Last Minute Gift Ideas for Dad

Hey, I found one!

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"Kids don't believe in "later." So if you're never around right now so that you can provide a better life for them later, be careful."- Jonathan Acuff
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I'm unsure if it's true that 99% of fatherhood is showing up. What about doing a good job as a father? I'm certain that willingly or unwillingly, dads will have a drastic influence, for better or worse, over the life of their children.

Fatherhood is joy and a heavy weight. It's pride and reluctance and excitement. It's stamina and an entire life's work. Who knows a man who "showed up" better than his son? Strengths, weaknesses, preferences, all of it.

I know RJ Gorinski better than any other man, like, way more than Wikipedia and all of the innernets. That's a pretty powerful thing to lay claim to. As one privileged to such knowledge, what does it mean when I say "it was and is a genuinely good thing to be the son of RJG?"


What do I think of dad, tonight?

He rarely spoke directly on big life lessons. I never had "the talk" on a number of issues, sometimes when we should have. I know how he hates the awkward confrontation. But he also knew the low cost of talk.

I can say this. When the majority of my peers, sports heroes, Axl Rose, and all the rest of the world were screaming lots of things, dad was clearly, unmistakably "saying" the opposite. He respected his parents and his wife and women in general. He was fascinated by the natural world and his place in it. He had a healthy fear of God.

That's what his life told me.

Dad literally kicked my gluteal region over my shoulders, never for him and I don't think one time more or less than I needed it. Speaking of asses, he was usually quite careful with his words. Careful, but real. Many things I heard - we just didn't say those words - me and dad. He offered some comments on ignorance and what some words represented. It takes no words to teach a child the wisdom of sometimes holding your words.

What I can appreciate the most at this point is the delicate balance. Loving means doing your part and letting go. Working at stability and presence and provision for the children, sacrificing so much for them while not holding on too tightly. Not expecting perfection. Giving advice but not pushing it. Allowing lessons to happen when and where they need to.

The role is critical. But one man, one person, can only do so much. Like, how do you get a kid to understand the essential value of hard work without pushing them to rebellion or the foolishness of spending their entire life chasing the golden carrot?

I know there is no formula for this type of thing. But I do have a foundation of what worked for me growing up. I'm extremely thankful to know what a good dad looks like.

...And he saw these things, and they were impressed upon his heart.

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BAPTIST back in

We almost changed our name from Lighthouse Baptist Church to Lighthouse Church. Just Lighthouse. As in, no mean-spirited fundamentalists who go around blabbering about hate and shun pants-wearing women and call every male in the club by “brother." We imagine thousands of seekers thumbing through the yellow pages, systematically skipping everything with a mention of the word Baptist. We tell family and friends about the great things happening at Lighthouse [mumble or subtly clear throat] Bpte Church, because Baptist is code for stodgy, closed mind-controlled, legalistic, old fools.

As if.

I do imagine that many people see our name and write us off; folks who would have found exactly what they’re looking for and need. Others have shown up expecting to find something we’re clearly not. People come as they are and sing contemporary stuff rather than (only) piano hymns. We take a beating from the right hand, too. It’s happened.

A dozen or so church leaders contemplated the potential benefits, time, and costs involved with a name change. When I was all for “Just Lighthouse,” I remember Pastor telling me “these are good points but I’m just not so sure yet.” A voice of wisdom has the patience and grace to say things like that.

About a year later, the issue has kind of fallen to the side. The church has moved on to different (better?) things, including a lot of doing. Problem solved, so it seems. Maybe it was intentional or maybe we just got too busy for changing names. Either way, I think that was divine.

So here we are as Baptists. Lighthouse BAPTIST Church. Yes, that’s our tradition. Baptizing is what we do here. Our family of believers takes to heart the deep symbolism behind being washed and rising again as a new person. We take literally the ideas from the Scriptures themselves; the need for a public pronouncement of faith; that we chose, individually, for ourselves and no other reason.

Owning up to the good and bad of our tradition also happens to save someone a lot of time and effort right now. Someday when our roots, tradition, and ceremony are heavy in style, like community this and crossroads that are right now, we won’t have the trouble of adding Baptist back in.

I think it's a good lesson in letting go. Our lives speak or they don't, and we'll have to accept whoever comes by that. Our church is here and it has a name. Whatever you call it, that's where my family and I will be going for a good long while.

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www.lighthousehbg.com

Nirvana Means...

