just guessing here...

Well. Far too much going on here to even START to complain about. So let's instead get started bitching about it all...

I guess in retail outfits this year we're seeing an entire "Decemberificaion" of, um... October, to be frank. We're only just now feeling the hangover of the phenomena in November. And in this week of Thanksgiving, I have to now go back on everything I've ever said about Early Onset Christmas. Because I'm coming to hate it...

I'm surprised - but not completely - that it took the introduction of children into my ecosystem in order to understand it, but the fact is that I'm slowly coming to understand all the same that a huge, LONG buildup to the magical day will only prove to disrupt the magic by a rate that's proportional to the length and anticipation experienced in the buildup itself. I know - how did I miss that?

Mathematically and from the children's point of view, it might reasonably be expressed as:

But none of that matters now, right? I would guess the important thing would be that we manage to stay married for at least another 15 weeks or so. That should be all that drives the train, I would imagine...

I had to shampoo the carpet tonight. Well, not ALL the carpet - just a couple of isolated sections of the newish, green, upstairs carpet, and it was not because of either of the boys. Well, actually it was, but it wasn't because of something they'd done (or excreted) but because they were very, VERY likely to explore their little bodies INTO the mess and then OUT OF said mess and onto every other living and non-living being within the home.

So it was time to shampoo the carpet...

See, I have this dog who seems to be rather sensitive to a peculiar micro-organism that is found in abundance up here. And even given how smart and well-trained he is, there are certain biological forces that even he cannot control. So he is instead forced to contain them as best his tiny little brain can manage to work it all out, (keep in mind this is an animal for whom I feel a very deep affection - lest you think I'm insulting him or his breed). And that means that he pukes against the wall and suffers the splats into a corner that the kids aren't likely to frequent.

Even though he shows no affinity towards any of the children. That's his show of loyalty towards me, I guess. And I'll take it...

It's always interesting to experience the spread of a nick-name. Especially so for one that you yourself have given. I can further state that it is off-the-charts-interesting to watch it burn like wildfire through your own family.

Which is the long way of saying that "M" has a funny slur/lisp in her voice whenever she has something to report to Mommy or Daddy (lately MaMa and DaDa) about the actions of "Binkster." Because that is what our lives have come down to. I sometimes fear that my proclivity towards nick-names will be my undoing if only because "M" will recognize the "Mommy" and "Daddy" monikers as aliases and nothing more.

But all that aside and to be dealt with later, "D-Man" is most usually "D-Man." Just as "Binky Boy is either "BB" or "The Binkster." The nick-names stick and they matter in a way that takes on a weight all their own. So I'll just report that Binkster seems to be sleeping it all off. Same with "M" and "D-Man." But if this were an episode of Barnaby Jones, this week's "Special Guest" - who helped to lead and tame and shape the plot if only by their presence - was my Mom. And the introduction of a non-outsider outsider helps to reset the nicknames and bring everyone back under a certain sense of tribe.

So Good On Her and many thanks all around. See you Thursday...

J.O.T.W...

One fine day, Jim and Bob are out golfing. Jim slices his ball deep into a wooded ravine. He grabs his 8-iron and proceeds down the embankment into the ravine in search of his ball.

The brush is quite thick, but Jim searches diligently and suddenly he spots something shiny. As he gets closer, he realizes that the shiny object is in fact an 8-iron in the hands of a skeleton lying near an old golf ball.

Jim calls out to his golfing partner in an agitated voice, "Hey Bob, come here, I got trouble down here."

Bob comes running over to the edge of the ravine and calls out, "What's the matter Jim?"

Jim shouts back, "Throw me my 7-iron! You can't get out of here with an 8-iron."

There's a meme circulating the web right now that really shouldn't be any surprise. In fact, like Christmas decorations on store shelves in October, this is not only as predictable but also tied to their appearance...

It's interesting to be a GroPo in the culture wars but also a total info-geek with access to the satellite imagery, because you get to experience the battle at it's sheerest - it's most raw - and then spend time sitting back and viewing the change in territory from afar. WHAT - as usual - AM I talking about? A little something that's come to be known as the "war on Christmas."

(I should probably take a moment to explain what that means, because it might well describe the puritans of our early founding who made celebrations of Christmas illegal due of the raunchy nature they'd taken on. The current usage refers to someone going out of their way to say, "Happy Holidays" so that they aren't forced to allow the name of Christ [which is actually more of a Title, if the truth be told] to pass their lips. It's a phrase that encompasses all of the No Nativity Scenes On Public Property argument.)

As with most wars, the language used by those involved will instantly tell you which side they're on. For example; was it the "civil war" or the "war of Northern aggression?" See the difference and how the language gives away the position? Same thing here. If you hear someone talking about the "war on Christmas" and then later hear someone else saying something about the, "so-called" war on Christmas, then you've just walked the trenches and gained some degree of experience with each side.

But here's the funny part - and I say this knowing full well that ALL of you are already well aware of which side I fight with; if you read the "work" or "thoughts" of those who don't believe there is a war on Christmas, you will notice that they are ACTIVELY ENGAGED in a War Against Christmas! They call names and resort to snide attacks and the most obvious of specious "reasoning" and deliberately misuse the phrase "political correctness" all in the name of mocking believers and attacking supportive corporations - like Wal-Mart - who refuse to de-Christ-ify the Holiday that bears His name!

(For the record, I do not laud Wally World for mending their ways and issuing a dictate to say "Merry Christmas" much like I did not scorn them for the official policy of saying "Happy Holidays." They are a corporation and like it or not, corporations exist only to make money for their shareholders. If they think this is the way to do it, they'll give it a go. And if, in March, it's discovered that the Merry Christmas policy didn't increase revenue any more than the Elmo TMX alone was expected to? Then they're just as likely to try, "Enjoyable Cat Litter!" next November. Whatever sells, after all and more power to them for it.)

On the secular side of the non-war war, anything goes. They call people like me "extremists" because I'd rather hear Merry Christmas than Happy Solstice. They resort to the most inane of nit-picking legalism so as to claim that, "since Christmas AND Epiphany" are only 12 days apart, the obvious celebration of the first and the exclusion of the second in the use of Merry Christmas" is actually the TRUE offence to the believer. And any "Christer" who can't see that is stupid, besides.

And then it always goes to the dixie chicks and a demonstration of the complete ignorance as to the meaning of "censorship." That is, in their world the dixie chicks took a brave stand and spoke truth to power. Then, people on the opposing side spoke out, and that's where the problems began, because to disagree - and then to voice said disagreement - was somehow violating the initial principle of their right to say what they said. Which is preposterous beyond all belief; they're free to say what they said and those who disagree are also free to say that they disagree.

Like when I hear a Wal-Mart clerk go out of their way to say "Happy Holidays" and I write Corporate to say that I'd rather hear "Merry Christmas..."

IN BRIEF...

