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! 

 

Party Time

As I walked out the back door, heading off to work, I distinctly heard Timothy say these word:

"Let's get this party started."

Lord, enable my wife to survive today.

Sunday Night Family Meeting

After the Daytona 500, we gathered for our regular Sunday evening family meetin'.  Review the week past, preview the week ahead.  Eat sweets in the process.

With Anna Ritchie serving as ice-breaker chairman, she asked, "If you could change your first name to any other name, what would it be?"

Teressa: "I'd be Alice."

Anna Ritchie: "I would like to be Amy."

Chris: "It would be Colt for me.  Timothy, what about you?  What would you want your name to be?"

Timothy: "Jesus."

 Show-off.  Meeting adjourned.

A Touch Of Irony And Gratefulness

Before heading off to the office, Timothy and I got into a little wrestlin' match on the bed. As a result of the battle, Timothy fell back on the mattress and grumbled, "Ouch, my back."

Apparently Timothy landed on a toy ambulance he had brought with him to our match (which I'm convinced he was hiding as a secret weapon). Without delay, he rolled over, popped to his feet and pounced . . .

As I took hold of Timothy's leg to launch an all out tickle assault . . . my thoughts took hold of Timothy's comment.

"Ouch, my back."

Oh the irony. It was one year ago today that Timothy had the first of two spinal surgeries.

As I recall, THAT resulted in a big, "Ouch, my back!"

"Ouch, my back." Not only did I detected a touch of irony in his words, but I sensed a touch of gratefulness in my heart.

Thank you, Father, for where we were . . . where we are . . . and for being with us along the way.

(Below: A year ago . . . and a few days ago)