My biggest mistake.

              What a great weekend.  We have a new septic tank, we are now just waiting on the drain field.  That should finish up this afternoon and then we have to reseed the yard.  Saturday, we got to spend some family time on a much needed family outing on a bike ride.  Then we got to spend Sunday afternoon with friends playing games and sharing our lives.  What a great week end.  Of course Monday follows that, but that can't be helped.
              I can't help but feel rejuvenated after all that.  Even though I was spent after the bike ride, I felt great.  There was a smile on the entire family's faces even though you could see they were tired (at least the adults, the kids wanted to go again).  We thoroughly enjoyed it.
             I love being able to spend time with my sons and time near them is time well spent.  That being said, I think that for the rest of today's post I will share another excerpt from my answers for my sons.  This one is particularly close to home.

10-3 What’s the biggest mistake you’ve ever made?  What can I learn from it?

I think of so many mistakes I’ve made when I am asked this question that it is almost impossible to answer.  I will give it my best though.  First, allow me to clarify something.  To me, a mistake is an error in judgment or a decision made based on faulty information.  It is not an intentional action nor is it something you plan.  While it would be wrong to rob a bank and a horrible decision, it is not a mistake, it is a choice. 

So, looking at it from that point of view, I believe my biggest mistake was my choice of friends growing up.  You see, I had some of the information and, while it was my choice to be their friend, I erred in my judgment as far as what my will power was.  My friends growing up were diverse and I had two sets.  The first set is not the mistake.  They were my friends from church.  They were Christians and as far as I can tell, they lived it.  No, my mistake was the second set.  They were my friends from school and around home.  They were the ones I chose to hang out with the most.  There is that word again, chose.  My mistake wasn’t choosing to hang out with them, or even to be their friend, no, my mistake was to believe that I was strong enough by myself to resist their ungodly influence.  You see, not one of my friends from school were Christians.  They didn’t even pretend to be good.  Still, I thought I could be strong enough to resist the temptation on my own.  Boy was I wrong.

By the time I had graduated from high school, you couldn’t tell a difference between the way I acted and how my friends from school acted.  I allowed myself to be led astray and to go down a path I still regret to this day.  Because of that mistake, I walked in sin for nearly 20 years.  I told coarse jokes, made fun of others, thought only of me and my pleasure.  I refused to acknowledge God and what he wanted of me.  In my selfishness, I blamed others for my failures and felt cheated when I didn’t get my way.  I tried to live by the rules I had learned in church growing up, at least when I wanted to convince others I was good.  I pretended to be a Christian when I was home to make my father happy, but I was no longer following Christ.  It all came back to the mistake of thinking I could do it on my own, to thinking that I could be friends with ungodly people the way they wanted to be friends, without falling into their lifestyle.  While it was a bad decision to be their friend and to continue in that relationship, it was a decision, not a mistake.  We need to be clear on that.  Bad decisions are not mistakes, they are bad decisions.

What can you learn from all this?  Simply put, trust in God.  Can you have non Christian friends?  Certainly, and you should.  You must, however, be on guard at all times and realize that without God and Christian friends, it is all too easy to fall away from God and into the ungodly lifestyle of your non Christian friends.   You must also be wary of the relationship with them.  A non Christian friend should never be your first source of advice concerning, well, anything.  This is because their advice, while it may sound good, is based on worldly teachings and not on what God says.  Sure, some of their advice may even be exactly what God says, but if you rely on their advice, you will find that God has no part in your life and you will regret it.  I know I do.  You must also never let their opinion of you be a reason to do something.  God’s opinion is all that matters and an ungodly friend does not know or even hear God’s opinion.

This may seem to be a bit harsh.  It may even sound like I am against having ungodly friends.  This couldn’t be further from the truth.  Even God encourages you to have friends among non Christians.  Read Luke 5:29-32: “29 Then Levi gave Him a great feast in his own house. And there were a great number of tax collectors and others who sat down with them. ³⁰ And their scribes and the Pharisees complained against His disciples, saying, ‘Why do You eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?’
³¹ Jesus answered and said to them, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. ³² I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance.’”

Jesus sat with the worst of the society with reason.  The key is to remain rooted in your belief and to not allow them to sway you.  You should also note that, while he sat with them, he did not count them as close friends, that privilege was reserved for his disciples, those who had already committed their lives to him.

In closing, the biggest mistake I ever made was not trusting God over my friends on earth.  Don’t let this happen to you.  Keep your eyes on him and you won’t go wrong.

           Thanks for reading and, as always, have a great day.

Learning about Later.

           Ever wonder what goes through the heads of your kids?  Ever sit back and ask yourself what just happened?  Have you had those situations where you aren't exactly sure how you ended up in your current situation?  If not, then we all envy you or you just haven't figured out how to tell the truth.  Either way, you need help.
          To answer the first, you have to understand that kids haven't learned that there is such a thing as later.  Later to them means ask again as soon as we turn our back.  Later means never if we don't keep asking.  It doesn't mean, well, later.  The importance of that fact is that kids don't worry about later when an "opportunity" presents itself.  If it looks fun, interesting, or different, then the answer is always go for it.  Why?  Because there is no later to worry about.  Thus, thinking is not required.  One of our jobs as parents is to each our kids that later exists.  In this day and age, that job is a lot harder.  Instant searches, emails, text messaging, Skype, the Internet, and 24 hour news all feed the now attitude.  Why wait, get it now.
          This leads to the second question, what just happened?  This isn't due to inattention so much as distraction and the ability of kids to do amazingly complex and stupid things at astounding speeds.  Take yesterday for example.  My 10 year old was doing his homework in his room and my 4 year old was next to him playing with a Nerf gun.  The gun in question was one of the mid range models that has a magazine and takes a decent amount of strength to cock.  I saw him playing with it and thought, "there is no way this can end badly."  Mistake #1.  I then went back to cooking supper.  Mistake #2.  Two seconds later, I hear my 4 year old yell and start crying.  I run to the room and my 10 year old informs me that, not only did my 4 year old manage to cock the gun, he managed to hold it back long enough to open the de-jamming hatch and get his finger caught in it as the cocking mechanism slid forward.  After a couple minutes of crying, we got him calmed down.  He then made sure all of his brothers saw his owie and told them how much it hurt.  Then a minute later, he full on tackles his older brother.
           Which leads to question #3, How did we end up in this situation?  There really is no satisfactory answer to that question.  Think about it.  Are you really ready to admit that it was through a series of stupid decisions and miscalculations?  That is usually how you end up in those situations.  I could go into detail on a personal situation, but I think that you can figure that out for yourself.  Besides, I really don't want to relive that series of events.  Let's just say, getting home was interesting as was the intense headache that followed.
         The great thing about all this is it teaches us things.  At least for the immediate future.  I am sure my 4 year old won't be putting his finger in the clearing hatch on a Nerf gun for at least the next few days.  That doesn't mean he learned about later, just that he learned that putting your finger in that location hurts.  I think later is about perspective.  It takes years to learn the difference between a 10 minute later and a 10 week later.  We can tell our kids all about consequences and results, but unless they learn the concept of later, consequences don't mean a thing.  I try and teach my boys later every chance I get.  "Dad, can we have dessert?"  "Later."  Dad, can we go to (friends) house?"  "Later."  "Dad, can we watch a movie?"  "Later."  I really do love that word.  It is vague and yet conveys a conciseness necessary for the training of children.  At some point I will make sure I share the secret of that word, but I have a few years for that.  I guess I'll write more later.
          Thanks for reading and, as always, have a great day.

To my son on his birthday.