My mom picked me up early from basketball practice that day. My eye was gouged pretty severely and there was blood all over my shirt. The news came over the radio of our blue Ford Tempo. Kurt Cobain shot himself in the head.

He was gone. Forever, for all I know.

I remember feeling selfishly mad. In the Hindu tradition, nirvana means rest, stability, and joy. Yeah, exactly Kurt: whatever never mind.

But mostly I obsessed over my own final day in this world. It was no comfort to assume that day probably won't arrive for a little while. A painful bleeding cornea and the first time you care about a suicide will always shock invincible, self absorbed teenage boys.

That was the day that I realized, if nothing else, that my time is coming soon. That's why I still haven't gotten over the death of Kurt Cobain.

I don't kazoo Lithium daily or go to sleep weeping over acoustic Pennyroyal Tea. But when I do think of it, I'm still at a loss. It's not just over Kurt, of course. In any circumstance, the sudden collapse of all that a unique person is and knows is incomprehensible.

I think that the death of a celebrity confirms that there's no Karmic force or mystical mathematical balance in the cosmos. I mean, how many people paid attention to and maybe even loved Kurt Cobain? How much opportunity did he have? How much joy did his talent give to others? And yet these only multiplied misery, like a lot of celebrities.

On the other hand, if everything is lost at death, and you're just dead, then why do we even value life or care when someone dies? Why does one life impress such lasting change in the lives of others? Why is grunge branded on my brain, forever drawn to art gritty and unpolished?

Your great great grandchildren may not know your name someday when they are born, but you're certainly effecting them. When you consider that happiness is contagious; the mood of your friends friend yesterday truly does have a drastic effect on your happiness today, imagine how affect is ingrained over generations?

I still stumble in a grand fashion over exactly what happens when a person dies. The Biblical account of heaven is pretty sketchy, and it even says that what is eternal is unseen.

To be clear, the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour. I buy that. I do. Most of the time, I'm pretty much at peace with the revelation that the end is a beginning.

But in context, much of it seems to be concerned with life now. All the talk of mustard seeds and leaven and well-to-do house holders is to explain how heaven is both a promise for the future and present now, in some sense, in the ways and teachings of Jesus. Check Matthew 13 if you like.

Of course not everyone who claims religion is all set right now and unto the ages. Jesus himself warned that many who say "Lord, Lord," are evildoers who he never knew. He also said that the first in this world would be last in heaven, and the last will be first. When you want to get all up in someones face about how you KNOW it will be after death, go ahead and explain exactly what Jesus meant by that.

Whatever the case, is it blasphemous to say that God definitely holds utter, uncompromising condemnation for those tormented with pain and sorrow and mental anguish, famous or not? When blessed are those who mourn? Maybe there's some part(s) of Kurt that God judges to be redeemable. Who am I to say?

So Kurt probably heard of Jesus but didn't know him. His parents likely didn't give a damn. That likely contributed to his mental disorder, which certainly is hell. The root cause of this living hell is something not of God; separate from God.

I'm pretty sure that finding our joy and our value in God, and trying to do His will, are the only things in this life that will save any sinner from living hell and any sane person from despondency.

"I'm so ugly,
that's okay 'cause so are you - broke our mirrors."

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What specifically gives you hope for the afterlife? Do share.

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Spring Things

One of the best videos ever.

I May Dance Some Day

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Majesty
Your grace has found me just as I am,
Empty handed, but alive in Your hands

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Zaita and Stella were dancing again during church. Last week they danced on my watch, after Sunday School when Amy and I bring the kids into the singing part of "big church."

Were they misbehaving? No. Was their holding hands and twirling about beautiful? Well, it's rather apparent that the kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these. Were they also a distraction? Absolutely.

We're not really the dancing kind of church.

But in a lot of crazy dancing churches where being loud with your body is the norm, my sing-murmur/pew tap combo would be all awkward and judged. Yeah, I probably...definitely wouldn't go back to a crazy dancing church.

At the same time, I'm aware of at least a few families who have moved on from LBC primarily because there's not enough dancing and hand raising going on during service. Our church is likely in trouble if loud "amens" and "thank you Jesus's" displayed before others are indicative of a moving Spirit, even for shy or contemplative types.

But what do I do with Stella and Zaita? Tell them "stand still?" Give them formal lessons in word-mouthing and mechanical, lukewarm singing? Who is the fitting example here?

