Like Father, Like Son...Like Daughter?

Um, not much to write here. Just a few captions.

This is me, in 1974:

This is Kiddo, in 2004:

Aaaaaand...this is Pumpkin, in 2008 (last night, actually):

'Nuff said.

LH

Because I KNOW you haven't seen enough pics of the kids!

I've had this tension in my life the last month or so...I've been in an extremely creative mood, but at the same time I've felt extremely tired.

And based on my posting, you can guess which has won out pretty much every time. Yup. That's right, I haven't exactly displayed a whole lot of creative writing in my posts.

And tonight, that's not gonna change one bit.

Pumpkin is 4 months old now...she's 14 lbs 4 oz. and 24 3/4 inches long, and still cute as a button (which thankfully comes from her mother). And Kiddo's still the proud big brother. It's fun to see the bond the two kids are developing--Kiddo can make Pumpkin smile like nobody else can, and he just loves her to pieces.

I'm just a lucky guy. No two ways about it.

Here's some updated pics:

Happy little girl!!!

Smiling at Big Brother

Kiddo as the Hungry Caterpillar

Sure wish I knew where my kids got their silly streak from... =)

LH

Fun with the kids

So yesterday was the last day of Kiddo's first year of preschool...thinking back to the crying and yelling and tantrums of that first day, we've come a long way!

And Kiddo's come a long way too. =)

They had an end of the year program last night with singing, awards, and ice cream. Each child received an award from the teachers, ranging from "The Bear Hug Award" to "The Mother Hen Award" and everything in-between (whatever that may be). Kiddo received "The Little Lamb Award," because he enjoyed the Jesus Time they had each day and was a good listener.

The kids were absolutely adorable singing and doing their actions to each song. Here's a clip of one of the songs they sang...pay attention about 58 seconds in where the teacher has to reprimand a couple of the other kids for goofing off. =)

Pumpkin is 12 weeks old now, and has really started to babble a lot lately. Makes me nervous for when she's old enough to want a cell phone. =) Here's a video clip from just last night:

And here's some other fun pictures from the past few weeks. Enjoy!

Kiddo riding the zoo train with Mommy on Mothers' Day

Kiddo posing with the big show-off at the zoo

Pumpkin's scratching her head in wonder at her big brother. We think he might be channeling Spider Man...

Meanwhile, Pumpkin is channeling Obi Wan Kenobi. "Use the Force, Luke..."

LH

P.S. Be sure to check out the post below this one for some AWESOME news in the LutheranHusker household today!!!! =)

No family resemblance whatsoever

Ever since she was born, I've thought Pumpkin bore a distinct resemblance to her older brother when he was an infant. Even so, I was stunned when I saw these two pictues side by side a couple of weeks ago. I'm still trying to decide if this is cool in a freaky kind of way, or freaky in a cool kind of way. Check it out:

Kiddo..................................................................................and Pumpkin
LH

Tripping down amnesia lane...

My last entry was about happy songs...in one of the comments, hereistand provided a link to a Sesame Street oldie but goodie: What's The Name of That Song?



Thanks to the magic of YouTube, it's now possible to peruse these wonderful old Sesame Street clips, many of which will probably never be seen again on TV, if only for the sake of continuity. Bob, Gordon, Olivia, Maria, and Luis are all still on the show, but as one might guess, they've all aged considerably...I could just imagine the look on Kiddo's face if these people who look sorta like the characters he knows (but wearing weird clothes and hairstyles) and with those characters' voices suddenly broke into song on tomorrow's episode of Sesame Street.

Yeah, I understand why they can't run some of these clips. But with others, it's a crying shame.

Take for example anything having to do with Kermit the Frog. Correct me if I'm off-base, but it's my understanding that after Jim Henson's death, his family had some sort of dispute with the Children's Television Workshop which resulted in them denying CTW's use of Kermit whatsoever in future Sesame Street episodes. No matter what the reason, the bottom line is that there's an entire generation of kids missing out on classics like this "Sesame Street Newsflash" from Peter Piper's Pickle Patch:



Well, after looking up those two clips, I couldn't just stop there, could I? My next stop on my Sesame Street journey was the segment that, as a kid, I lived for. Every episode, I watch, hoping this segment would be a part of it. And when it did come on, I'd sing along, run around, and just make a general fool of myself. Still brings warm fuzzy feelings when I hear it. It's the song Hard Workin' Dog:



And of course, no exploration of Sesame Street would be complete without a classic Bert and Ernie sketch. This is one that I always loved...it all starts when Ernie broke the cookie jar...but then the cookies had to go somewhere, so he put them in the sugar bowl...and...well, you can see where it's going:



So many wonderful old clips and sketches...I could spend all day doing this if I let myself! So one last clip. One of the things they've done (and still continue to do) that I just love are the unrehearsed one-on-one conversations between a muppet and a young child. In this one, Kermit's trying to get a little girl to sing the alphabet. Adorable and hilarious!