As I write this, I'm a little distracted. You may have already guessed or assumed that, but it's not what you think; the kids have long been put to bed and have yet (God Willing) to raise a notable fuss. It's nigh on tomorrow and The Wif herself has already put in a decent time at the helm of the DreamMobile. (But has only recently gone to bed) I have only to wrap this up, see to the technical whossie-fudge of making it available online, put the dogs out for a lap and hit the bed.

And right now little else sounds so attractive. I'm reminded of our RV trips across various parts of the country and how my back and neck muscles would increasingly tighten as the amount of "help" I received would increase. OH! How I longed to park the big beast and collapse onto the bed. After fitting my earplugs, natch...

Instead, I'm reading a county/court report that was emailed to us today. The text of the email itself was interesting enough, but to read the attached document is enough to make one long for the easy, carefree work of a coal mine. Perhaps even as the canary.

Again, I won't go into detail in such a broadcast fashion, but you can contact me personally for an update to whatever you now currently know. But it comes with the standard warning: it's absolutely heartbreaking to read. Steven King should write such stories - maybe it would finally get him noticed...

Two things stand out as I'm going through this; the first is that every court-ordered objective seems to end the same way - Status: Active, Outcome: Unsuccessful. That would say that the county hasn't yet given up (Active), but rather that they have (Unsuccessful). And no matter who you are or where you find yourself, that's a sad outcome.

The second part of that "first thing" is that for each bio-p@rent the major part of their court-ordered plan is, "...maintain a relationship" with the children. Same outcome as those that follow, but shouldn't this one be a no-brainer? Why would it even be included - unless the answer is that past experience has taught the court that it HAS to be in the plan and should, by the way, be number one.

The second point I hesitate to mention, but it struck me so in the face that I would be derelict in my duty if I left it out. The report also mentions - COMPLETELY in passing - that...

"[Binky Boy] transitioned very easily into his new foster home and has become especially attached to his foster father."

Now, try reading that again as if you're one of the "interested" parties. It breaks the heart, it does. And the only healing comes in the fact that it's entirely true...

Let me explain about yesterday; the plain, simple truth of the matter is that I was up until 11 o'clock unclogging a toilet and that's before I was able to even start any of my usual nightly routine, much less sitting down to write for this site. So that's my excuse...

It's a funny thing, unclogging a loo; it's a common enough event that one is likely to gain a certain amount of experience in the subject and with that comes a degree of confidence. But then there are those times when the confidence is utterly misplaced. Like last night. Of course it didn't start last night, it started yesterday afternoon when The Wif called me at the office and asked for advice on what she might do in order to more efficiently plunge the unit. Because it was stuck and not showing signs of progress.

Now, this has happened before. She has been at her wit's end while on the dry side of the plumber's helper and has turned to me for assistance. I have always been able to loosen the obstruction in roughly 3.82 seconds with just a few strategic exertions of effort. It was for this reason that I smiled and told her over the phone, "I'll take care of it." (Picture the Olde Tyme Superman with his chest extended to ridiculous levels - that was me)

So when I get home I find that I've literally followed the social worker into our driveway. One of us was late and it wasn't me, but that hardly mattered. I lap the dogs and come upstairs to the usual fanfare, (which always looks good to a social worker, BTW). I put on a DVD to distract "M" and we start our meeting. Except for me, because I have to go change clothes and then I step into the bathroom...

Where I'm reminded of the task that lay before me. Well, no problem here - I'll just give it a couple of quick plunges and...

Nothing. Nothing at all. If anything, the force I've applied has made things worse because it used to do a slow drain and now the water just sits there. Mocking me. But no matter, because I've got a meeting I'm supposed to attend and it's going on in my dining room Right. Now. I'll tend to this later.

So it's later and I'm at the controls again. I plunge. It splashes. I relocate, plunge and it splashes. I flush. It overflows. Talk about your quagmires! I know that I have to escalate my tools and/or methods, but this is the sort of job where you toil for an unbelievable time at the simple levels simply so that you won't have to move up into the more physically-integrated solutions. But here we are...

So I get my drain snake - remembering somewhere in the back of my mind that you're not supposed to snake a toilet but needing an answer all the same - only to find that it's impossible to snake this particular unit because the openings are arranged in such a way that they're unreachable from the "public access" portals. Is there little wonder as to why this thing is clogged? So I do another "unthinkable" and pour liquid plumber into the bowl. I know, I know, but in the course of plunging the thing there's no doubt that I'll force some of the chemical into the problem area.

So I'm draining the bowl with a one-pint measuring cup that I know I'll have to throw away and have decided to detach the tank with a mind towards finding a more suitable snake ingress. Or another solution entirely. Or something.

What I finally end up doing - and I'm sure many of you will easily be able to imagine this - is take the entire unit off the floor, (because those were the bolts I could loosen), and sit it upright in the bathtub. From there, I can fill it with the shower head and not care if it overflows. I fill the tank, I plunge, I flush, I see some progress. And by "progress" I mean exactly what you think I mean. Because fortunately and unfortunately, the only obstruction I see is just what you'd expect to find in a toilet.

But there are no suspects, of course. And while it may have been a cumulative effort on the parts of the only two individuals who actually use the appliance when I'm out of the zip code, I'm leaning towards the theory that some sort of wild animal snuck into our bathroom to avail themselves of the facilities. I suspect a polar bear.

Or a family of them. Oh - and buy stock in Clorox bleach, because I poured so much of it into the bathtub that my eyes still water when I get within 8 feet of the room...

THE BOY'S A GENIUS...

Actually, they both are. And "M's" no slouch either, BTW. But let's talk about the boys and let's start with The Binkster.

Grandma came up today to watch the kids while Mommy went to the dentist and then to the office and I worked downstairs. I knew it would be a watershed moment because as much as Binky seems to shy away from Grandma, I knew he would gladly go with her instead of staying in his crib after his nap. A genuine bonding opportunity.

So I stayed downstairs as long as I could but eventually had to come up for lunch. I managed to sneak my way through the door and into the kitchen without being noticed. Which is not an easy task for a man of my girth and pure, raw charisma.

But I was undone. While preparing my lunch I was overcome by a small amount of phlegm and I had to cough. Not a large one, but large enough so that Binky Boy not only heard and recognized it, but then immediately raced into the kitchen to see me. So he's not only smart, he has impeccable taste as well...

Since the time the kids arrived, this place has thrived on routine. (Actually, it did before but it was more of the non-recognized, non-regimented type; Mommy evening naptime anywhere from 7:30 to 1:45, dishes washed from - say - Tuesday to Friday and the like) We so depend on routine that I'm sometimes afraid that this is what will fuel and drive the Great Rebellion that's coming sometime around 2015. But hey, it's going to be something, right?

But routine-addicted or not, one household tradition is the Brushing Of The Teeth. "M" has it pretty well figured out and does a fine job of it, so long as she's reminded to do so. D-Man has even shown the spark towards recognition and can generally be counted upon to head in the right direction when presented with the proper, magic word: "Teeth."