I try to conceive of all the bickering over the "proper" music and order of service that has occurred throughout church history. Two little girls dancing in our non-dancing church are like the opposite of that.

I had a growing suspicion that God has hidden things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Okay, so the "Spirit moved." I sung Majesty a little louder; a little more real. And I certainly didn't interfere with the girls.

Take that, Satan.

Besides, "dance" they will, if not around the church, then other places. In those days we'll be barraging them with Mt. Dew looking activities having long tails of exclamation points, trying to show them that church is cool and safe and real.

I can see Stella and Zaita in 10 or 20 years, leaning back hard as they tug on my arms to get me up and dancing, as some girls have tried to do in the prior 10 or 20 years. If that happens in church, I just may have to join them. Because for once it will be more than a lame, self-conscious white man dance.

It would be an outward-focused, lame white man dance offering unto the Lord.

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Family System

It's very confusing. It completely baffles my mind that our immediate family unit is so many contradictory things. Yes, what is truth?

What I mean is that to one crew of friends and family, Amy and I are practically free spirited yuppies. Amy works part time outside of and full time within the home. We drink very sparingly but often offer alcohol to our guests. We celebrate the culturally light side of Halloween and generally seek an open mind to climb mount perspective. My personal theology on Hell and the afterlife, if you were to really pin me down, leans pretty generous. That sort of thing...

However, to another side of friends and family, Amy and I are practically Amish. One word summarizes the biggest ballsey decisions we've made in a very long time: homeschoolers. We're homeschoolers who told their kids that Santa is not real. We get $10 per month Comcast so we have time to play and read and blog and intentionally not get even more sucked into pop culture. Our "new" car is 6 years old.We pray out loud before meals. We believe in universal rights and wrongs. That sort of thing...

So what is the truth of the matter? What are we? Does it make a difference?

Amy and I try to steer this ship with much thought and deliberation. We don't take it lightly; lives are literally at stake. Major decisions come and you have to choose one thing or another. All families are pioneers in their own life and times; each is an independent experiment with limited variables to tinker with. I truly believe that there are many ways to fail and few ways to stand.

Of course, we don't know what we don't know. And we realize that it's astronomically improbable that we will make the right or best decision every step of the way. That's why we always invite input from those who actually care about us. This is not to say that we will always act on the advice, but we will absolutely consider it and live with the consequences of our decisions.

I ask for Gods wisdom and grace from On High and through you and I.

spring

"ducks" getting ready to wrestle



checking the catch of the day

buggies "holding" a frog

i later found tadpoles on her neck

caught on tape...

My Own Bad Advice

Listen, my son, to this instruction. Pay attention, and gain understanding.
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Nah. Not really. A better way to intro this writing is to say that when I was single and interested in finding a "good" girlfriend, I got a lot of bad advice. People told me a lot of bullshit about dating while others made me plain scared of ever even thinking about maybe possibly getting married because that's foolish.

So what makes me think that I'm an expert with nonbullshit advice? Well, first, I don't (see title). There are plenty of good books out there, and I've remained committed to reading at least one good marriage/relationship book per year since I've been married. Do you read?

More importantly, I have had about 12 years of being on this side of the horrendous dating scene, literally thank God. That's 12 years of life experience, watching others while being mostly unconcerned with myself.

First, single girls don't know exactly what they want in a relationship any more than you do. On the whole, the hearts of women seem to ebb and flow in ways that defy any sort of normal human logic. Expect confusion and puzzling. Even if you could figure it out, "it" would change and you'd still be left standing there in the hallway scratching your head.

"Um, okay."

I do that at least once a week.

Second. Girls want what you want; things that transcend gender. They want a rock freakin' solid person. By that I mean things like honesty and humility, respect, integrity, and courage. Men and women carry them out in different roles, but those are what we're all looking for. We will never own any of those things over a lifetime of real effort, and so we all desperately want grace.

Girls want someone who is brave yet gentle; respectful to their parents but not a mamma's boy/girl. That sort of thing.

Be a good listener. Prompt and listen. Prompt and listen. While I seriously doubt the existence of a "good" pick-up line, having a repertoire of "good" sincere prompting questions is probably worth it. If it drains you and feels like work, drop it like it's hott. Yes, two t's.

Third. Notice something about their hair. I don't care what it is.

"Is that new?...That huge white stripe of shaved skin down the center of your head?...That reverse mohawk goes perfectly with your boots and your attitude."