           Today is special.  It just happens to be my second son's birthday.  So this post is for him.  He is my rough and tumble boy.  The one that has determined that he is in charge.  He is the first to jump in when dad decides to wrestle with his boys and the last to leave.  He is outgoing and brave.  He has his quirks as well (He is my son after all).  He finds ways to push boundaries and will find new ways to make me ask the question, "what were you thinking?"  He is also intelligent (although he denies it).  He has a knack for figuring out loop holes and exploiting them.  He is eager to learn new things (although he gets bored with them once he figures them out).  He loves to use his hands to do stuff and tries to be interested in what his dad is interested in (although in his words dad's stuff is boring).
          David is one of those boys that can make you wonder what went wrong and then prove that nothing did.  He will surprise you even if you know what is coming.  He is proof that kids will do or say the darnedest things.  He has no volume control because he must be heard.  He can also be the most stubborn of kids (but that is what my family does best).
         David takes care of his brothers and teaches them what he can.  He takes interest in his younger brothers and tries to make them smile.  He is also willing to sacrifice them to dad on occasion (when tickling or other such things are involved). 
         In all, David is David.  I know that isn't very definitive, but then again how do you define the indefinable.  He is still young and has a lot of years ahead of him so I know he will change and grow, but I know that he will grow into a man I can be proud of because I am already proud of where he is now.  Happy Birthday, David and have a great day.

My Mom: A different kind of rolemodel

           On my way to work, the news pointed out that it was Friday the 13th.  I hadn't noticed, but then again, I am oblivious a lot.  I just don't see it as any worse than any other day.  In fact, my third son was born on the 13th and I classify that as a pretty darn good day.  Have I had bad Friday the 13ths?  Of course, but I have also had bad Monday the 1sts, Tuesday the 10ths, etc.  So why does Friday the 13th get such a bad rap?  I'll let you look up the history because I really don't want to spend the next few days summarizing it, besides, I am sure the History Channel will have something on it today.  What about you, do you consider Friday the 13th a bad day, or just another Friday?
             Yesterday, I sent a homage out to my dad.  It was what I felt at the time and it hasn't changed.  I feel the need to include my mother though.  You see, she was a role model to me in a different way.  My mom was a registered nurse before she had her first child.  When she became a mother she decided to become a housewife.  For those of you who think that a woman debases herself by becoming a housewife, I wish you could have met her.  By devoting herself to raising her kids and supporting her husband, she taught me that making money is not the only or necessarily best way to support a family.  Being there is even more important.  By shaping your child's life on a day to day basis, you have a hand in making sure that they become a productive and respected part of society.  The idea that men make women slaves by keeping them in the home is ludicrous.  Women who stay at home and raise their kids are showing love of the highest degree.  Think about it.  Love, by definition, is self sacrifice.  This means you put those you love above yourself.  By choosing to place you kids over your own desires, you have shown them what love truly is and I can't think of anything better to teach your kids.
               I say this, not to deride those that chose a career over staying at home, but to point out that the choice to give up a career to raise children is not debasing, but elevating.  My mother continually proved that.  I can't think of a single person mother interacted with that didn't respect her.  The neat thing is, she treated everyone with an equal respect. 
               You don't realize just how much of an influence someone has until they are gone.  You see, my mother died when I was 13.  It was hard on all of us.  But I want to tell you of something that happened 3 years or so before that.  My mom died of abdominal cancer.  She fought it for about three years.  Before that, she had a very active role in our church.  She taught the Shepperd's class, the class for the handicapped, and they loved her.  You could walk by the classroom during Sunday school and hear the joy in their voices.  If you looked in from the back during the lesson, they would listen attentively to her every word, just as she listened to theirs.  She knew each of their names, what made them special, and so much more about each of them.  She was more than a teacher to them, she was their friend.  When she got sick, she had to give up teaching since she was usually weak from the Chemo.  Every week at church, we had her students come up and ask about her and when she would return.  This went on for the entire time she was sick.  A lot of those special students lived in a community for them ten miles from the church and the church sent a van to pick them up every Sunday.  When mom died, we asked if they wanted to come and instead of the usual single 15 passenger van, we had to send 2 on 2 trips.  It seems, that there were quite a few who had come intermittently while mom was teaching and didn't return when she was unable to continue.  They filled three full pews and cried almost as hard as we did.
           Mom's funeral is one of the few times I ever remember our church being filled to overflowing.  You never realize how many people someone touches until they are gone.  The most amazing thing to me happened while I was home on leave a couple of years ago.  I was having a conversation with my brother in law and we were having a frank discussion about our wives.  He told me, "your mom must have been a remarkable woman to have raised such a great wife as my wife.  I can see her strength in your sister and really wish I could have met her."  This blew me away.  Nearly twenty years after her passing, and she is still influencing people and making them want to meet her.  I can only hope that I have half the influence and respect that she did.  Who do I want to see most when I get to heaven?  My mom is at the top of that list.  I hope that the line to meet Jesus is really long so I have that much more time to spend with my mom and introduce her to everyone she has touched. 
              Thanks for reading and, as always, have a great day.

My Dad: The unrecognized role model

            This week keeps getting more expensive.  Yesterday, I found out that it would cost more to fix the dryer than it would cost to buy a new one.  The funny thing is, it is still usable, although annoying to the extreme.  So we are going to save up and buy a new one when the newest models come out (we will by the previous years models on sale).  Hopefully it will last that long. 
             With that in mind it is time to move on to today's topic.  With everything that has been happening, I have realized just how much I learned from my dad.  I have a decent understanding of how septic systems work.  I understand home plumbing and can do a lot of the electrical without getting shocked to bad.  I have a decent understanding of what it takes to run a garden and the list goes on.  I saw a lot of different repairs and projects with my dad and he taught me about most of them.  The funny thing is, I don't remember paying that much attention while they were going on, but I remember the lessons and what they meant. 
               These practical lessons are what has really stuck with me and shaped a lot of what makes my dad to me.  Sure, I remember some of the games we played together, but most of my memories with my dad are centered around jobs I did with him.  Watching him work and his interaction with those he worked for and with, shaped a lot of how I approach things today.  I can't remember dad ever uttering a single cuss word or speaking badly of anyone.  The closest he ever got to talking badly about someone was when he referred to people as characters.  You know, "that guy sure is a character."  You may not have known whether he meant it in a good or bad way, but you knew that whoever he was talking about wasn't playing with a full deck. 
              This isn't to say dad didn't have his opinions, he just kept them to himself unless he was able to make a change.  I can't imagine that anyone could find anything disagreeable about dad if he ran for public office, other than the fact that I don't think he would want the job.  I think the lessons I learned most about dad is, he has that innate ability to make you think about what it is you are going to do and say with out saying a thing.
             Where does that lead me?  It leads me to the conclusion that dad didn't just claim to be a Christian, he lived it.  I can't think of another living person that has had such a quiet influence on my definition of Christian than my dad.  I am not saying that I don't know any other good Christians, just that my dad has shown me that definition his entire life.  Why do I say this now?  Mainly because it has only recently come to my attention.  That's right, I didn't recognize the role model I had growing up until I was trying to be one to my own kids.  Somehow or another, I failed to see that there was the model of what I want to be today trying to pass it on to me as I grew up.  So I guess, what I got to say is, dad, forgive me for ignoring you and thank you for living in God's ways and giving me that example to recognize today.
              OK, I am getting all choked up.  Thank you for reading and, as always, have a great day.

An answer for a post.

            I have been agonizing over what to write on today and have had no luck in coming up with a subject.  The fact is that I am a slightly out of it today.  The sad thing is, I really don't know why.  I slept decently last night and am fairly alert, but I just can't seem to concentrate.  I guess that is why I am not doing to well today on this.  That being said, I will simply paste in an excerpt from the answers to my sons.
           These answers are in response to the book "Questions for My Father" by Vincent Staniforth.  My boys have been choosing questions they want answers to and I have been writing those answers.  The questions vary widely so I have chosen to share the answer to What happened on your favorite holiday?  Please read below

I guess the first thing I have to answer here is, what is my favorite holiday?  The answer to that would be thanksgiving.    This leads us to ask, why?  This is what I think this question is really asking.  What happened on your favorite holiday to make it your favorite holiday?  I can’t name a single event, more like a series of events.

In order for you to fully understand my answer, I am going to have to give you a bit of background.  The first thing you need to know is that, while I grew up in Iowa, my mother was from Wyoming.  Add to that, the fact that my mother’s side was from all over, but mainly Nebraska.  The first meant that my mom didn’t get to see her mom all that often and the second meant that she got to see her cousins even less.  My dad, on the other hand, had nearly all of his relatives within a radius of about 75 miles.  This meant that we saw my dad’s side of the family quite often and spent every Sunday at my Grandma’s house.