But tonight he blew us all away. You read above about my exploits in Bathroomland and you can only imagine that I was clearing away things at a record pace. I was moving towels to hampers and trash cans to distant corners and small, plastic steps clear into our bedroom. Problem is, D-Man counts on this step in order to reach the counter. It's more than just a step to him, it's a crutch. He needs it and counts on it being there.

So tonight when I called "TEETH!" and he and "M" ran into the bathroom, that was expected. And when "M" was going about the business of polishing her pearlies, that was expected, too. And when D-Man wandered off? Well, that wasn't UN-expected, so I let it slide.

But then, just moments later he appeared in the hallway carrying the plastic step I'd removed from the room. He wasn't upset and didn't appear to be overly-concerned, he just knew he needed that step, knew where it was and knew to bring it back where it belonged. Which he did.

He was then able to stand over the counter and brush his teeth like a man.

Well, except for that whole spitting thing; he can't quite get it right. I'll have to work with him on that. Something tells me he's willing to learn...

Well, well. I now find myself at the polar opposite of last week's situation; that is, instead of being blessed with a multitude of topics with barely a paragraph to cover each, I find myself hip-deep in subject matter that covers a mere two or three topics.

Aren't you lucky?

I'll start with the obvious: the world - as I've mentioned previously - runs not on love nor money nor oil nor gravity, but solely on irony. And I'll prove it by way of current events...

Mere hours after our election results were tabulated last week, both Iran and Syria publicly declared that they already felt as if the pressure on them from the West was starting to ease a bit. A rather remarkable admission, given the fact that the main gist of the Republican message this year was, "the terrorists want the left to win." Of course that was denied in those circles that engage themselves closer to the socialist ideal, but it would now seem pretty obvious in the cool light of reflection, no?

Well, time will tell. But consider this: the knee-JERK reaction to George W. Bush seems to have taken the form of, "he's only doing these things in order to bring about nuclear mayhem in the Middle East so that his warped vision of the returning Messiah might come to pass." This is the "rationale" the left places behind The President's vision and actions.

So we instead elect the left to positions of power and they promise to disengage our country from foreign entanglements. Thereby emboldening Iran. And Syria. And casting serious doubt upon even the least tenuous of threads of hope of a peace in the region. Syria feels less inclined to help our anti-terrorist efforts and Iran feels more at ease in their pursuit of a nuclear arsenal. And we're happy to call it "PEACE" because we have democrats at the wheel of our legislature...

Don't look now, but it would seem to me that the probability of nuclear disaster has just INCREASED rather than decreased and we'd all be better off for hoarding food, water and gasoline just now. If only to see us through. But then, that's the great irony of it all...

The other big news of the day is the news that's going to sell papers today; the results of the hearing. So let's talk now about it - why not?

It's heart-breaking to go into the details, so I won't. Contact me, come up for lunch, buy me a beer or hit 9 holes with me for the full story, (pro-rated as per activity and relationship). But for here and now...

The hearing was supposed to happen at 8:00 yesterday morning. It was postponed. Long enough - that is - to arrange for an escort vehicle and a couple of Deputies to see to the duty. If I have to say any more, I won't.

It is with no amount of glee that I've digested the reports of the proceedings as they proceeded from there. Since there were attorneys present, it all took place in a foreign language anyway. Things were claimed and confronted, evidence was presented and by lunchtime I had the phone call:

The urchins are now orphans.

I can find no happiness in that fact, so I will instead turn to the children themselves for their reaction. And they seem to think that tomorrow is just another day like today was; a day in our home, our lives and our love.

I'll let that carry the burden for now...

What with Friday being a Holiday and my having the day off and all, I fully expected to spend large swaths of it behind the wheel of The Death Star; after all, there were "errands" that were expected to be "run" -- and from a man who doesn't even walk the dogs, no less. Still, there were boxes at the bus station with The Wif's name on them and they MUST! be picked up within three days. No word of what would happen should we miss the deadline, so you know they're serious. Would they send them back? That seems like a terribly stupid waste of time and effort and SPACE of a shipping service for whom all are limited. Would our boxes be chucked into the Big Bin O' Rejects only to later be sent off to the Island of Unclaimed Packages? (If so, would Rudolph visit? Did Hermey ever get his D.D.S. or is he still operating without a license safely out of U.S. jurisdiction? Inquiring minds yada yada...). Of course our worst fear was that they would send us our items piece by piece through the mail until we finally caved and paid the Unclaimed Item Fee, PLUS a service charge.

Understanding the true nature of the word "deadline," I was ready to roll on Friday morning. I had even anticipated bringing "M" along and turning the whole thing into a Daddy/Daughter day - jaunting across the countryside running hither and yon in the pursuit of collecting the various items that lay before us. Sort of like "bring your daughter to work day" for the Mario Bros, I guess.

But it was not to be: Mommy has been suffering with a sore tooth and as the old saying goes, if Mommy's suffering, it ain't alone. So after breakfast, Mommy puts the boys down for their morning naps and then takes one herself. Leaving me and "M" as the only beings on the lot with a grasp on consciousness, (the cats don't - and will never - count). At this point, I'm conflicted; do I leave? Do I stay? Am I really just a retread of a tired Clash song?

Despite the looming danger to our newly-arrived packages, I decide to stay and cover The Stonestead so Mommy can nap. It's wiping snot, shushing children, changing diapers, preparing lunch - your standard Daddy boilerplate - so I know I'm up to the task. The hours pass and fun is had by all, (and why not when under Daddy Lunch Rules potato chips are classified as a vegetable?), and eventually Mommy rejoins the land of the living. Just in time for our pre-dinner routine. Our traditions now dictate the traditional, routine exchange of information:

What did D-Man eat for lunch? How was Binky Boy's diaper? Did "M" finish her soup from yesterday? Did you get the mail? What's the capital of South Dakota? Where are D-Man's pants? Can we scrape together an extra $35 so I can get the boys some Albanian Goat cheese? Did you feed the dogs? Where's the other baby gate? Are you OK with us leaving church after the service on Sunday? How long did the boys nap? Where are YOUR pants? And so on...

The answers follow - in no particular order.

They have food. Back of the closet, I think. 2 1/4 hours and nearly 3 hours. Half a sandwich, a quarter cup of yogurt and a handful of animal crackers. Why not? He spilled the dog water all over himself, so they're hanging in the bathroom. We have soup? Sure, whatever. Nothing you'd want to send pictures of to our friends in the Christmas Letter. I'm not sure. No, not yet. HA! That's a trick question -- there is no SOUTH Dakota!

But you get the idea: keep your eye on the ball, fellas...