For real though, it works no matter what the age or marital status or haircut. NOTICE THE HAIR, even if it's just because you'd maybe appreciate them bringing another tray of peanutbutter hershey kiss cookies into the office. Just try it.

Mutual physical attraction does count. Golden Anniversaries never happen solely by chemistry, because true love is a decision...that sort of thing. But anybody who says that looks don't matter is lying.

Fourth. Don't really try. Other than the hair thing, just don't. Go about doing what you enjoy doing (unless it's online Dungeons and Dragons) and regularly, frequently extend yourself to serve others. I personally think "singles" events just kind of smother everything in impenetrable layers of weirdness, masks, and awkwardness, even when intentions are good. Nobody makes good friends by trying really hard to make good friends.

Put yourself out there - sure. Your actions and attitudes will tell others that you're interested and available. Be the good time. But that's about it.

Fifth. Take a serious inventory of yourself to identify some area(s) where you generally suck, and seriously pray to God for help and to show you ways to change that. God - yes, 'cause trying ain't gonna cut it. Otherwise you're left with a miserable cycle of singleness and inconfidence and Saturday Night Live. No single should be regularly watching "live" SNL.

I was way inpatient and short tempered and maybe even mad before I met Amy. I had no good reason to be any of those things, and they made me more stand-offish and introverted. Without saying a word, she made me want to change them.

Sixth, confidence. This applies more to the dating scene, but I think that girls are attracted to confidence. Not bigmouth blowhard confidence, but "I really am okay with or without a girl" kind of confidence.

You are okay with or without? Really, you should be. Ugh, I know.

Now who's really confident, not false frontin' confident? I know a few folks who are, but not many. If you already error on the side of being too confident, then this entire writing is definitely not for you. But really and truly, being a big mouth and being a super shy wallflower are both renditions of self absorption. And not attractive.

During high school and college years, when I was interested in dating, I was like a baby food jar full of confidence. Infant sized. Only when I went to grad school, and said "whatever," and swore "I'm devoting the next 3 years only to getting a professional degree," was I unconcerned enough with myself and my dating life to have a genuinely enjoyable date.

That, my brother, is my own bad advice on dating.

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Black Holes and Deedo Um

[Did you notice that I often write about coming home? Sorry, but coming home is absolutely my most favorite thing to do and to remember. So...]

I usually can't pull into the driveway after work. There are bikes, monster trucks, baseball bats, and makeshift bug jars all over the place.

"Deedoo ummm!"

Nosey Parker is excited. Ecstatic. She squeaks for joy, throwing up her arms and extending her torso as in jumping, but her feet don't leave the grass. She does her pigeon toed gallop with arms extended stiffly in my direction, falling forward at the point where she knows I can reach her.

"Daddy home!"

Buggies is also quite pleased with the situation. He hops skippingly in three big circles, then buries his nose in my leg. He wants tickled and thrown around, but not held.

"Hi Daddy!"

Ducks sprints from whatever it is he's doing, usually with Luke. He makes eye contact and smiles the grand canyon. Some have called it "Nix Nucks" and others a "shit eatin' grin." He hunches and creeps toward me in a sneaking fashion, though we both know I see him. He pauses, motionless at my side, cocks back, and rails me in the hip.

"Daddy can you..."

Luke walks over after finishing up whatever it is he's doing. He's good for a hug, but he doesn't drop everything and run anymore. He does often lead with a question or a request to come see something he's done or caught that day.

What he's lost in excitement is gained in depth. Luke's the only one who can keep up on a bike and play real catch. He wonders about the colors of bees and if God could make Tai Lung (villian in Kung Fu Panda) good and why telescopes can't see inside a black hole.

I take in this revelation and try to consider how each child changes while I'm changing and our relationship must change. This is a black hole that I will never get to the bottom of. There was a time when they were not, and suddenly, now there are these four beautiful things with a voice and desires and offerings and will of their own.

Call the present an "event horizon" that you can't see past, but one can make a calculated guess. The hi daddy's will progress to hey dads then to practically nonverbal head nods and then hopefully back to a hi dads again. And of course the mystery of their timeless soul is beyond my comprehension.

Please don't say there is a bottom to the hugs. Hugs may closely resemble an arm lock with a punch to the scapula when they are about fifteen. But call it a hug. Hugs there will be for as long as I'm given days for hugging.