LH

Christmas Program

This past Saturday, the Lincoln Journal Star's religion section featured an article on church Christmas programs. They focused on 3 different church groups, one of which was Our Saviour's Lutheran Church, where I serve. We put together a slide show of the Christmas story (actually a powerpoint presentation) with about 160 slides. Some of the pictures were taken "on location" (at a farm outside of town for some Bethlehem and traveling scenes, or in the church sanctuary for Caesar Augustus' and Herod's palaces), and others with some rudimentary sets in the church basement. The program was narrated by our middle and high school youth, and interspersed with a combination of congregational hymns and groups of kids singing Christmas music. It was a lot of fun to put together, and I thought came out very well, despite some less-than-desirable weather the weekend of the program. =) And the kids thought it was way cool that they were in the newspaper! (With parental permission, of course...)

The article's been on the paper's website since Saturday, but they only now got the kinks worked out with posting the pictures, so those are now available too.

Here is a link to the newspaper article:

http://www.journalstar.com/articles/2007/12/17/living/religion/doc47630c61c9a95064649300.txt

And if you want to see the actual pictures, here is a link to the newspaper's posting of the powerpoint presentation (even including slides indicating the hymns!). Probably the best way to see all the pictures is to maximize the page on your screen, then scroll down to the bottom and use the down arrow just to the right of the pictures to scroll through the pics:

http://www.journalstar.com/media/view/?mid=M47630d689c5ae

LH

Pachelbel Bedtime

Earlier, I posted a link to a very funny rant about Palchelbel's Canon in D. Here's a take that's just as funny (especially if you're a parent), but also very touching. A dad wrote words to the tune of Canon in D about trying to get his kids to take a bath and go to bed.

Absolutely heartwarming and hilarious--enjoy!

(And many thanks to J for sending the link in the first place!)



LH

Baptized and Set Free

3 years ago today, Kiddo was baptized. Sweetie and I are trying our best to "raise him wet," teaching him about the God who created him, the Savior who redeemed him, and the Spirit who is active in his life.

That's a lot for a 32 year-old brain to process, nevermind a 3 year-old.

For now, we're content knowing these things:

• that he loves to sing Jesus Loves Me.


• That anything T-shaped he sees he'll point to and say "look, a cross! Just like in church!"


• That he'll reprimand me if my hands aren't folded when he says his bedtime prayers.


• That he thinks every picture of a bearded man in his Childrens Bible is Jesus.

All the other stuff will come in time.

But as for today, here's the lyrics to one of my new favorite songs about baptism (it's to the tune of When In Our Music God Is Glorified, if you happen to know that hymn)...and a picture of Kiddo from the big day 3 years ago:

We Know That Christ Is Raised

by John Geyer

We know that Christ is raised and dies no more.

Embraced by death, he broke its fearful hold,

and our despair he turned to blazing joy.

Hallelujah!

We share by water in his saving death.

Reborn, we share with him an Easter life,

As living members of our Savior Christ.

Hallelujah!

The Father's splendor clothes the Son with life.

The Spirit's fission shakes the church of God.

Baptized, we live with God the Three in One.

Hallelujah!

A new creation comes to life and grows

as Christ's new body takes on flesh and blood.

The universe restored and whole will sing:

Hallelujah!

LH

Kiddo Unveiled

I've talked about Kiddo enough...and I know he'd think it was way cool that he showed up on Daddy's blog. So, without further ado, I give you the internet debut of Kiddo LutheranHusker!

Christmas Eve...all ready for church...and he's very happy to meet you!

Cookies and milk for Santa and Rudolph. Kiddo helped Sweetie make them and was very insistent that Santa got 4, and Rudolph got 2. Not sure what the reindeer union thought of that...

"This is where Santa is going to come down the chimney when I'm asleep...then he's going to go eat his cookies and drink his milk...then he's gonna bring me PRESENTS!"