Sure, my mom’s family had a reunion every other year and so we got to see our relatives then, but what did we do in between?  This is where Thanksgiving comes in.  In the years that we didn’t have a family reunion, we spent Thanksgiving week with my mom’s mom.  We got to see our aunts and uncles and spend a holiday with grandma.  Grandma Skinner was a very good cook and we always ate well.  But it was the fact that we got to see her and our cousins that made it worth it.

That is really only part of the answer.  What about the years we didn’t go and see Grandma Skinner?  We went to see Grandma Ibbotson.  We would get together with dad’s sister and our cousin and have a Thanksgiving meal that I envy to this day.  My cousin and I would end up fighting over the last piece of lemon meringue pie.  We would decorate Grandma’s house for Christmas.  Then I would watch football with grandpa and we would nibble on pies and snacks and turkey and nearly everything the rest of the day.  My dad and Uncle Larry would end up snoring in the living room driving everyone to the dining room or kitchen.  Sometimes I would go out and play football with the neighbors.  In all, I have really fond memories of it all. 

While Christmas is always fun with the gifts and of course getting together with my cousins at Grandma’s house, Thanksgiving was the holiday I most looked forward to.  I knew I was going to get to spend it with at least one of my grandmothers.  But if I had to choose a single Thanksgiving to remember it would be the Thanksgiving the year after my mom died.  I was only 14 at the time and my Grandpa had died that spring.  In all it had been a rough year.  To make it worse, it was also the year for us to go and see Grandma Skinner.  Normally I looked forward to that trip.  Between losing mom and Grandpa Ibbotson, I really wasn’t in much of a celebrating mood.  I was also old enough to realize that Grandma really didn’t need to have her son somewhere else for Thanksgiving that year.  I was prepared for the worst as I expected dad to tell us that we weren’t going to Wyoming that year.  Instead, dad invited Grandma Ibbotson to join us.  So we all went to Wyoming for Thanksgiving.  Instead of having one grandma cooking Thanksgiving dinner, we had two.  They got along so well, that we ended up doing it again 2 years later and Grandma Ibbotson got adopted by my mom’s family and was permanently invited to their family reunion.  And the best part of that Thanksgiving?  I got a lemon meringue pie all to myself. 

So, when I think of Thanksgiving, I think of family coming together in good times and in bad and making things better.  I think of good food and better friendships.  I think of laughter and joy in dark times and sighs of stuffed contentment in lean times.  It is said that Christmas brings out the best in everyone, but Thanksgiving brings out the strongest desire for family and, to me, family is one of the most important things in the world.

What event led to Thanksgiving being my favorite holiday?  The gathering of my family.  Thanksgiving wasn’t about the turkey and the food, but about a sharing of time and cares with family.  That is what Thanksgiving is.  That is what is supposed to happen on thanksgiving.

Thanks for reading and, as always, have a great day

Halloween: Scaring Others Hurts.

         So yesterday was Halloween.  Took the boys trick or treating and they had a blast.  My oldest decided that nothing was going to keep him from going to any house and getting what they were giving.  A few of the houses had some scary stuff going on and he went up.  He may have had his head on a swivel, but up he went.  It was our 6 year old that would stare wide eyed at a house and in no uncertain term inform us that he was not going to that house.  Surprisingly, our 3 year old went to a few scary houses as well.  In all, it was a good night.
         I remember as a kid what trick or treating involved.  Usually, it meant going to my Grandma's house and going around her neighborhood.  Mainly because I grew up in the country and didn't have any neighbors close enough.  Our costumes were less elaborate and usually homemade.  The great thing was, what my mom lacked in ability she made up for with creativity.  I remember the year we went as pirates.  Mom took some pieces of cloth we had lying around and sewed a jar lid ring to the side and placed it on our heads as a bandanna.  thus the jar ring acted as an earring and coupled with our winter boots, torn jeans, and some of her old blouses over our regular clothes, we were quite the pirates. 
         After my Mom passed, things got weird.  Our costume were left up to us to design and make.  this meant our costumes became simpler and less inventive.  Mostly because we waited until we got home from school on Halloween to come up with our costumes. 
         Then there were the years I refer to as my hooligan years.  Those were the years that my friends and I became that group that parents warned their kids about.  The ones that scared the kids hoping they would drop their loot and run so we could get the candy.  Most people frowned on teenagers who trick or treated, we just wanted our share.  I really regret those days.  It is one of those things that I am not particularly proud of.  The most ironic part of it all is, not one kid ever dropped their Candy.  They may have let out a satisfying scream and ran in mid air while spinning in a circle (which, by the way, is even funnier than it sounds), but they never once let go of their candy.  That brings up another pointer for those of you who think that this may be fun to do, never scare a kid that is carrying anything that can be used as a weapon.  This includes, plastic swords, baseball bats, wands, brooms, sticks, or anything that can be swung.  Even though they may break when they hit you, it still stings and the smaller it is the nastier the bruise.  The one thing they won't swing is their candy.  Even if it is in one of those solid plastic pumpkins, they won't use it for defense.  Apparently, the mere thought of losing a single piece of candy is more frightening than that apparition that just jumped out in front of them.  They'll break that sword they just got on your shin, but they won't lose a single piece of candy.
         I guess the moral of all this is to just have fun.  If you want to scare kids, be blatant about it.  Make sure the parents are aware it is going on and be prepared to have a ton of bruises the next day.  Kids can be vicious.
       Until next time, have a great day and don't be afraid to be yourself.

Happy Hump Day: The Joys of Parenthood?

     Let me begin by letting everyone know that I passed the PFA.  If you want more details, you have to comment.  Now on to the meat of today's post.
     Happy Hump Day!  Today we are talking about the joys of parenthood.  OK, who am I kidding.  No matter how much we love our kids, or enjoy raising them, there is no such thing as "the joys of parenthood."  Think about it.  Make a list of all the activities you loved to do before you had kids.  Now, start crossing off any items that you can't afford to do because of kids.  Your list should be cut in half at this point.  If it isn't, then either you were a really lame couple, or you were a really cheap date.  Now cross off anything that you can't do with your kids either because it's illegal for them to do, or you would be a bad parent if you let them (skydiving comes to mind, but that probably went away in the first round).  You should now be down to just a few activities.  Now, scratch off anything that takes more than 2 hours.  This is about the time you end up with after you figure out how long it will take you to get to your date location and back to the baby sitters so you don't go over that 3 hour time limit.  If you are taking the kids on this event you are also limited to two hours because anything over that and you are no longer at the event, you are the event as you chase your kid in what ever direction(s) (s)he decides to go.
      OK, so what you did as singles, is no longer possible with kids.  That doesn't mean there is no joy, does it?  I mean, you just change what activities you do.  You go to age appropriate things now.  All this means is that where ever you go, you end up watching the kids have fun in a sterile environment, talking to other adults without looking at them (this is mainly because you are all trying to pick out your child from the crowd to make sure they don't kill another kid), while being bored out of your mind.  Oh, and the conversations all go something like the following:
    "So, yeah, we found that...Bobby, you put that down!...anyway, we found that things are a bit cheaper at Walmart, but....No Bobby, you leave her alone....we prefer Target."
    "I so understand....Suzy, you let go of her hair!  I don't care who had it first.."
   "Bobby, stop that, get over here and sit down.  Go on, you were saying,"
   "Yes, I really don't like Walmart either."
     Not really what I would call quality conversation.  It doesn't matter what you start talking about, you always end up discussing where things are cheaper, what place gives better deals, or which museum is more kid appropriate.  When you do manage to have an adult discussion, you inevitably get the kid pulling on your leg and repeating, "daddy," in an ever louder voice until you scream, "WHAT?" at the poor kid.  To which the inevitable reply is a "can I have, (you fill in the item)."  And by the way, when you scream that at your poor kid, (s)he inevitably cries and that single lady that is "cares so much" for kids and has never had any starts giving you the look that says you are a bad parent.
     The only "joy of parenthood" that I can see is when the rug rats are sleeping.  Yeah, they're cute when they do that.  Or, when they discover a new ability, like walking, I suppose that is pretty neat.  Or how about, when they discover they can't do something by trying, like blowing on their own belly.  I guess that's pretty funny.  Or maybe when they snuggle up to you and tell you they love you.  I suppose I might call that a joy. 
       Maybe it is a bit of a trade off.  Sure, I can't go out with my friends every weekend.  Maybe the wife and I don't get to go on long dates to fun and interesting new places.  We just appreciate the quiet times together all the more.  Maybe we don't go to the science museum and get to read all the exhibits and spend hours watching educational films, but watching the kids eyes light up when they get to figure out how a windmill works by blowing on it, is maybe just a little bit better.  Yes, you have to find new ways to stretch the dollar, but now that every dollar counts, you find that you have a bit more to spend on what matters.  Maybe you don't eat out every night, but you learned how to make awesome homemade mac & cheese.
    Yup, parenting changes things.  From the non-parent's point of view, it is a bad deal.  From a parent's point of view, let's just say, I feel for those who don't ever want to have kids.  They are a powerful influence.  They are also a lot of fun to play with.  If a single guy goes into a toy store and buys Nerf guns, he's a little weird.  If a Dad does the same thing, he's fun.  Yup, I love being a dad.  I stand corrected, there are joys of parenthood, they are just different from (and I think better than) the joys of not having kids.
      Hope you enjoyed today's post.  Stay tuned next week for a new one.  Have a great day.