There's no limit for Amy and the kids. Wherever and whatever happens, they can gravitate toward my arms. I'm like a black hole of hugs.



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They Don't Serve Waffles on Pandora

Above is an image from the movie Avatar.

The message is clear and more than a little off. The storyline wasn't anything really new and the whole thing progressed into deeper hokeyness. The incorporation of the Na'vi people's spirituality was way cheesy. I'm not calling for some kind of alien Jesus people; just saying that the spiritual stuff could have been meaningful and real instead of just tired and weird.

Having said that, you should see the film. There's a lot done right. There's a reason why Avatar is the highest grossing film of all time. Any movie that really makes you think and wonder (or laugh!) without costing you too much in the morality/vulgarity department is well worth it.

The cinematography is like nothing else, and the movie won tons of artistic type awards. Like, WAY cool. Everything on their planet is fertile and unblemished and steroid bioluminescent. Pandora is like the Hollywood version of the earth as it was 6 to 10 thousand years ago. There really is no reason to envy it.

I mean, don't tell me that given 6 or 8 thousand more years, Pandora won't create its own New Jersey. As if those tall blue cat looking people would pull off living in perpetual harmony with their environment. As if they would continually and perfectly walk the straight and narrow away from greed and lust and envy and pride. Talk about science fiction!

Besides, go ahead and try living on the beautiful unblemished earth that historians call Classical Antiquity, as it was 6 or 8 thousand years ago, about like the life and times of the blue cat people. That would suck. The environment was nicely untoxicated. There was an ice age, then warming, and Al Gore wasn't even there. They were probably not very different from us as far as happiness goes. They just worked a ton harder in crappy "natural" conditions like humidity while living and knowing a lot less.

And the gnats. I imagine the gnats are a freaking nightmare on Pandora.

I would pick modern earth over pre-medieval earth any day. And yes, even over Pandora. And you know what? If the earth was all hyper colorful and lush everywhere all the time, we wouldn't notice the beauty. It would all be business as usual to us, because in reality, the shadow proves the sunshine.

YOU MAKE THE CALL:

Is it Pandora or the earth near my house?

Not my photo, but nearby Earth

If this tree doesn't appear otherwordly, what possibly does?

They're like huge flowers.

Pandoras "Mother Worship" tree, or just Jane's front yard?

The indigenous population seems to form communal bonds with odd life forms having bills and webbed feet.

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Easter Like Toast

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So it says the guy lived a peculiar life. He was killed gruesomely for the claims he made and for what he did. He somehow got out of his grave, despite much effort to ensure that nothing fishy would happen. Nobody knows how he got out, but many saw him up and around, talking about leaving and coming back again.

We Christians justifiably judge other faiths and worldviews with a critical eye. But lets turn our thoughts to the sensational claim that is the center of our faith. Don't forget that the story is pretty ridiculous if you haven't experienced living in the story; if you haven't much of a reason to believe it; and especially if some person or people gave you a good reason to disbelieve.

My problem is that I've never seen a ghost or angel or UFO or piece of toast baring the image of any intelligent life, much less Mother Theresa. Plenty of "no b.s." type people in my life claim to have witnessed those kinds of things. And I'm watching. Constantly. Jesus, a burning bush would be nice for a seeking, trying to be faithful and open person of The Way. Is a well timed butterfly landing gently on my shoulder too much to ask?

I have mountains of faith in ground reaction forces and other invisible aspects of Newtonian physics. I believe, though with raised eyebrow, in gravity, magnetism, radio waves, carbon monoxide gas, the dual nature of light, and many other things I can't sense.

But those are different...?

Sometimes I suspect that my eyes are wide open in the wrong direction. It's just that after 33 years full of nothing supernatural, I doubt that traditional type miracles should be my focus.

Yes, He is risen! And the rest of us, well...

I gasp and hold my breath at the miracles of faithful living demonstrated all around me.

There is the reality of tremendous sacrifice that people offer in secret to a Father who is unseen. Not "I practiced guitar for hours to play that before the church," but genuine acts of sustained, "absolutely nothing to gain from this" service. Like middle class couples who literally go to the ends of the earth (or to their neighborhood) to adopt a child with known disability.

I roll on the floor, babbling in tongues at the words of my (and other) children in my life. My knees buckle under the weight of their pure love and simplicity. I write it down to remember, lest I forget the kind of faith that flings open the gates of heaven, forever wandering the earth searching for what children bring to the table. Now I found it, praise the Lord, hallelujah.