As you may remember, he turned 3 back in December, and Sweetie and I just love the kid to pieces. Of course we do. That's what parents do, right? Every parent thinks their kid is the smartest, funniest, cutest, most wonderful and amazing child in the whole universe.

The difference is, Kiddo really is. =)

Okay, one more thing and then I'm done with the "proud-Daddy-showing-off" moment. Here's a video from November of him "reading" the Sandra Boynton classic Pajama Time to his stuffed animals before bed:

Good night. Sleep tight.

LH

Two things

Thing Number One: This morning, Kiddo turned to me while eating breakfast and said, "hey Daddy, it's really quiet in here. Maybe that's because Mommy's gone."

(slight pause)

"Hey Daddy, why are you laughing?"

Thing Number Two: I ran across a really great piece of writing that I had saved from right after the Red Sox beat the Yankees in the 2004 American League playoffs. I wish I could say I had written it...actually I suppose I could say I had written it, but I'd be lying. At any rate, it's an incredibly well-written "average die-hard Red Sox fan" viewpoint of that series, especially the final game. It's almost as if this guy had crawled into my brain and listened to my thoughts as I watched The Red Sox come back from the brink of being swept to complete the greatest series comeback in modern sports history. (OR...to watch the Yankees complete the greatest series choke-job in modern sports history...that sounds almost as nice.) Whether or not you're a Sox fan, if you've ever rooted for an underdog, you may be able to empathize with some of these emotions. Here you go:

The Nation's Independence Day by Bill Simmons

Honestly, I don't know what to do.

I just watched my beloved Red Sox win the American League pennant. That's only happened twice in my lifetime. I watched them rally back from three games down in a playoff series. That's never happened before, not in the history of baseball. I also just watched the Sox beat the Yankees in a deciding playoff game. Not only has that never happened before, it's a possible sign of the apocalypse.

Now get this ... all three things happened at the same time.

So what happens now? Where do I go from here? Should I throw myself into politics? Backpack across Europe? Take up gourmet cooking? Learn how to fly airplanes? Should I take the bus to Fort Hancock, cross the border and wander the beaches of Zihuatanejo looking for Andy and Red? You tell me. What should I do?

As recently as 75 hours ago, they were dead. Cooked. I can still remember standing in Fenway Park with my father, ready to hustle out of there as soon as the Yankees completed the sweep in the ninth. Then Millar drew a walk from Rivera. Signs of life. The crowd just wouldn't give up on this team -- everyone was standing and cheering like it was the seventh game of the World Series. Roberts ran onto the field as a pinch-runner, rattled Rivera into a few pickoff throws, swiped second and scooted home on a single from Mueller. Tie game. And the series was never the same.

I started thinking about a comeback that night, about 0.00000003 seconds after Ortiz's walkoff home run landed in the Yankees' bullpen a little before 1:30 a.m. So did everyone else. We had Pedro going in Game 5, then Schilling in Game 6. That's a puncher's chance. We also had a little momentum. Not much. But a little. Then Game 5 happened, moving us into the "Regardless of what happens, I love this team" stage of things. Then the Schilling Game happened and everyone believed.

To stage the greatest comeback in sports history against the most successful franchise in sports history, some Renee Zellweger-level crazy things need to happen. Like Rivera blowing consecutive saves. Like Wakefield getting out of a crucial inning despite three passed balls. Like Torre pitching to Ortiz instead of loading the bases for Mientktxdwdsdz at the end of Game 5. Like Schilling pitching with the sutures and the Roy Hobbs bloodstain on his sock. Like Foulke somehow recording 15 grueling outs over the course of 48 hours, including an impossible ninth inning in the Bronx in Game 6. The list goes on and on.

Miracles don't just happen. You need a bunch of mini-miracles along the way. Eventually they add up. So do the heroes.

And that's when it gets interesting.

By the time Game 7 rolled around, October 20th felt like a combination of New Year's Eve and the Fourth of July in Boston. This was bigger than all of us. Everyone was headed somewhere, or planning on heading somewhere. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. You couldn't walk five feet without seeing a Sox hat or hearing a conversation about the series. It was physically impossible.

I ended up watching the game in the Financial District, thanks to my buddy Sully's connections at a bar called The Office. We were able to invite about 20 guys -- closed-off room upstairs, projection TV, pizza and wings, the whole shebang -- operating under house rules (only Sox fans) and old-school country club rules (no chicks). Sometimes, guys just need to be around other guys. This was one of those times. We were 27 outs away from toppling the Yankees.