Happy Hump Day: Yes, Dear.

          Happy Hump Day!  You'd think I'd be happier since it is my birthday.  I'm not.  At first, I was excited.  After all, it is my birthday.  Then I realized that it meant I was older.  Not something I like being reminded of (especially since I am one of the older (if not the oldest) military guy in my office).  Yup, I am now 37.  That's right, 37 years of making mistakes and learning from them.  You'd think, by now, I would have learned everything there is to know about making mistakes, but I find I keep making new ones.  I have heard from some of my more learned (I'll just use that term instead of older from now on, I think it sounds better) colleagues and friends that you keep making mistakes.  Something about no one is perfect.  Seems to me that there can only be a finite amount of mistakes one can make.  Seems logical anyway.  But then you throw in the illogical (i.e. women) and the number of mistakes grow at a rapid rate.
        Just when you think you have the rules figured out (usually just before puberty) you realize girls are interesting and the rules completely change.  No longer is it cool to dig a hole in the ground to bury your GI Joes.  No longer is that ratty game shirt worthy of wearing.  No longer is it better to have your fly open than to be seen with a girl.  Now, you have to figure out what it is women want.  In your infinite wisdom at that age (now a teen), you think you can figure it out given enough time.  By the time you realize that you'll never figure out women (and any man who claims he has is either a fool or was once one), you are either to old to be interested in them (that age right before you die), or you are married to one and the rules have changed yet again. 
          That's right, the rules you used to get her to date you, love you, and then marry you (though not always in that order) changed as soon as she said I do.  At this point every man has a decision to make.  Either you give up and roll with the punches because no matter what you do, you will anger her at least once a week and have to apologize.  You don't even have to be there.  Sometimes, you aren't even remotely responsible.  For example, I have had days where my wife was angry at me all day because in her dreams I did something to make her mad.  How the heck am I supposed to control that?!  Admittedly, she has gotten better about it, now she only gets mad when my dream self blatantly cheats on her. 
           Oh, did I mention that half of the time, they refuse to tell you why they are mad?  That's right, we have to guess.  Us guys, the ones who took three weeks to take the hint that you wanted us to ask you out.  The human beings that still haven't figured out that you want the toilet seat down, even though you've mentioned it for the last 20 years.  Yup, we have to guess.  And that just makes them madder, usually because we end up listing things they didn't know about, but mostly because we aren't telepathic and can't figure out exactly where we went wrong.  Then when they finally tell us why they were mad in the first place, you find it was either something we could do nothing about, something so minor that it wasn't worth mentioning, or sometimes (a small percentage really) something legitimate.  Then you factor in the rule that no rule is set in stone (except that one rule that is that you don't learn about until to late), and you are in trouble.  Yup, we men can't win. 
           That being said, I still have a lot to learn.  As is obvious from my post, I have said to much and now I have angered the one I love.  At least this time I don't have to guess what I did.  I just ranted on the wrong thing, exaggerated stuff she didn't find funny, and talked about women in a manner that some might say is disrespectful no matter how true.  Yup, I am in trouble.  Time to go home and take my licks and do the head bobbing yes dear.  You know the move guys.  The one where you bob your head and say, "yes, dear," in acknowledgement as the woman you love tells you just how badly you screwed up.  You hope to learn from it (I obviously didn't in this case), but you listen and hope you will at least get a good night kiss out of it. 
        Ladies, I hope the lesson you learn from this is simply that, no matter what he says or does, you have more power over him than anybody else in the world.  When you smile, you can get him to do anything.  When you frown and snap, he does it faster though.  Just saying.
        The above was written at an attempt at humor.  Only the author was harmed (hopefully) as a result of this post.  Ignore all resemblance to real life as it is strictly a coincidence.  Thank you.  Have a wonderful day and ...  what?  Yes, dear.

Happy Hump Day: Scheduled to the max

        I know it is Happy Hump Day, but I have some stuff I need to get out of the way first.  As I informed you yesterday...I said hold your horses, I will try and be funny in a minute....anyway, as I was saying, yesterday I informed you I tried out for a part in my churches Christmas Musical, "Annie!", I find out today if I got the part I want or a different part.  I didn't get a call back, but that doesn't mean I didn't get the part.  Next, I want to let you know that the link over there ------> is a link to what was formally "Joe's Story Time."  I decided to change the name to the title of the story and then I added a new post to it.  Check it out if you want.  I actually started writing that story years ago and have since updated it to match my developing style. 
     Now to the funny (I hope).  There is only so much you can do when you discover that life has been planning something for you with out your consent or knowledge.  This has happened to me on several occasions and continues to happen regularly.  I think, "hey, Tuesday is clear, I think I will mow the lawn Tuesday and enjoy today (Saturday) with the family."  Good plan, at least it was to me.  Then life raises its head in the guise of my lovely wife and says, "Oh, by the way, your son has soccer practice and you need to help his brothers with homework, make dinner, and there are clothes in the wash that need put into the dryer.  Thanks."  Your welcome.  The grass isn't up to my knees yet, so I guess it's OK.  It wasn't until I look back at the previous week and realize I should have seen this coming.  My boy has been going to practice for 3 weeks now, so I should know the schedule.  The kids did just start school, so I should have guessed they might have homework.  OK, I get it, I made a bad plan.  Can we just move on?
     It seems that no matter what I do, that period of time from September to June (also known as the "school year"), becomes a practice of what to do when.  Or more accurately, what day isn't there something scheduled.  For us, it is.....let me think about this for a minute.....Oh, yeah, Saturday....no wait, we have games Saturday....Friday!.....No, that's....wait, yeah, Friday....After 4pm.....when the kids get home from school....after dinner.....so, that doesn't really work then....Sunday?....afternoon....between football and....OK, I give.  I think if we skip football on Sunday (sorry dear), we might be able to get an hour or two together as a family to go out and do something. 
      What is it with scheduling things these days.  Growing up, I felt connected and had a great time and we only had things scheduled for Sunday's and Wednesday nights.  It seems these days that unless you have things scheduled for every day of the week, you are depriving your kids.  Really?  Do they really need to remain that busy.  What happened to doing chores, cleaning house, studying, and just spending time with family?  I don't think most kids could tell you what Uno is, let alone what a family game night is.
     Speaking of Uno, why is it that young kids are the cruelest players?  Take my 6 year old for example.  We try to avoid sitting next to him because he plays any mean card he can as soon as he can.  I understand that it is part of the game and most of us do it, but does he really have to giggle maniacally and then look at you so innocently afterwards?  At least my 10 year old has the decency to look evil when he plays mean.  My ten year old is another story altogether.  He actually actively plots out who and when he is going to attack.  I have actually seen him go through three wild cards to play his single blue card because it was a draw two and he really needed to play it on his brother.  It was just a little disturbing.  Then my 8 year old just plays to get rid of cards.  He may have the basic premise down, but he tends to lose sight of the fun.  Then again, he does seem to win quite often.  It is amazing just how much you can learn of your kids personalities over a game.
     I guess I just got lucky that I grew up in a home that loved playing games.  It is where I learned how to play by the rules and accept challenges.  I think that this is what I am trying to teach my sons.  My wife tells me to be nice and let them win sometimes.  I just can't do that.  I don't recall my dad ever letting me win.  I had to earn my wins.  Sometimes I think my dad had to have cheated as much as he won.  But now I know that he just didn't take it easy on me or my siblings.  I don't think I ever beat my dad at chess and he regularly beat me at Cribbage.  Dad was and is a competitor at heart.  We all love games and can't wait to play again.  I try and teach my boys to play games all the time.  Sometimes, we just can't find the time due to schedules and life in this day and age in general.
    Well, This may not have been that funny, but I enjoyed writing it.  Right now, life is calling and letting me know it is time to go.  Thank you for reading and keep playing.  Have a great day.