— "[L]et us solemnly remember the sacrifices of all those who fought so valiantly, on the seas, in the air, and on foreign shores, to preserve our heritage of freedom, and let us re-consecrate ourselves to the task of promoting an enduring peace so that their efforts shall not have been in vain." – Dwight D. Eisenhower

— "Arm yourselves, and be ye men of valour, and be in readiness for the conflict; for it is better for us to perish in battle than to look upon the outrage of our nation and our altar." - Winston Churchill

— "Modern warfare against treacherous enemies is a dirty business. We don't like it -- we didn't want to get in it -- but we are in it and we're going to fight it with everything we've got." - Franklin Roosevelt

— "A man who is good enough to shed his blood for his country is good enough to be given a square deal afterwards. More than that no man is entitled, and less than that no man shall have." - Theodore Roosevelt

— "We will always remember. We will always be proud. We will always be prepared, so we may always be free." - Ronald Reagan (during a speech at Omaha Beach on the 40th Anniversary of D-Day and almost exactly 20 years prior to his death).

— "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." - John 15:13

Thank you, Veterans, for your service to our country - indeed, to us. It's greatly appreciated and shame on us for only taking a couple of days out of each year to remember your dedication and hard work...

J.O.T.W...

It's kind of a salute to Henny Youngman, but it sounds more like Steven Wright. But judge for yourself...

Why do you press harder on the buttons when the battery in the remote control is dead?
I've been on so many blind dates, I should get a free dog.
I wondered why the Frisbee was getting bigger, and then it hit me.
Those that forget the pasta are doomed to reheat it.
Take everything in moderation. Including moderation.
There are two rules for success: 1.) Don't tell all you know.
Some days it's not worth chewing through the straps.
Do not follow, for I may not lead. Do not lead, for I may not follow. Just go over there somewhere, please?
Never go to bed angry, stay awake and plot your revenge.
If at first you don't succeed, try left field.
Sacred cows make the best hamburgers.
I got some new underwear yesterday. Well, it was new to me.
If #2 pencils are the most popular, are they still #2?
I used to be a lifeguard, but some blue kid got me fired.
I live in California, and my watch is three hours fast, I can't fix it, so I'm moving to New York.
I don't want buns of steel. I want buns of cinnamon.
Ask to see my tattoo of a rose, but don't ask outside. I'm constantly bothered by bees.
It's not who you know, it's whom you know.
There is no "I" in "Team", but there are four in "Platitude-Quoting Idiot".
A clean desk is a sign of a cluttered drawer.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a cash advance.
Treat each day as your last; sooner or later you'll be right.
Follow your dreams, except for that one where you're naked at work. PLEASE!
Which one of these is the non-smoking lifeboat?
Marriage is not a word. It's a sentence.
I had amnesia once - maybe twice.
Originality is the art of concealing your sources.
Photons have mass? I didn't even know they were Catholic.
All I ask is a chance to prove money can't make me happy.
Wear a watch and you'll always know what time it is. Wear two watches and you'll never be sure.
How long a minute is depends on what side of the bathroom door you're on.
Teach a child to be polite and courteous, and when he grows up, he'll never be able to edge his car onto a freeway.
Two can live as cheaply as one, for half as long.
Is Marx's tomb a communist plot?
Living on Earth is expensive, but it does include a free trip around the sun.
That guy is so old he shops at EXTREMELY Old Navy.
Now that food has replaced sex in my life, I can't even get into my own pants.
Birthdays are good for you - the more you have the longer you live.
Letting the cat out of the bag is a whole lot easier than putting it back in.
If you're riding ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it's still there.
I saw a woman wearing a sweat shirt with "Guess" on it...so I said "Implants?"
Contents may have settled out of court.
You never really learn to swear until you learn to drive. Or take up golf.
Most nudists are people you don't want to see naked.
If flying is so safe, why do they call the airport the terminal?
The Wif was one bad relationship away from having 30 cats.
I'm busier than a one-toothed man in a corn-on-the-cob eating contest.
If Wal-Mart is lowering prices every day, why isn't anything in the store is free yet?
If you're cross-eyed and have dyslexia, can you see perfectly?
I like my women like I like my coffee: ground up and in the freezer.
I like my women like I like my coffee. Cold and bitter.
They call it PMS because "Mad Cow Disease" was already taken.
The Dark Ages was caused by the Y1K problem.
A fool and his money can throw one hell of a party.
When blondes have more fun, do they know it?
Money isn't everything but it sure keeps the kids in touch.
He was hairier than Chewbacca dipped in Rogaine.
Well, paint me purple and call me Barney.
I'm busier than a one-legged Riverdancer.
Am I ambivalent? Well, yes and no...
The statement following is true. The statement prior is false.
He who dies with the most toys is nonetheless dead.
I was happier than a kitten with a Q-tip.
He was deader than a shrunken head at a Hackey Sack festival.
I was busier than a beaver in a coffee lake.
Red meat is not bad for you. Fuzzy green meat is bad for you.
If you think there is good in everybody then you obviously haven't met everybody.
If you can't convince them, confuse them.
All power corrupts. Absolute power is pretty neat, though.
If your feet smell and your nose runs, you're built upside down.
Here I am! What are your other two wishes?
Gargling is a good way to see if your throat leaks.
Gun Control: Use both hands.
Remember: First you pillage then you burn. (And then... Dood?)
If at first you don't succeed, redefine success.
Xerox and Wurlitzer will merge to market reproductive organs.
Half the people in the world are below average.
Failure is not an option. It's bundled with your software and you've already installed it.
Arkansas State Motto: Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Laugh
I just got lost in thought: it was unfamiliar territory.
I feel like I'm diagonally parked in a parallel universe.
You have the right to remain silent, anything you say will be misquoted, then used against you.
Despite the cost of living, have you noticed how popular it remains?
Atheism is a non-prophet organization.
The problem with sex in the movies is the popcorn usually spills.
Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
I drive way too fast to worry about cholesterol.
Time is a great healer, but a terrible beautician.
I intend to live forever - so far so good.
Capital punishment isn't for making examples, it's for making bad people dead.
Quantum mechanics: The dreams stuff is made of.
The only substitute for good manners is fast reflexes.
Support bacteria - they're the only culture some people have.
When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane and going the wrong way.
A conclusion is the place where you got tired of thinking.
Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.
For every action there is an equal and opposite criticism.
Never do card tricks for the group you play poker with.
No one is listening until you make a mistake.
Success always occurs in private and failure in full view.
The colder the x-ray table the more of your body is required on it.
Always try to be modest and be proud of it!
If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.
Love may be blind but marriage is a real eye-opener.
If a man with no arms has a gun, is he armed?
Man cannot live by bread alone, unless he's locked in a cage and that's all you feed him.
If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?
When someone asks you, "A penny for your thoughts," and you put your two cents in, what happens to the other penny?
"I am." is reportedly the shortest sentence in the English language. Could it be that "I Do" is the longest sentence?
Imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery. Stalking is.
If man evolved from apes why do we still have apes?
I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman where the Self Help section was, she said if she told me it would defeat the purpose.
Should crematoriums give discounts for burn victims?
A flashlight is a case for holding dead batteries.
If a mute kid swears does his mother wash his hands with soap?
If I want your opinion, I'll ask you to fill out the necessary forms. In triplicate
Isn't it scary that doctors call what they do "practice"?
Where do forest rangers go to get away from it all?
What should you do if you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant?
If a parsley farmer is sued do they garnish his wages?
Would a wingless fly be called a walk?
Is a shell-less turtle homeless or just naked? (He needs to know for his upcoming court appearance.)
Is it true that cannibals won't eat clowns because they taste funny?
Do Roman paramedics refer to IVs as "4s"?
I have not yet begun to procrastinate.
If a pig loses its voice, is it disgruntled?
Schizophrenia beats being alone.
Can we ever really know when our philosophy assignment is due?
A thing not worth doing isn't worth doing well.
Heck is where people go who don't believe in Gosh.
Forgive and forget, but keep a list of names just in case.
If evolution is fact, why do mothers only have two hands?
Time is just nature's way to keep everything from happening at once.
Strip mining prevents forest fires.
I think sex is better than logic, but I can't prove it.
A picture is worth a thousand words, but it uses up a thousand times the memory.
If a thing is worth doing, it would have been done already.
Ham and Eggs: A day's work for a chicken; a lifetime commitment for a pig.
Good health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.
Confession is good for the soul, but bad for your career.
It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere.
Be nice to your kids: they'll choose your nursing home.
I was only looking at your nametag, honest!
We have enough youth: how about a fountain of "smart"?
Two rights do not make a wrong, they make an airplane.
Two wrongs do not make a right, but three lefts do.
Seen it all, done it all, can't remember most of it.
Why do bankruptcy lawyers expect to be paid?
What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
I'd kill for a Nobel Peace prize.
Everybody repeat after me: "We are all individuals."
Under my gruff exterior lies an even gruffer interior.
Death to all fanatics!
Chastity is curable, if detected early.
Smokers are just like everybody else. Just not as long.
Hell hath no fury like the lawyer of a woman scorned.
Somebody who knows how will always have a job working for someone who knows why.
When your only tool is a hammer, all problems start looking like nails.
I'd like to have more self-esteem, but I don't deserve it.
Eagles may soar, but weasels aren't sucked into jet engines.
Borrow money from pessimists - they don't expect it back.
A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feel so good.
Beat the 5 o'clock rush, leave work at noon.
If you jogged backwards, would you gain weight?
I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.
How do you tell when you run out of invisible ink?
If you choke a Smurf, what color does it turn?
Radioactive cats have 18 half-lives.
A good pun is its own reword.
For sale: parachute, only used once, never opened, small stain...