The beers started flowing. Fox kicked off the telecast by using the music from the Rocky-Drago training montage in "Rocky 4." You can imagine how I felt about that one. “When Nomar died, a part of me died, too. But now you're the one.” Everyone seemed optimistic ... right up until Damon was thrown out at home in the first inning, thanks to yet another bone-headed decision from the immortal Dale Sveum. If this guy was a school crossing guard, little kids would be getting pancaked by SUVs like Tony Mandarich in his prime.

We didn't even have 10 seconds to bitch about this before Ortiz crushed a two-run homer to right, and we were rolling. Derek Lowe pitched the biggest six innings of his life -- on two days' rest, no less -- and salvaged his dreadful regular season. The Struggling Johnny Damon (his extended name all week) smacked an astounding grand slam, my personal favorite moment of the night, only because it came from nowhere and sparked a two-minute long celebration of high-fiving, chest-bumping and general idiocy. Two innings later, Damon came up again and crushed another home run, a two-run job into the upper deck. So much for The Struggling Johnny Damon.

8-1, Red Sox. Fifteen outs to go.

We would have felt more confident with that cushion, but the announcers were determined to avoid any Yankees talk and concentrate solely on how the Sox could blow the game. They dragged out every disturbing statistic, every Babe Ruth sign, every negative Boston playoff memory they could find. I'm not positive on this, but I think McCarver and Buck started a "1918!" chant at one point. So yeah, we were a little uneasy.

But the Sox kept racking up those outs. The announcers didn't know what to do -- they had geared their entire broadcast around the inevitable Boston collapse. Forget about the fact that the Yankees had choked in the last two games in Boston, or that they lost at home to a 40-year-old guy whose ankle tendon was stapled to his ankle bone, or that they had a $180 million payroll, or that a Yankee collapse to Boston would be the most devastating moment in franchise history. Forget about showing more shots of the stunned fans, or Yankee players sitting listlessly in the dugout. None of this stuff mattered early. As the game dragged on, they started coming around.

"If they hold on to this lead, I'll tell you how big this would be," McCarver said at one point. "This could very well be the biggest win in Red Sox history."

Of course, that's like saying, "If John Kerry wins the election next month, that could very well be the biggest moment of his political career." But it was better than nothing. At least they weren't bringing up the Boston baggage as much. At least I wasn't thinking about it.

When Francona lifted Lowe in the seventh for Pedro Martinez, and Pedro allowed those two rockets to Matsui and Williams ... I mean, all those old demons came roaring back. It was the ultimate test. Like a recovering alcoholic opening that hotel mini-bar and seeing those tiny liquor bottles. Our room went silent, save for a few expletives and the echoes of the "Who's your Daddy?" chants. Poor Francona had unwittingly plugged Yankee Stadium back into its socket; I kept waiting for him to pull off the Paul Shaffer mask and reveal he was actually Grady Little.

I can't even describe the things I was thinking about. Terrible, horrible things. Dark things. I just kept remembering the words of my magazine editor, Neil, who called the series "Shakespearean" Wednesday afternoon. Well, if you were Shakespeare, how could you top last year's collapse if your ultimate goal was for an entire base of fans to kill themselves? Wouldn't you have their team roar back from a 3-0 series deficit, then blow an 8-1 lead in the deciding game? Wouldn't that do the trick?

I have never counted down the remaining outs in a game before. Never. Not until last night.

12 ... 11 ... 10 ...

(Pedro comes in.)

9.

(Good God.) (Come on.) (Don't do this to me.) (I will hang myself.)

8 ... 7.

(Exhale.)

6.

Just when the Yanks had some momentum, Bellhorn slammed an insurance home run off Gordon. Can you have insurance homers when the score is 8-3? Apparently so. Timlin made it through the eighth unscathed, with a major boost from Mientkiciwzwzz's outrageous scoop on an errant Mueller throw. (Defense, baby!)

5 ... 4 ... 3.

The top of the ninth yielded another insurance run off Gordon, who will be covered in blankets, duct-taped and thrown off one of Steinbrenner's yachts some time this winter. Now Fox was showing the obligatory reaction shots -- Yankee fans ready to start sobbing; Cashman frozen in his luxury box; A-Rod's eyes darting around the stadium, trying to figure out a way to cheat to get on base -- and that's when it felt real.