Hapy Hump Day: Hedge Happens

  It's Happy Hump Day.  Today we serve up yet another lesson in humility learned the hard way.  We all have days where things seem to go exactly the way we want them.  Those are the days most likely to end in a ball of flame.  Usually because we decide to push our good fortune just a little bit beyond what it can handle.  It is the lesson that goes like this.  Just because all the hard stuff went well, don't expect the easy stuff to end well.
   The day I learned this lesson was when I was a teen in Iowa.  I still didn't have my license and I had just gotten permission to hunt without adult supervision.  Thus it was that I headed out looking for some sport.  Namely, squirrels.  Early on, the day went well.  I found a spot and got my limit before lunch.  My dog had joined me and we started walking home.  Along the way, we took sometime out and did a little target practice and continued on.  It was a perfect day.  After we got home, I dressed the squirrels (skinned and cut them up for you non hunters) and put them in the freezer.  It was only about one in the afternoon, so I had the entire day ahead of me.
       I was all smiles until dad pointed to the wood pile and informed me that we needed wood split for the next few days.  I figured, that since the day was going so well, how bad could it be.  I only had about 10 logs to split.  For those of you who have never had to split wood, fell lucky.  It is hard work.  Even if you are dealing with a semi soft wood like fir, you still have to put a good amount of effort into it.  This means that when you get to hard woods like oak, you have your work cut out for you.  As I started splitting the wood, my spirits started to rise.  That was until I got to log number five.  It was only about a foot in diameter which meant I could quarter it and I would be done.  It wasn't until the ax bounced off of the log and nearly hit me in the face that I noticed what kind of wood it was.  Hedge.  I heard that groan from those of you who have dealt with it.  For those of you (once again, lucky people), who have never dealt with this particular wood, it is also called Iron Wood and for very good reason.  Most wood, you could split a couple of trees before you need to sharpen your axe.  Not Iron wood.  You don't use and axe on iron wood, you use wedges and a 12 pound sledge hammer.  Iron wood refuses to split except under extreme circumstances and you only use the chainsaw to cut it down to workable lengths if you want the chainsaw to last more than one season.  That's also when I realized that the remaining 5 logs were also iron wood.  I was doomed.  I drug out the sledge and wedges and got to work.  By supper time, I had the first log split and had two wedges buried in the second.  That's when dad informed me that he was thinking about getting a hydraulic log splitter.  I begged and he smiled.  We never got one and to this day I can't look at a hunk of hedge with out shuddering.  I have since split a lot of wood of all types, but nothing has ever been as tough as those 6 pieces of hedge.  It took me almost 4 days to get it done and I learned my lesson.  Just when you think things are going great and will always be easy, hedge happens.
     Have a wonderful day.

A quick update and not much more

  So I decided to skip manic Monday this week because Monday was the fourth and I really don't feel like ranting right now.  It may have something to do with the fact that I just spent an hour crawling around in a hot tank and am tired and sweaty because of it.  Or it may not be, I don't know.  Anyway, I hope you all had a wonderful 4th of July and still have the same number body parts you started with and haven't lost any use of them.  My family survived, mostly.  Turns out my second came down with Strep on the fourth.  I took him to the doctor this morning and got it confirmed and got him meds.  The poor boy didn't even get any of the ice cream I made.  Other than that, is was a great weekend.  I thin this will end today's notes as I am tired and really don't want to write any more.  Have a great day.

Teenagers, bowling balls, and black powder

  Since I was busy yesterday, I figured that I would make up Happy Hump Day today.  This week, with the 4th of July around the corner, I figured a Fireworks laden story is a must.
   The year was...let's just say a few years ago and leave it at that.  The setting was my home.  I was young...er than I am now.  We had made a trip down to Missouri and picked up the most fireworks we had ever gotten.  We actually filled dad's trunk.  It was impressive.  We had firecrackers, bottle rockets, mortars, you name it, dad had it.  We also figured that in order to do it safely we should have a bit of extra fuse.  Turns out, dad ended up with 500 yards of cannon fuse.  We had a great fourth and used almost every piece of fireworks we had (I think we had 3 bottle rockets and a couple strings of firecrackers left).  What about the canon fuse, you ask?  Yup, you guessed it, we had at least 450 yards of cannon fuse left as well.  And that's where this story really begins.
     The first thing you need to understand is that my dad had a memory like a rusty steel trap.  By that I mean that it was usually stuck open, but would snap shut on the weirdest memories at the weirdest times.  In other words, he would forget about a lot of irrelevant things and you could count on him forgetting things that held no day to day relevance (until he needed to remember it).  This meant that us kids used it to our advantage.  For instance, we knew that dad would forget that he had a dozen cookies and that thus we were clear to eat them.  This worked most times.  We just had to take note of how many dad had eaten and whether or not he might want more.  And thus we knew he would forget about the roll of cannon fuse.  Especially if he didn't see it every day.  Thus about a month later I pulled it out from the back of the shed so my friends and I could experiment.
    After determining that it was near useless as a fire starter, and that its burn rate was consistent (I can't remember what it was), we decided to use it for more interesting experiments.  About that same time, my friend John found an old piece of sewer pipe in our local junkyard.  It was about 3 ft long and a good 6 inches in diameter.  He also discovered a small cache of used bowling balls in the same junkyard.  After parting with about $20 of our combined money, we had these in our possession.  At first we just stared at our new acquisitions.  We already knew the bowling balls were a snug fit in the pipe, but other than that we had no idea why we bought them.  That was until our friend Tom came along.
   "Buildin' a cannon?"  He asked innocently.
   I saw John's eyes go wide just as the light came on in my head.  "Yes...Yes we are."  We said simultaneously.
    At that point things began to happen rapidly.  We decided to build the cannon in the back of John's truck as we figured we wouldn't want to lift it after it was built (we couldn't fire it at home for obvious reasons).  Thus it was that with a lot of careful planning and thought (mainly a lot of guess work and nodding), we had a cannon sitting in John's truck.  Allow me to describe this work of 4 teenagers with limited resources (namely what we were able scrounge up or "borrow").  The base was a 3 ft by 3 ft square of concrete 12 inches thick (turns out dad had a few scrap 2x12's sitting in the barn) with a hunk of sewer pipe sticking out of it at roughly a 45 degree angle.  We had drilled a hole slightly larger than the cannon fuse we had into the pipe using a borrowed drill and drill bits.  As we stared at our creation while the cement dried we discussed where to go to test fire the cannon and what to use as propellant.  More precisely, whose father would unknowingly supply the propellant, since all of our fathers had black powder rifles at home.  We decided that since it was a group effort, we would all contribute equally.  Thus it was that we ended up in the middle of a field overlooking a pond with 6 one pound cans of black powder, 5 bowling balls, 450 feet of cannon fuse, and our homemade cannon.
     The next debate which reared its head was how much powder to use.  We argued for what must have been an hour before John insisted that we remove the cannon from the back of his truck prior to firing it.  He used the tried and true method of getting up a bunch of speed in reverse then slamming on the brakes.  The cannon managed to land upright and bury itself 4 inches into the soft field aimed in the general direction of the pond.  After John had moved his truck a good 50 ft from the cannon we commenced to load it.  As we poured in the powder we decided to fill it enough to cover the fuse hole and hide the concrete bottom.  This amount was approximately 1 can.  For those of you not familiar with black powder, a typical rifle uses less than 1/2 ounce of black powder and most cannons use maybe 1/2 pound to launch a 12 pound ball.  Our bowling balls were about 11 pounds and we used a full pound of black powder.  Because our fathers used black powder to hunt, we were familiar with how to load a black powder rifle and used those principles on the cannon.  Thus we used newspaper as wadding between the bowling ball and the powder.  After packing it in we shoved in the fuse and fed out enough so that we were behind Johns truck for the launch (turns out we were just chicken enough not to kill ourselves), and lit the fuse.
     Turns out, when you are waiting for an explosion, fuses burn really slow.  They also have a bad habit of reaching the explosive at the exact same time as you poke your head up to make sure it is still burning.  Thus I was able to witness the 6 ft flame as the bowling ball left the cannon with a roar.  It took me a few minutes to realize why the world was silent and an hour for the sound (ringing though it was) to return.  The bowling ball cleared the pond which was at least a quarter mile away and landed in a cloud of dust.  I observed my friends jump up and down for a few brief minutes in what I could only assume was celebration.  It was then that they realized they couldn't hear either.  As we inspected our cannon, we noticed that the based was not only cracked, but broken and buried in the field.  The barrel still smoking with remnants of burning newspaper hanging out of it.  When our hearing returned, we decided that the cannon should be returned to the junkyard from whence it came and that it was Tom's dad who lost a pound of black powder to "random events."