You ever been tongue tied? You know - just unable to talk at all? Nothing comes to mind but you know you gotta say something?

Yeah, me neither. The fact is that I'm not lacking for things to say today, I'm just sort of overwhelmed by the number and shallowness of the topics I currently have at hand. For example...

Should I talk about the election results? There are so many people out there who make this an absolute passion and study and write so much better than I do that it seems somewhat pointless. Plus, I know that most of you do NOT visit this site for a strict diet of politics. All that said, let me just add that as usual, all of life is found in The Simpsons; Specifically in this case the scene where, during preparations for the "Do What You Feel" festival Groundskeeper Willie steps up to the microphone and says, "if elected mayor, my first act will be to kill the whole lot of you and burn your town to cinders!" A workman passing by is seen mumbling something into Willie's ear to which he replies, "I KNOW IT'S ON!"

And that's pretty much how I feel about my state as of Wednesday...

My only question can be, 'what the HELL were you people thinking?' I mean, if you look at the results you could only conclude that every single ballot was completed by two different people in different rooms, each with a complete lack of knowledge of the other. On the amendments and issues, you people voted almost strictly a Conservative line, (the one exception being the minimum wage question that will only serve to bankrupt our state if given enough time). No to legalizing pot, Yes to a legal establishment of the traditional definition of marriage, No to "same-sex unions", No to complete red herrings in the guise of voters' "rights..."

...And then you vote into power a legislature and Governor who will fight tooth-and-nail to change every one of those decisions. If you wanted a total paralysis of Colorado politics, you got it. Well played!

Should I tell you of Binky Boy's newest trick? Actually, he has several; he can walk with only the slightest of assistance. His game of "tag" that he plays with me is nearly without flaw -- being "IT" changes with just a noticeable grunt. But being more mobile and more curious and more aware of the function of one's hands can lead to trouble. Most notably when I hear a stifled cry coming from the back of the home, only to realize that he's crawled his way into one of our bedrooms and purposely shut the door behind him.

Aware of his circumstance and location, I now have to open the door without knocking him in the head in doing so. I open the door, he looks up at me and smiles... then closes the door again. After about 2.78 seconds he starts to cry. I open the door - SLOWLY. He looks up, smiles, and closes the door.

Babies are very, very fond of repetition. It amuses them to establish patterns and it was truly amusing to watch him go through that over and over. At least it was the first eight times. After that the Daddy gene kicks in, figures he'll always have a chance to amuse himself thusly, (although if he's still doing it as a teenager we'll seek professional help), and steers him toward, oh, say, the books. Much entertainment there, child!

Today - as you read this - is the last likely chance for a visit with the bio-p@rents. Since I've already waxed nostalgic on this time and time again, I'll spare you more of the same. For now. Still, the logic and emotion wrapped up in all of this are at constant war with one another and I'll be glad to have the "certain uncertainty" of the scheduled visits behind us. Of course, that only leaves the "uncertain uncertainty" of What will be asked When looming over our lives.

But if we manage to do it right, that won't be a problem either...

Work problems? Well that's an easy summation: I'm contacted by one of my "new bosses" almost on a daily basis. But their name is always a surprise to me so I have to continually verify THEIR identity with the people I know. And then I usually have to comply with their requests for information. But I'll be damned if I'll just jump into the whole thing willingly.

And our church life? Well, churches split from time to time. Things happen and doings transpire in a way that the only answer is a bit of forward momentum - even if it's a forced bit of movement. Nothing new there, I suppose.

...

So, having successfully filled another half-hour with complete nonsense, I now retire with the goal of waking up in 7 1/2 hours completely ready to face the day. Although I'll probably always wonder about the timing of us having a meeting scheduled with the social worker during the very last hours of a possible parental v!$it.

But some things you're not meant to understand...

It's an argument so brilliant that I'm surprised I thought of it at all. Actually, it probably didn't originate with me (which is to say that OF COURSE it didn't), but I think I caught a slightly different spin on it today. Election day, that is. Too late and too far removed to make a difference in this cycle. But since there's always another cycle coming around, I'll share it with you briefly:

The choice in ANY election is not one between The Perfect and The Flawed. In fact, throughout all of life your choices are NEVER between the Perfect and some other option, (with one exception). And once you recognize that the Perfect is never within our grasp on this mortal sphere, it's a relatively small leap to realize that those who are promising it to you, are lying...

