Chocolate Ice Cream Puts Hair On Your Chest

Not really. But it does taste better bare chested.

Sir T On His Throne

After church, Timothy and I implemented our "man plan" for the afternoon. Momma always gets a bit worried when it is just the two of us. Not sure why.

Our task was two-fold: get Timothy a hair cut and purchase a new toilet for our bathroom. A rather unlikely combination, but all the makings of an afternoon adventure.

Timothy said hello to his "stylist" and quickly raided the lollipop basket. He seemed content, so I kept feeding him sugar on a stick while his stylist chopped away. Unfortunately, the falling hair and the sticky mouth quickly got together . . . and Timothy eventually walked out with a clean crew cut and a scraggly goatee.

Donning his cherry-flavored facial hair, we made our way to Home Depot to make the all-important toilet selection for Timothy's (and his sister's) bathroom being remodelled this week. Choosing a "porcelain god" provided an opportunity to praise the One, True God, as I actually stopped in the toilet aisle and had a moment of worship. You see, while Timothy delighted in running up and down the aisle as fast as he could, I paused to be reminded this was the same little boy who doctors said might not be able to walk. Thank you, Father.

As I wrestled "Timmy's Potty" (as it was affectionately named by my son) onto the oversized cart, Timothy simultaneously mounted his throne.

Pulling a new sucker from his pocket (it seems he grabbed a few for the road), he squealed "Choo Choo" at the top of his lungs. Apparently, that was my cue to begin moving, as he was now playing the role of train conductor eating a Dum-Dum.

So there I was, carting my fruit-scented, sucker-sucking, fuzzy son riding atop his new potty as he pumped his fist in order to sound his imaginary train whistle.

Someone once said, "Boys are noise covered in dirt." I could not agree more.

Unfortunately, Timothy's train got derailed. Seeing someone I knew from church on aisle 7, I stopped on a dime to say hello. Timothy, on the other hand, kept moving. A rather ungraceful dethroning.

Not to worry. No tears fell. The lollipop stayed in the mouth. Just a bit more dirt added to the jeans.

All part of one afternoon adventure . . .

Say What?

Well, Timothy's hearing test results from today show he has good hearing. Selective, but good!

Say Again

An actual dialogue from our house last night . . .

Daughter: (yelling from bedroom) "Dad, how do you spell 'deaf'?"
Me: "Death?"
Daughter: (yelling louder from bedroom) "No, 'deaf'!"
Me: "Debt?"
Daughter: (yelling even louder from bedroom) "NO! 'DEAF'!"
Me: "Oh, 'deaf'. D-E-A-F."
Daughter: (long sigh of fruatration)

Oh, the irony.

Cheese Lover

Timothy is a cheese lover if there ever was one.

My son . . . for the fromage fan and fighter within . . . this one's for you!  (Email subscribers, click here)

Hit The Sofa, Dad

4:02 am. Timothy wakes us up to let us know he can't sleep. Classic.

I make my way to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. At that hour, I wasn't quite sure whether to label it a late-night snack or an early-morning breakfast.

Either way, I eventually found my way back to my bedroom only to find a little boy (along with his little four-legged sidekick) sleeping soundly in my spot.

Lying on the couch, I became convinced it was all part of his master plan.

Blast Off

Having astronomy as a school subject for our daughter this year, we decided to build a rocket for a little hands-on experiment.  Rather than opt for the water rocket option suggested in our daughter's textbook, we opted for the more explosive variety.

Enter the Taser.  Estimated altitude: 1100 feet.

A successful launch.  A successful flight.  A successful parachute deployment.  A successful wind, carrying our spacecraft into the next county.

Oh well.  It was a blast (pun intended) while it lasted!