Boy's VS. Bulls: Sometimes when you win, you lose.

   It's happy Hump Day!  So, this is a story from my teenage years.  Yes, I had them and survived them...barely.  As you all should know, I am an avid fisherman.  What that has to do with this story is anyone's guess, but I thought I'd throw that out there.  Anyway, until I got my drivers license, I was stuck fishing ponds that I could either walk to, bike to, or that my dad drove me to.  Thus, my experience in fishing until I was 16 was limited to about a 5 mile radius.  The problem with this was that the largest pond within 5 miles was in the middle of a pasture with one of the meanest bulls I have ever had the pleasure of running from.  Let me correct that, it should read displeasure since it is kind of hard to be happy about trying to outrun 2 tons of angry beef while carrying 40 pounds of fishing tackle and poles.  This probably explains why the fishing was so darn good.  The good thing about the pond was that, once you got there, it was protected.  There was a fence around it and the cattle weren't allowed near it.  The pond was visible from the highway and we could see the fence around it.  That was the reason we were determined to fish it.
   I remember the first time we were actually able to fish it.  It took us 3 days of trying before we were actually able to reach the pond.  The first day was spent learning the speed of an angry bull.  Fast, darn fast.  From that data, we were able to determine just how far away the bull had to be for us to reach the fence before the bull could use us as horn ornaments.    We figured that if we added on a few yards as a "safety" margin we'd be fine.  The problem?  All of our calculations were done while we were unladen.  Turns out, we couldn't run near as fast when loaded down with the proper fishing gear.  We managed to forget this until we were 100 yards into the field on the second day. 
    "Does he seem to be gaining on us a bit quicker than yesterday?" John managed to ask between wheezes.
    "Yup," was my reply as I did a U-turn and headed back to the highway.
    I still remember the how glad I was when I was finally clear of the fence and couldn't smell the stench of chewn grass.  I never realized just how bad bull breath could be.  I was also unaware just how easy it could be to clear a 5 foot tall barbwire fence with 40 pounds of fishing gear at full speed.  When I finally caught up with John a mile down the road, we decided we had to throw out the previous days data and recalculate.  Thus we spent the better part of the day on research.  We were later accused of teasing the bull, in our defense, neither of us were that stupid. 
    Our final conclusion was that we would just have to wait until the bull was at the far side of the pasture before we attempted the crossing.  That moment finally arrived about mid morning.  We decided that rather than starting at an all out sprint we would make our way in a controlled fashion until the bull decided to move toward us.  Thus we were halfway to the pond when we noticed the freight train en route.  Within 2 steps we were at top speed and we managed to clear the fence quite quickly.  We were elated, we were finally going to be able to fish this beautiful pond. 
    Only 2 things ruined that day of fishing.  First off, after about an hour and 10 fish later, we realized the bull wasn't leaving the fence and we had no way to get back to the highway and our bikes.  The second thing occurred when we were finally able to get the farmers attention and have him save us.  As he was driving us out of the field, he taught us both a valuable lesson.
    "You know, if you'd of asked," he said calmly, "I'd have moved ol' Brutus into the north pasture for the week.  Next time just call me before you head out there."
     At least we got our exercise.

Dad's 2 ton Gun

   Happy Hump Day!  Continuing with the theme this week, I will now regale you with more dad.  The fact that my father is a plumber, electrician, and generally good guy has led to many interesting encounters.  Dad has many acquaintances through this line of work and nearly all of them have the same opinion of him.  This has led to a host of connections that has helped dad throughout his life.  One of the most interesting to me, is his relationship with the district DNR agent. 
       For those of you unfamiliar with this term, the DNR agent is the person responsible for enforcing the fish and wildlife laws.  In other words he makes sure hunters and fishermen don't do anything illegal (which is why most hunters and fishermen avoid the DNR agent at all costs).  It's kind of like when you are driving a fast sports care, you tend to avoid the police even if you aren't doing anything wrong.  Well, because dad does all of his plumbing and electrical, they know each other well. 
      The best example of this relationship occurred my freshman year in high school.  At the time, dad had a 60 something ford truck.  To say this truck was interesting, is to be kind.  The previous owner had hand painted it with house paint a bright blue with a white cab.  From a distance (a mile is about right) it looked OK, up close, the brush strokes really came out, which is fine on a work of art, not so much on a truck.  Anyway, since the truck was built in the 60's, it was made with steel.  Now-a-days safety is based on safety features (airbags, seat belts, crumple zones, etc.), but back then, it was generally believed that what made a car safe was how much damage it could drive away from.  Trucks from the era could probably have taken on a bulldozer and won.  Knowing this, and adding in the fact that we were usually scraping by, you can understand dad's philosophy when it came to what to do when a deer decided to step onto the road in front of him.  Most people slam on the brakes and brace themselves.  Not dad.  When he was in that truck, he would down shift and step on the gas (if he wasn't already at top speed). 
     "More humane to hit 'em at high speed and go for the instant kill," was the reasoning.  So it came as no surprise when dad came home with an 8 point buck in the back of the truck the night before deer season opened.
     Any other day of the year, dad probably would not have informed the DNR.  Since Deer season started the next day and his friend might decide to stop by and see what was being butchered, dad figured he ought to call.  So he called his friend, the DNR agent.  This is the only time I can ever remember him showing up at our place in an official capacity.  He walked around the truck and looked over the deer on all sides.  Did a lot of frowning and finally asked his first question.
   "Any damage to the truck?"
   Dad simply smiled and said, "Think I need to realign my head lights, but they may have been like that before I hit the darn thing."
  "How fast were you going?"
  "Don't really know, I was speeding up at the time."
  "How many is that now?"
  "I don't know, about one a year a suppose, say 5."
  At this point, the DNR agent just shook his head and said, "Alright, I can tell you didn't shoot him, but I really ought to classify that truck as a hunting implement."
   Dad just smiled and shook the agents hand as he left.  From that day on, though, the Truck was called the 2 ton gun. 
   Enjoy your day and have a wonderful week.
  

My dad was cool?