I've listened and watched quietly as friends respect and honor their wives without them knowing; sometimes in actions and other times in words. Sometimes it happens with forethought and intent; other times while in the cross hairs of conflict and challenges hard to miss. It's like the perfect demonstration of whatever is the opposite of this thing we call "instinct." Call that a miracle.

A pastor who lives what he speaks is better than a miracle, especially when he's truly able to keep it real, having experienced what it's like to be hard hearted and full of skepticism, sarcasm, and good old tomfoolery.

I got lost this morning listening to Amy read to our Sunday School class. It became obvious:

"[Jesus said] Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

Jesus prayed during the biggest, insulting, unjustified "no fair" imaginable. The heathen nonbelievers who had their share of opportunity are over on the side, gambling for free clothes. Just a few days earlier Jesus told a large gathering that instead of loving their neighbor and hating their enemy, we should love our enemy and pray for those who persecute us.

This sliced through my head until Luke snapped me out of it, yelling at Judah to stop hitting him with the miniature Passion of Christ whip.

"Father forgive them for they do not know what they are doing" is a state of mind that continually rattles my perception of everything. It's a challenge to let go the currency of this world. It's a lesson in the love and grace I need to give and to receive.

That prayer under those circumstances is absolutely the stuff of the supernatural. There's really no other reasonable explanation for it. It's the kind of miracle that I can identify with and helps me choose to live faithfully when my faith is tapped out. It's the kind of miracle that I might miss by waiting for God to suspend the physical laws of the universe and serve up some Mother Theresa toast.

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~1000 Kid Words

So being that Luke and Buggs b-day party was rescheduled all the way back to Ducks birthday, we decided to have everyone in on it. Why leave Maggs out? Yes, there was no snow today! The MyGym people actually put the Happy Birthday song on four times. Gifts? I'm not sure. The date and plan kept changing. People brought between one and four gifts. Yipes. One is clearly enough; my bad.

Pictures are not worth a thousand words. They speak the truth, and you can reckon some things, for sure. But they don't tell you about what Ben recently said after praying with him: "I don't want to be wise, I want to be Batman." They don't tell you about the Ninja Turtle fever contagious in this house. They don't tell you about Maggy's love for blueberries or the bond we see being forged between Luke and Owen.

Here are some words about the kids, on record. Yeah, it's time for that one. I haven't done anything like that in a long time. 250 words for each kid sounds about right.

Now of course all of my children are advanced, with each one being exactly equally advanced as much as all three others. Like, there's advanced, then there's fer-real advanced, like top 10 at Harvard before going pro, all the while maintaining a perfect moral standing between God and their fellow men. As ridiculous as this sounds, why is it still hard for a parent to admit that each of them show clear preferences, strengths, and weaknesses?

So here is my absolutely skewed interpretation of what I see in them.

Trout has my energy. He will get up early and go all night, for as long as you give to him to go. He will be snotty in the middle of the day and not admit it. In him I see his moms gentle, easy going and quiet side, and the side of me that loves nature. Like, he's -literally- way out in left field regarding anything to do with the outdoors. Basketball and video games don't hold a candle to wandering around outside in the cold wind.

How can you be concerned with learning to catch ground balls when there are worms all along the lip of the garage? Did you not see this dad? Why did they do this? Where did they come from? What for? Trout found a deer skull in the woods today and com-puh-letely laid an egg. So far he's been an excellent student when his siblings allow him to concentrate.

Ducks loves to go outside when it's sunny with a high of 75 and the relative humidity is within reason and, most importantly, he's with his friend(s). We often use hot chocolate as a bribe for him to go out with Luke for a while. In Ducks I clearly see his moms sensitivity and his dad (wannabee) artistic side. You rarely, ever, need raise your voice at Ducks. Raising your voice is equal to a pop on the bottom or a trip to the dreaded puppy's room.

Ducks shares in this house like nobody else, including mom and dad. He holds his own food and toys with a very loose grip. If you want to taste or borrow or "borrow" something, ask Ducks. He regularly throws himself from high places like Trout and has the upper body strength to do monkey bars. But he will sit and play "drums" in rhythm for as long as you let him. You can tell he catches melody.