That's right: remember this in just a couple of years. You see that guy who's promising that EVERYthing will be better if only he's elected? He's lying. Oh sure, his opponent is lying too, but we should always vote counter to our nature. And our nature is to believe that Utopia is just around the corner if only we're willing to send enough of our own money to Washington in order to bring Utopia into being.

But that guy that says things are likely to be tough and there are difficult times ahead? Well, he's right about that. He may be lying about some other issue and where he's telling the truth that things won't be all licorice and cotton candy is an unpleasant truth, it IS the truth all the same.

Like I said -- a day late and a dollar short. But it'll be meaningful eventually.

And if the early results are to be belived, (a prospect I ALWAYS doubt, BTW), I owe the local crowd a debt of thanks on "I" It would seem logic prevailed over emotion and my earlier fears were unfounded.

Unless things turn around overnight. There's always that possibility...

As promised yesterday...

My weekend started on Friday morning - bright and early. Well, bright anyway. The Wif had run in and rescued Binky Boy from himself in the middle of the night, then passed him exclusively into my care when D-Man started crying a few hours later. She and he headed to the living room leaving BB and I in bed. I rolled onto my left side, wrapped him with my right arm and the two of us headed blissfully back to dreamland...

I should take a moment to note that I am somewhat conflicted in this area: I will not even attempt to deny the great feelings that sweep over me as I share a sound sleep with my infant son. From absolute glee at having that tiny body on/around/near me to a deep, profound sense of unworthiness when I realize that this miracle baby is only able to fall into such a deep sleep because of his unfathomable trust in and love for - me. So it's "all good," as the kids say, right? Well, not quite, because I recognize full well that we're not doing this child any favors by making him unable to cope with even the slightest nighttime disturbance. He must learn to get himself back to sleep after being "shocked" awake and the sooner the better, frankly.
But when he slaps me on the arm, rests his tiny head on my chest or shoulder and releases a sigh that weighs twice what he does that can only say, "I'm where I belong, Daddy," I melt into a large puddle of mercury. After all, he'll only be 10 months old for another 10 days.

Now that I've given you all diabetes, we return to our normal programming...

For once, I woke up before The Binkster on a day that I didn't have to be in the office and I got the rare pleasure of watching him sleep. On my arm. On my ever-numbening arm. In fact, my entire left side was dying the slow death of pinched circulation as I watched him sleep, stir and then JUMP! TO! LIFE! all at once. Zero to One Hundred in less time than a Maserati I tells ya'. Fortunately, he awoke in a playful mood and I was able to throw him to the bed and wrestle him back from the edge long enough to restore full function to my sleeping parts. I glance at the clock as I gather the child and prepare to leave the room: 8:34. Impressive.

From there we head to the doctor's office - the kid doctor, not our own - for a solid round of flu shots for all! It's an early Christmas Present from Daddy, kids! Enjoy!

I even went so far as to have a pre-shot warm up with "M." 'Sometimes we need shots.' 'Shots are good for us.' 'Remember D-Man's hand when he was in the hospital? That was because he needed so many shots and they didn't want to keep putting a needle through his skin.' 'No, you won't be getting a setup like that -- this is just one shot.' 'No, you won't be staying in hospital.' 'No, you're not going to have to have someone cut on your toe.'

"Look - just forget when D-Man was in the hospital, OK? Go and get the shot and be a good girl and I'll let you eat Halloween candy until you have to..." What, Daddy? Go to the doctor? Oh, shut up already Daddy. You're NOT helping.

After the doc's we returned home and Binky Boy fell asleep before we'd left the parking lot. Upon our arrival home we left him asleep in the truck - as I've done a time or two already. I have the perfect system(s) in place; I put the cordless phone in the cab because I can listen in from the other handset, I crack the door because all that glass tends to heat things up and I'm sure to park in such a way that the sun won't hit his face. And then Mommy speaks up...

"Is he going to be warm enough?" Knowing that "Yes" is too long an answer and an explanation of regional geothermal events vis-a-vis the jetstream and the decreasing length of sunlight exposure would be too short an answer, I close the doors. I know it's a mistake, but what's a husband to do?

The rest of the day was spent in wildly-controlled Daddy/Daughter mayhem; we visit our local insurance office to make a payment where our agent and my Daughter finally meet. We cross the street and Daddy signs up to vote. After being told that thanks to the length of the ballot, the number of people waiting and the fact that it's the last day to vote early there will be at least a half-hour wait until my turn in the booth, we go to the library. Twenty minutes of poking around later, we return to the office only to find that they've already called my name.

Oh joy. Wait until "M's" old enough to vote then? Shall I go home and listen for a race where one single vote made the difference before I speak up? Nothing quite so drastic, thankfully. I'm "next after one" as it turns out. But then I hear the ladies behind the counter talking; seems the "one" I'm after "appears to be" in a much greater hurry than I am, so she's going next. Interesting, no?

At this point I could insert the standard 800-words of boilerplate about allowing such subjective measurement to overtake the whole meaning and sanctity of "The Line" or I could just chalk it up to Life in a Small, Mountain Town.

It's late and the rest of you are no doubt bored to death with such explanations, so let's just blame the general landscape, no?

We then travel to 2 - no, 3 - other stores where things are poured over and inspected. At Wally World I'm reminded that "M" doesn't own a bike but really, REALLY needs one. Of course the next aisle exposes the motorized jeeps and all talk of bicycles is greeted as if it were spoken in broken Hungarian. We then stop for lumber. It's an orange store we've visited in the past but she seems to forget the basics; NO, you can't ride on the flatbed. And THIS is a flatbed.

As it turns out, we need one very thin, very straight, very long piece of dead tree and we eventually find something that I think will fit our bill. But of course we take the time to check out the Christmas Trees, Lights, Animatronics and inflatables. She seemed to have loved it.

She's going to do fine here...

I spoke about our "legal woes" yesterday. I was incorrect and I apologize for it now. Of all the things that I feared might eventually jump up and bite us in the bum, in the cool light of peaceful reflection, none of them amount to anything. I should have suspected that from the start.

One week from today you should be reading here about our latest hurdle being put behind us; by Monday afternoon next we'll probably have the results of the hearing to terminate the rights of the bio-p@rents. That means I'll be able to write about them here on Monday night and you can all catch up with us next Tuesday. Or earlier if you have a way to contact me.

Duh...

It has been an emotional roller coaster thus far and I don't honestly expect it ever to change for us; there's little doubt that things will flatten out in the years to come, but the next peak is always just around the corner. And just as when the kids first moved in with us, we'll think we're ready for anything and we'll still be caught flat-footed. 'Tis the nature of having small, unpredictable people vying for your attention, after all.