  Day two of the Dad honorarium.  Don't worry, He's still kicking and I hope he still is for years to come.  Anyway, I was stuck for a bit on what to write today.  I really haven't came up with anything substantial.  I figure I'll just share a few of the things I slowly learned over the years.  Stuff he never told me until I either discovered it and asked, or someone else mentioned it.  For instance, it wasn't until I was almost 30 that I discovered that dad's first new car was a Hemi Cuda he bought while in the Air Force.  I discovered this when we were going through a stack of old pictures we had while I was home on leave.  I pull out this picture of dad in front of this shiny new car. 
    "Who's car is this?"  I asked.
    Dad simply looked at it and said, "Mine."
   No elaboration, just the simple declaration that at one time, dad was cool.  I already had an inkling of that from looking at his year books from High school that Grandma so nicely provided us kids.  Turned out, that dad was a stud in high school.  He may not have played sports, but he and his friends ran the school.  The notes left in the aforementioned yearbooks ranged from the simple miss you, to the elaborate remembrances and nearly tear filled good byes.  And nearly every single girl in his class had something to say beyond the compulsory nice miss you note.  Needless to say, finding out dad was cool was one of the many things we found out.  The few things he volunteered were innocuous and safe.  Reflecting on what I tell my boys, I can only imagine just what kinds of things he got into.
   Now I know some of you are wondering, "what about the Cuda?  He obviously didn't have it when you were growing up.  What happened to it?"  In the same conversation that we discovered he owned it, he admitted that he had to sell it during the 70's fuel crisis since he couldn't afford gas for it.  He admitted to missing it. and regretting selling it. 
    His response when I asked if he would have let me drive it in high school?  "Are you serious?!"  Thanks dad.  I love you too.
   Well, I think that about covers it.  Just remember, every dad may have been cool at one time.  Mine still is, it just took me 30 years to realize it.  Have a wonderful day.

Drivers and the odd stuff.

  So it's happy hump day and I have yet to decide on a topic.  I guess it just isn't coming to me.  The blank is deep and wide and I just can't seem to find a way across it.  Anyway, the fact is that I usually do this at work during a lull in the action (there tends to be a lot of those here), but that also means that I get interrupted and sometimes derailed by other conversations.  Unfortunately, today is one of those days where the conversation is either unrepeatable and Thus I am distancing myself as much as possible, or it is on a subject I care nothing about.  Either way, it isn't helping much other than to give me something to cite as unhelpful.

   Let's talk about cars and the people who drive them.  Seems to me that the instant someone gets a driving license they suddenly get a second personality.  That nice girl who is always considerate of others becomes a rage filled speed demon that has to take the entire highway.  The punk, who is always trying to find new and interesting ways to skirt the laws, is now the highway vigilante that drives at the speed limit next to the grandma who can't find the gas pedal.  The law abiding neighbor suddenly finds that the horn has a nice ring to it and is trying to determine exactly the sex of the fly that died on your bumper by using his brights and getting as close as possible..  And it turns out that you are the only one on the road that knows how to drive.  You commonly hear yourself saying things like, "the gas is the pedal on the right!"  "Look at that speed demon!"  "Get off my bumper!"  Etc.  The funny thing is, everyone is driving with the exact same attitude, "My way is right, your way is wrong, and get off the road."  No one is immune.  I like to call it, the I-Am-Right syndrome.

   I believe it can be traced back to high school.  This is that age where you discover that your parents are old and uncool, teachers don't know everything, the world is out to get you, and the opposite sex is worth staring at (among other things).  And for some reason, we decided that this would be an appropriate time to introduce these confused, self absorbed, and egotistical beings to an automobile.  Who is the idiot who thought of that.  Let's put someone who thinks that they know it all, have no fear, and think they will live forever in command of a 2000 pound piece of metal and flammable materials that can go 100 mph.  Who else thinks this is a bad Idea.  What makes this even more absurd is that we expect people who can barely pay attention to a teacher for 10 minutes to be able to concentrate enough to operate these deathtraps on the road with other people who are the exact same way.  So let me see if I got everything.  Large metal object with a combustible fuel, traveling at highway speeds, requiring concentration and coordination to operate.  Give it to a person that: Has no concept of courtesy, has a 30 second attention span, believes him/herself immortal, and believes that they know it all.  Granted, not all kids are this way, but let's be honest, most are.  If you think otherwise, try this little test.  Give your kid a tennis ball and a golf ball.  Have them balance them on the backs of their hands and watch a movie of your choosing.  Tell them they have to keep the balls balanced on their hands and that you are going to ask 10 questions about the movie at the end.  Make them watch 15 minutes of the movie and then ask them questions about the movie.  Make the questions simple like what is the name of the secondary character, or what color car were they driving.  This is equivalent to what you have to do while driving.  I'm willing to be they can't get all 10 questions right or that they failed to keep the balls balanced.  Now for the fun part.  Let them do it to you.  I am kind of afraid to find out how I do.  Especially since I just made all of this up and have no clue how well this works.  Sounds interesting though doesn't it.   Have a wonderful day.

Mother's Day and other thoughts

      So it's Friday.  This weekend should be interesting.  With my mother in law in town, we will be celebrating mothers day and enjoying a night out.  I am looking forward to it.  We still have no clue what we are going to do tomorrow, but I suppose we will figure it out.  The good news is, I am done with my friends bathroom project.  We finished the plumbing and major part of the walls.  All that is left for him to do is the finishing (trim, drywall, etc.).  I am so relieved.  This afternoon, I may end up helping a friend move depending on when I get off of work.  But enough about my day and weekend.

      With the death of Osama Bin Laden, I am having mixed feelings.  As a Christian, I know I should not take delight in someones death.  I feel I should have some sadness at the death of another human being.  I have delved into the Bible and found that, while the old testament advocates the death penalty in many cases (stoning is a death penalty), the new testament is ominously quiet on it.  As I read more deeply I find that the overarching theme of the new testament is forgiveness and redemption and this is contrary to the death penalty. 

      On the other side, as an American, I am supposed to be happy that justice is served.  I am supposed to celebrate that the architect of so much death and destruction is dead.  I am happy that it is over, but am I happy he is dead?  I just don't know.  I don't know if I can truly keep from being happy about this or if I can truly feel remorse over his death.  I am so confused on it.  I think I need to talk to someone.  Maybe I'll talk to pastor Paul about it Sunday.

     So my wife asked me what I was getting her for Mother's Day.  My response was simple.  I am taking her to Italy for 11 days and I flew her mother out here for Mother's day, what more does she want?  I may still get her flowers and a card, but maybe not.  Since she reads this, I won't say if or what I am doing if anything, she will just have to guess.  Ha ha, deal with it dear!  On that note, I will give my pondering on my mother.

    My mother was a wonderful woman.  Her life was cut short by cancer when I was just 13 and it meant my life was forever changed.  But this isn't about my life after her death, but before it.  It's about her and what she meant to me.  My mother was always calm.  With four boys of my own, I have no idea how she did it.  She was always smiling and courteous, even to those annoying door to door salesmen.  I believe she would have been an awesome diplomat.  She could get a Jehovah's witness to leave within minutes and make them feel good about leaving and happy to have met her.  She was also a hard worker.  The garden was hers.  She weeded it, watered it, and harvested it and it was a huge garden.  We always were able to can enough to last us until the following years crops came in.  She also cared for the animals.  She milked goats, fed chickens and hogs, and made sure we had what we needed.  She also taught us how to do all of that.  She wasn't the greatest cook in the world.  I have mentioned to many of you how she burned hard boiled eggs, the other side of that is, she was always trying to learn.  She actually was a pretty decent cook.  When she had the opportunity she did a decent job and was always trying to improve.  She also kept a relatively clean house.  I say relatively simply because, how clean can you keep a house with 4 kids and a husband that uses every level surface as a storage area.  Never mind that the house was 100 years old and had issues of its own.

     Simply put, my mother was a wonderful woman.  She cared so much for us kids, that as much as God wanted her with him, he gave us a 2 year transition period to figure out how to survive with her out of the house before he took her home.  I used to look at the 2 years she fought cancer as horrible years.  As the years go by, I look back and realize that while she was struggling with the sickness and was bedridden, we were learning how to do everything she did for us.  She directed us and was able to give us a smile, even as she was sick from the chemo.  When she passed, we were able to go on and keep up what she had done without much of an interruption.  Even though we all missed her terribly, we were able to continue on with life in no small part to her teaching us.  I never really thought about it, but even after she died, she continued to influence us.  The lessons she taught us and morals she instilled in us continued on to this day.  I am a better person because of her.  I see many of the same strengths in my wife now and am glad that I have her as my partner and better half (and I do mean better).  Thank you.  have a happy Mother's Day.

Pain, memories, and mobility: my first car.