"That's not how it goes...say it right." Ducks is the only one who responds to my purposeful off key, off tune testing. Ducks is an entertainer too, often putting on a show as the others quietly stand by when we're out and crack up at him when we're home.

Buggs is pretty easy going; not at all needy. That's about all you can tell of his personality so far. He's the kind of kid you get out of a crying fit by saying "help me fix the chair." What not to say to Buggs when he's in a crying fit:

"It's okay honey. We'll get you another hot dog."
"Oh. It hurts to cook your head on the table, let me hold you."
"Here, let's play with this other toy instead."

But give him a "hey Buggs help me feed the dogs," and it's suddenly like "oh yes sire right away." No crying. Servants heart! And do not put him in his car seat while he's perfectly capable of climbing up in there like Luke. He will cry until you arrive at your destination and allow him to climb down and back up into his car seat, for third brothers in a family want no patronizing or sympathy.

While all the kids have shown interest in sports, Buggs had definitely taken it up a level. Today when all the others were jumping and playing and eating pizza at MyGym, he was shooting a soccer ball into a kid hoop. He consistently does 3 dribbles before shooting, often with a true form jumper. Later that same night, Buggs spent an hour hitting a blow up baseball off a T, running to fetch it, then hitting it again. His gait and movement are exactly like his grandad, by far the best Gorinski athlete so far. It's kind of like he's built out of denser material.

Maggs is also definitely a helper. She will cry to let you "help" you clean up during a diaper change, and soon there is crap everywhere. It's difficult to tell many personality traits and preferences at her age. I can say that, compared to the brothers, she takes much more notice of Amy's girly things like fashion accessories and hair products. She hates baby dolls and points out every "ball ball, and "birdy," real and fictitous, within five miles from here. She loves to be in the thick of things when it's time to rough house, and has not yet learned to patiently wait her turn to be tossed at the couch.

Maggs has walked and talked more and sooner than all three of her brothers. She looks kind of funny, being so small and motoring around so well on two legs. Every little thing she says in her sweet little mousy voice causes my head to explode and condense back into a steaming puddle of goo.

Now they all sleep, recharging for tomorrow. Which reminds me that it's time to be done.

We'll see...

People Are Strange, When...

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video effort for LBC [click]


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Therapeutic Rap

Because-

Administratin' punks is what she's all about
Gonna type that note and fax it on out.
No soft sucker; yet no chip on her shoulder
Cuz, she's movin' ever bolder - to the Intradocs folder.

Terrorize the suckers at insurance companies
And if you've got beef - you'll get capped in the knees

If that qualifies as an injury of sorts,
Gonna write it on out with the incident reports.

A most chillin-est b-day - wishing all the best,
To Debbie V, our own girl at front desk.

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Snatching co pays - twentys, fives, and tens
She got the money and the honey and the flyest pens.
Bringing daily schedules and monthly reports
And a Tide Stick for the jelly you drop on your shirts.

One for all - and all for one
Chasing out solicitors with a big shotgun
All for one and one for all
Because the Bowmansdale three have gone A.W.O.L.

Mack'n on faxes and the ringing phones.
Droppin' medical codes 'bout them joints and bones.
She got scripts on hips and the laundry put away.
Chills with Lucas and Macey at the end of her day.

A most illinest b-day, wishing all the best
To Debbie V, our own girl at front desk.

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K.X. modifier for the MC's,
K.X. modifier for the MC's,
K.X. modifier for the MC's,
KX modifier FOR THE MC'S,

KX MODFIER FOR THE MC'S

KX MODIFIER FOR THE MC'S
...
...
KAY YEK MODIWIEAHHHHHHHHHH
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Fax'n and print'n and addressin' and sealing,
Mailin' dope letters; fix the light in the ceiling.
Yo ho ho and a pint of black cherry,
'Cause when Debbie orders Brusters, it doesn't much vary.

A.R. blazin', Blue Cross chasin', authorizations,
Prerogative against cheesey radio stations.

A most villainous b-day - with all the best,
Out to Debbie V, our own girl at front desk.

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Now I been drinking her coffee - in my drug rep cup,
I fell asleep, then I woke up.
With the achy low back, and the knees on the tick
She'll gladly get up from where she sits.

Come snow or shine - and kid kicks to the groin.
Delivers inter-office info to Jeannette at Lemoyne.
Workin' and laughin' in a reliable way.
Still holdin' out for a decent 401K.

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OH happy day, Debbie. Thanks for the work!