And I share with you no glee in the fact that these kids are about to change legal status. Relief, perhaps. But no glee. Because this is just a sad situation...

Well. That end of it is and we'll have to deal with all that eventually. The degree may differ but the questions are coming all the same. What was striking to me this weekend was the number of people who learned our story within just minutes of us "crashing" an 80^th birthday party. I suppose partly because it's impossible to quietly enter a small hotel room with 3 kids 5 and under, but also because tongues wag when they see something unusual.

Like 3 kids 5 and under at an 80^th birthday party.

I cannot tell you how many times I was asked about "the twins." People who had gotten half the story wanted it all and more, (namely, for the boys to be twins). We were praised seemingly without end. Those who heard the majority of our story went out of their way to say what a great thing it was that we were doing. This happened time and again.

I have to say, I have yet to see it that way. I guess because I've been so tremendously rewarded by their presence that I actually see taking them in as a selfish act, so I am somewhat blinded to the benefit these guys are experiencing. Impossible to see things from their point of view, perhaps. But that's OK: we can all survive that...

So there's just 2 more p@rent@l visits and both are scheduled for this week. I've long held expectations upon the bio-parents but have been willing to dismiss them in the past tense in the name of, "that must not matter to them." One of those occasions was Halloween. Fair enough - I may have been in the right there.

But one of the others was "M's" birthday. I can't build an excuse there. The other comes this Thursday. It is the last, possible opportunity to visit these guys and I can't see allowing it to slip by unattended. We'll be ready.

Of course, that would make today the penultimate (if St. Peter quizes you on the meaning of that word I'll gladly accept your thanks on the other side of the gate) visit before Everything Changes For Everyone. We'll change status, the Kids will change status and things will never be the same for any of us.

For whatever that's worth...

I want to make sure you all enjoy today's rasher of political ads, but I've got to warn you; they'll really be pouring it on thick. I believe it's Federal Law that no "electioneering" can take place on the actual day of the voting, so today (being first Monday and all), is their last chance of swaying the ignorant undecided ignorant voter. So it's the least I can do to pretend to buy into the whole thing, too...

I realize full well that I've spent a great deal of time devoted to other subjects this election season. Call me crazy - and I'll accept it at face value for what it's worth - but I will readily fall back on the excuse that I've been distracted by "other subjects" this season. Thank Heavens it was an Off Year, eh?

But, since the ads are coming to an end I'll also end the whole thing here. With this:

This is an unusual election. One of the first of many we're bound to experience throughout the rest of our lifetime. Thankfully, we've already put a couple behind us - so if we think back far enough (4 years) we should be able to recognize the signs. The problem is, half of the two political parties in the country today don't seem willing or able to recognize tomorrow's vote as something new and unique and unusually meaningful in the world at large. Pity, that.

The fact is that the future lies in our hands and tomorrow is the prime example of how much that is true. We, (the COLLECTIVE "we" - as much as I hate collectivism), will elect an entire new House to Represent us and they will most definitely shape our National attitude as is reflected towards the rest of the world.

And as much as I love this President and his policies and his approach, I'm beginning to see where many of my party felt "stuck" behind a leader and continued to vote in the opposition party all those decades ago. After all, it's all just checks and balances. 'Tis true, I tells ya.'

But here's the crystal clarity of choice as it chooses to show itself through this present field of choices: Victory in Iraq versus withdrawl. And if it means that we'll have troops stationed in Baghdad for the next four decades? Well, what better excuse to establish the "George W. Bush Airfield" just on the East edge of town? Seriously; if you say you want a complete withdrawal from Iraq, please take the first step and tell me what that would look like in seven years.

Hell, what would that look like in three years - roughly the time we've had forces in the area...

Vote Security. Vote Safety. Vote the fact that there hasn't been another major attack on American Soil And That's No Accident.

See ya' tomorrow with tales of our legal entanglements and woes of long weekends. We're at a threshold here -- but I expect you'll hear a lot of that in the coming years...

Just because I don't quote your message doesn't mean I won't answer it...

Yes, of course I considered the phrase, "throw a bone" in my earlier post. The fact that I decided NOT to use it tells us all we need to know about both of us.

Yes, kerry served in Vietnam. I actually know several people who did too and none of them brought along a super-8 movie camera in order to document their time there - some of them actually answered the call to FIGHT in theater. And to think that it would be possible that a Vietnam "vet" would disparage those in the Service would require, well, would require the testimony of a man dedicated to his own future career and little else. Much like how kerry testified that U.S. soldiers "tortured" civilians. It's all out there and if I have to, I'll provide the links. For now, I'm counting on you to come to your own conclusions.

Just so you know, the D-Man can barely manage a two-word sentence. He's still trying to find his way around the language in the very simplest of forms, so I wouldn't expect a doctoral thesis on the many and varied placements of his luggage to this point.

Especially given the fact that he's rather partial to naps during the day. It's a real drawback to have to garner support to a given cause from a young man who would just as soon sleep the day away instead of fight for position. But that will come...

J.O.T.W...

OK - I know I owe you, so I've got the world's BEST knock-knock joke. You start...

Who's there?

I told you it was great...

You may or may not have heard that john "F'n" kerry insulted the American Military recently. Most likely - if you're a subscriber to the LSM - you only heard the story told from the second frame because they skipped the first panel entirely. To illustrate the point, I'm going to re-create the whole thing here - paraphrased for space and time:

jF'nK speaks to college students in Southern California. He tells them to take their education seriously or else they'll, "get stuck in Iraq." Many in the Military and those civilians who support the Military take great offense to the remark and demand a retraction and apology. jF'nk insists no apology is forthcoming.

The White House, through Spokesman Tony Snow, comments that such a remark seemingly aimed as a smear against the American Military's intelligence should be apologized for immediately. jF'nk "protesteth too much," claims the "high ground" as the victim of a savage attack from a White House out of control and says that this is being played as a distraction before the American voter.

The LSM finally pick up the story by relaying Snow's remarks, claim jF'nk is the victim of a White House out of control and say that this is a distraction to the American voter. (The original comments from the college speech which started this whole thing are never mentioned.) It is generally reported that such blatant attacks against "junior" from Massachusetts degrade the political tone and will no doubt hurt the Republicans next week.

jF'nk's website publishes a similar response, saying that "junior's" remarks have been taken out of context, that no such insult was intended against the Troops and instead the insult was aimed at their Commander In Chief. Although the original comment was claimed to have been "taken out of context" and "misunderstood," said comment is never reproduced from its source.

Blogs and radio talk-shows are abuzz with commentary on the subject from both sides of the aisle. One side adds words and complete sentences to junior's statement in order to make it align with the current explanation of what was intended; the other side examines what was said, where it was said and the effects of the comments. The Military weighs in.