     As I mentioned on Monday, this has been an interesting week.  Tuesday was an altogether horrid day.  I went to the doctor for my shoulder and he decided to try and "fix" it with a shot.  It was a mix of a numbing agent and steroids.  He told me it might hurt going in as he sometimes "bounces it off the bone."  I braced for the worse and didn't feel anything...until after he removed the needle.  It felt as though my shoulder had a baloon being blown up inside it.  Not so much painful as uncomfortable.  He then told me the numbing agent would take an hour or so to fully kick in and that he wanted me to keep track of the pain over the next couple of hours.  The pain didn't go away at all.  In fact, about 4 hours after the shot it started to slowly build.  By 6pm it felt as though someone was beating on my shoulder with a sledgehammer.  So, I think the numbing agent worked to mask the pain, but the pain intensified after the shot.  All I know is that my shoulder really hurt.

   That was Tuesday.  Yesterday, I got off work early (thus no post) to pick up the kids since Laura was in Seattle, picking up mom.  I mowed the yard including weed eating.  I then Trimmed the hedges and cleaned up the mess.  My shoulder ached, but nowhere near the pain of the day before.  Laura got home just as I finished the yard.  I then left to finish my friends bathroom.  That was going well, until about 10pm.  I was connecting a clamp to hold the shower head in place.  There was a lot of clamp to tighten so I used my drill to tighten it.  It was almost tightened when my hand suddenly protested.  That's when I discovered that I had managed to get my middle finger caught between the screw and the clamp.  I now have something to take my mind off of my shoulder.  The plumbing is done, now for the cosmetics.  Should be able to finish that tonight.

   Now that we got that out of the way,  I will continue with what should have been yesterday's post.  Since I promised to have a happy post once a week, This will be it (albeit with a slow start).  It's amazing what the years do to childhood memories.  Things we once remember as horrifying, embarrassing, or just plain painful are transformed into lessons we learned, funny stories to share, or maybe even a fond memory.  I find this phenomenon quit interesting to say the least.  Take for instance my truck.  The first car I owned that I was able to drive was a Plymouth Arrow.  The reason I specified the able to drive part was that my first car was actually a AMC Pacer.  Dad drove it home and it never ran again, thus I never drove it.  Anyway, for those of you unfamiliar with the Arrow, it is a small truck.  It was Plymouth's version of the Luv.  The reason you've probably never heard of it was that it was only around for a couple of years.  Turns out it was a Mitsubishi truck that was re-badged was a Plymouth.  All in all it was a decent truck.  Or would have been, if it hadn't been re-engineered by a previous owner.  Seems that the original motor gave up the ghost sometime in the 80's.  So the owner replaced it with a Mazda 4 cylinder.  Turns out, Mazda and Mitsubishi aren't really compatible.  So to make it fit, rubber bumpers about 2 inches thick were used to align the mounting holes.  Needless to say, the engine wasn't all that sturdily mounted.  The other side of this is that the mechanic (and I use the term loosely) that switched engines didn't know how to make the electrical cross over either since I didn't have a tachometer or a speedometer.  This made guessing my speed interesting.  I tended to just get up to 4th gear and put the pedal on the floor.  Since it had the approximate acceleration of a turtle on Valium, the only time I got to top speed was in a 5 mile stretch of highway between 2 towns.  It wasn't until I had been driving this way for almost a year that I was informed by a friend in school that that equated to about 90 mph downhill (he had to "get up to 120 to pass me").  I really loved that truck.  It was great until the day I discovered why rubber blocks do not make good engine mounts.

    I was out with a couple friends driving the back roads.  I was flying down a dirt road and managed to hit top speed (at the time I still didn't know what top speed was and we simply called it max RPM).  As we approached an intersection we were able to see we had it clear and wouldn't need to stop.  The intersection in question was on a hill.  To cross it you went up a hill, crossed the road and continued up the hill on the other side.  The road we were crossing was gravel and thus maintained...and level.  This meant that the road we were on abruptly stopped going up, went level, then started going up again.  At 90 mph you can probably guess what happened.  All I got to say is, yes, you can make a 4 cylinder small truck fly for the 50 - 60 feet it takes to cross the road.  Amazingly enough, we survived.  The truck wasn't happy about it though.  The aforementioned rubber blocks compressed as the engine bounced and drove the fan into the radiator.  The shifter, being more rigidly mounted, stayed in pretty much the same position as the transmission moved with the motor bending 2 shift rods and locking the truck in 1st.  It took me a few months to finally get the truck running again and on the road.  That doesn't mean it ran the same.  After that, it developed a "personality" and a bad one at that.  It would turn itself off at will, which is fun at 50 mph on the highway.  It would refuse to start for an hour then not shut off after you finally got it started.  All in all, just driving it was an adventure.

     Well, I hope that holds you off for a while.  I thank you for this trip, however painful it may be.  Have a wonderful day.

A whoomph to remember, or how my dad replaced fireworks with soda cans.

     So it's another happy hump day and I have just the tale for you.  You see, not to long ago I was reminded of somethings that I had done with my dad and the hilarity that ensued.  It all started on a fourth of July.
    We had some friends over and were lamenting about the fact that fireworks are illegal in Iowa.  I mean, what is the fourth of July without the opportunity to blow off several digits off of your hand or the thrill of putting out random fires with a garden hose.  Anyway, as we were sitting there dad cut the top off of a soda can to make a cup to drink out of.  Apparently the kitchen (not 10 ft away) was to far to go.  As he looked around he noticed the post driver (a cylinder of steel with one end welded shut with about 2 inches of more steel) leaning against the porch. 
   For some inexplicable reason he decided to see if his new cup would fit over the end.  Sure enough, it was a perfect fit.  I slid on without any trouble but was tight enough to make a seal.  Being the smart man my dad is, he thought, "if I had something explosive in there, I bet I could really launch this can."
   I don't know if you've ever been around a man who gets an idea that only he and another man would call good, but let me tell you, you know when it happens.  The eyes get big, he sits up straighter, and he takes off for parts unknown to implement said idea.  The Idea was what to use for propellant.  You see, my dad is a plumber and electrician.  He is also a handyman.  He did his own welding and steel cutting.  This was before plasma cutting was popular.  Thus, he had an oxy/Acetylene torch which uses two separate tanks, one of oxygen and one of acetylene.  When you turn on the gas to the nozzle, it jets out the gas at the perfect mix.  You are supposed to light the gas and use it to literally burn the metal apart.  One of the warnings on the rig warns you to ignite said torch in adequate ventilation as it is explosive in combined spaces.  Remember how I said my dad was smart?  Apparently, intelligence and explosives don't go together to often.
    That's when I first heard dad utter the most famous words in the male lexicon, "Hey, guys, follow me and check this out."  This is the first and only time I ever heard this phrase from my dad.  He proceeded to set up the post driver against the front axle of our tractor so that the open end pointed out over the field.  For those of you who don't understand tractor design, the gas tank on most small tractors is above the engine in the engine housing and thus over the front wheels and within a few feet of teh open end of the post driver.  Another feature of the post driver I forgot to mention is a small hole in the side about half way up, supposedly so the air inside has somewhere to go when you are slamming the driver down on some poor unsuspecting post.  So dad fit his soda can over the end of the post driver that was leaning against the tractor.  He then took his torch, took the tip, pressed it against the hole and commenced to fill the post driver with gas from the torch.  If you can't see where this is headed bear with me.
   After it was filled as he thought was appropriate, he turned off the gas took a match and held it to the hole.  The Whoomph that followed, while satisfying, was not nearly as impressive as the 4ft flame and the red hot soda can that came off the end.  The can landed after a few minutes (we believe it hit record heights, then again what is the record for launching a soda can from a post driver) torn in two.
    One would think once was enough.  I mean, a 4 ft flame not a foot from a full gas tank is a little scary right?  Nope, dad and his friends (us kids included) started bringing him more cans to launch.  We had a pretty steady stream of cans launching.  Whoomph after satisfying whoomph.  It was an unending barrage.  We would recover the cans and relaunch any we thought worthy.  Turns out that at the time Mt Dew had the strongest cans as we could launch them about 4 times before they were unusable.  Once it got dark, it was even more fun since we could see the flame and track the glowing cans as they arched through the sky.  At the time it was fun, looking back you realize why mom had that horrified look on her face for almost the entire time.  I also understand now why it didn't become a Fourth of July tradition as we never again lit up the post driver soda can cannon.