Amid mounting pressure from members of his own party - those already secure in power are calling for an apology and those campaigning for power BEG jF'nk to stay away - jF'nk issues what will probably be his last non-apology apology. Again, paraphrased, it read:

"I'm sorry if what I said has been misconstrued to be an insult to the American Military. I'm sorry if they or their family members are just too damn stupid to understand the eloquence of my statements, but it's understandable because while I stand on Mount Olympus they struggle even to spell it. Nobody can blame them their mistake in this issue because their tiny frontal lobes are simply not up to the challenge of making sense of what I have to say. It's something like speaking in Haiku to moss; it's beautiful to hear if you can understand it, but the second you start to empathize with the moss you can see the weaknesses in what you're doing. And it's always important to remember to try to empathize with moss, because it's entirely possible - nay, probable - that the whole of the human race evolved from that same strain of moss. In fact, I'm on record as supporting moss - just after I voted against it.

And who could argue with that?

LEGAL KIDDY STUFF...

Just a quick update, then I'm off to select, crop and post the 3 good pics from our Halloween celebration. So go there... soon.

I have spoken before of "the countdown." Not with glee, because it will be a sad day around here and something we will long have to deal with. But the day is nigh all the same...

Today is T-minus 3. I'm no longer sure what to expect as those "T" named days roll around, but I guess I can rest assured that the uncertainty is about to come to an end one way or another. Again, not a happy day for us, but it will spell a certain level of relief around here. It will help us in the long run because completing this particular chapter will indeed help to fill in the entire story when it's requested of us. But I wax poetic...

In a mere 11 days there will be a hearing to terminate the rights of the bio-parents. This will be a strange circumstance for us; happy and sad, sad and happy. But what of the kids? Well, it will only be a factor for "M" and most likely only years and years into the future. And whatever her approach to the topic of her retained memories, it will be a difficult time for us. We have no intention of hiding the facts from her - quite the contrary, we have saved every piece of paper we've come within 100 yards of so that she might better come to understand that which she's living right now.

Still: one more Tuesday and one more Thursday to wonder about. After today, that is. I wonder what today will bring...

You may remember - in spite of all your efforts to the contrary - when I wrote about the "Neckl@ce Incident" going on up here. (No update so far as the neckl@ce is concerned, BTW. We're still awaiting her reaction to it being missing and know full well that her attention of late has been focused on the Annual Collection of Free Candy From Strangers. Now that THAT'S behind us, we'll see what happens.)

In short, I wrote about a gift from "M's" bio-p@rents and how it had recently broken. The Wif's first response was to immediately fix it for her so she'd have it again. I pointed out a couple of alternative theories on what was happening and suggested the best course of action would be to wait a few days or weeks and see what "M's" response was going forward. The difference in our views could be summed up in a single word -- a single word I didn't use that day so that I might help enstarken (it is now) the differences between our use of and embodiment of said word; compassion.

To The Wif, her "native" sense of compassion was to ease the pain she saw. To that end she was more than ready to repair the item even within the hour and would have done so, but knew that I would have something to add to the discussion, (good - and rare - for her, BTW), so she waited. MY definition of compassion meant that I would look beyond any current suffering in an effort to try and decode what was really happening and what might be of genuine help to the child in the long term.

Not just jump into what felt good for me at the time. I have a dozen other examples from our new "circumstance," but one in particular leaps to mind...

My work schedule is one that allows me to work from home 2 days a week. On those days I get up, say good morning and "Love You" to any small people that cross my path and sequester myself in the basement. I listen closely to the events going on above me and try to time my breakfast break for when the boys are down for their morning naps - lest I take the rest of the day off and burn through all my leave. But this is not always possible, because naptime seems to be a rather fluid thing. I noticed why on one of my recent days off; the boys dictate their own naps.

I have to say that I agree with that to a certain extent; 15 or 30 minutes on either side is understandable and acceptable, because those little bodies are firing at all different rates throughout the day. But when I saw The Wif put Binky Boy in his crib, only to pick him back out a mere FOUR MINUTES later because he was screaming, the problem was easily diagnosed: too much front-end compassion on her part. And she admitted it - she can't stand to hear him "scream like that."

Never mind that she's actually disrupting his natural sleep cycles. Never mind that she is firmly establishing a pattern that's likely to be repeated - after all, the boy's no dummy; why should he allow himself to fall asleep alone in his crib when a few minutes of caterwauling will bring about the ever-popular, ever-food-toting, ever-singing, ever-attentive MommyTainment center? No. The most important thing in her mind is to rally to the immediate cause she sees and feels unfolding before her. That's her definition of compassion. It's her very nature.

But in speaking of human nature, let's talk instead about the male of the species first, only because it's the most obvious example of having to deny one's nature. After all, we ALL know that there are parts of the human, male nature that must be fought, (and I dare say that also know which elements of the male nature must be suppressed). And it's not just to the benefit of that individual male that these things be fought, but rather to the good of the whole of society. We're talking about the respect of individual relationships, the safety of our female population and the very structure of our society and culture being at stake.

So what of female nature? Is there anything in female nature that must be suppressed? Well, not if you listen to modern, "progressive" voices in the culture. They insist that female nature is already perfected and now must only gain power in order to better us all. (And Dan Brown dared to say in his Davinci Lie book that goddess worship has been put down? Please.) But I put it to you now that it is exactly this sort of "compassion" which is such a part of female nature (exceptions? Natch), that must be fought for the good of society. Allow me...

After the infamous Menendez trial, it was learned that the boys were spared the death penalty because at least one of the jurors - a female - refused to convict them because they were orphans, (something roughly akin to not sentencing a bank robber because he sprained his ankle tripping over the threshold of the safe). Further, once they were behind bars they received thousands upon thousands of letters and I believe dozens of proposals of marriage from "compassionate" females across the country. The thought of these poor boys being alone in jail was more than they could bear, apparently.

Similarly, the examples I cite above show how boys come to believe they are the center of the universe from a very early age. If this is allowed to continue into their teen years, it spells certain havoc for at least a small section of town. This would of course take the form of complete overindulgence from the (supposedly) adult female in their life who would rather put on 10 band-aids and cater to the child's every whim rather than take the risk a scar should develop.

So what am I on about, exactly? Well, there are two specific issues on the ballot in Colorado that are mirror images of each other, and BOTH are currently expected to pass. One defines marriage as an institution involving ONLY one man and one woman and the other allows same-sex couples access to all the benefits of marriage.

I ask you: in a world where logic reigns, how would such a thing be possible? And of course the problem is in the supposition, because logic is obviously NOT in control of this circumstance. Logic would dictate that one or the other would win and probably overwhelmingly. This is instead within the realm of pure, immediate-need compassion. And we know it's address.

So I appeal to you females out there who think you can have it both ways next Tuesday; you think you can vote for common sense by supporting the one man/one woman thing, but you can feel better about yourself in a single instant by giving a nod to that nice gay man who works in the other row of cubicles. I ask you to recognize that homosexual couples ALREADY