That used to be us. Not anymore.

"I almost started crying that inning," Sully said after it was over. "Is this what it feels like to be a girl?"

Seven-run lead. Three outs to go. Timlin got the first two and gave way to Embree, who retired Sierra on a routine grounder to end the game.

(Heeeeeeeeeee-yahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Let the record show that the Yanks went out with a whimper -- especially A-Rod (the anti-Babe), Sheffield (disappeared) and Matsui (never the same after Pedro dusted him in Game 4), not to mention Brown, Vazquez and Gordon, and even Torre (not his finest series). Only Jeter seemed to care that the Yankees were getting smoked -- there was one replay earlier in the game, after his RBI single, when he pumped his fist and shouted at his dugout, "Come on!" He seemed desperate. The Yankees never seem desperate. Now they were headed home for the winter, headed for the No. 1 slot on ESPN50's "Biggest Chokes" show in 2029.

Meanwhile, the Red Sox were celebrating at Yankee Stadium. Have I mentioned that yet? Meanwhile, we were doing our own celebrating at The Office—between exchanging high-fives and heterosexual man-hugs, I couldn't stop glancing at the TV. It's official, right? We definitely beat them, right?

"What's wrong with you?" Sully asked.

"Honestly? I keep waiting for them to announce that there's a Game 8."

Well, there wasn't. I said my goodbyes, headed out the door and walked around Faneuil Hall and Beacon Hill for the next 45 minutes, soaking in a scene I never thought I would see. Fans wearing Sox hats and T-shirts, everyone whooping and hollering. Car horns honking. A steady rumble of distant cheers coming from every direction -- Kenmore, Copley, B.C., B.U., Charlestown, you name it. If there's a better sound in life, I haven't heard one yet. Even greater than I imagined. Looking back, I probably had that same dumb smile walking around that Andy Dufresne gets in The Shawshank Redemption when they're working on the roof and everyone is drinking his beer.

To recap: Greatest comeback in sports history. First trip to the World Series in 18 years. First meaningful victory over the Yankees. All at the same time.

You have to be from here to understand. You just do. It wasn't just that the Yankees always win. It was everything else that came with it -- the petty barbs, the condescending remarks, the general sense of superiority from a fan base that derives a disproportionate amount of self-esteem from the success of their baseball team. I didn't care that they kept winning as much as they were jerks about it. Not all of them. Most of them. In 96 hours, everything was erased. Everything. It was like pressing the re-start button on a video game.

And yeah, I know. We need to win the World Series to complete the dream. But you can win the World Series every year. You only have one chance to destroy the Yanks. As my friend Mike (a Tigers fan) wrote me last night, "Everyone outside of Yankee brats are celebrating quietly with you guys. It's like you killed Michael Myers, Jason, Freddie Kreueger and Hannibal Lecter in one night."

It was the choke of chokes, an unprecedented gag job. For once, finally, the Yankees have some baggage. Just like every other baseball team.

One last story: I rolled into my dad's house at 1:30, only to find him in the living room, sound asleep, holding the TV remote in his hand like he'd been cryogenically frozen. On the television in front of him, Fox25 was showing live footage from Kenmore Square, as thousands and thousands of Boston fans were celebrating the impossible. After I muttered "Dad!" a few times, he finally jolted awake, glanced at me, then glanced at the TV.

"I can't believe it," he mumbled. "We beat the Yankees."

And it wasn't a dream.

LH

Friday Ramblings

• Yesterday, when I got home from work, there was an instrument case sitting on our driveway. Upon further inspection, turned out to be holding a saxophone...and a pretty nice, new-looking one at that. We live a few blocks away from a Catholic elementary school as well as a public elementary school, and I figured a kid from one of those schools probably stopped to have a snowball fight or something, then completely forgot they were carrying their sax home and went the rest of the way home without it. There wasn't any identification on it at all, so I couldn't call anyone...so we decided to leave it out front until it got dark (which was about a half-hour later), then bring it in and call both the schools this morning. Well, I got a call back from the Catholic school about an hour ago. They made the kid call and apologize for leaving it in my driveway, and make arrangements to pick it up. Well, today's my day off so I told him no problem, I'd just drop it off at the school. You know, the apology was completely unnecessary, but it was very cool that they had him make the call himself. I just got back from bringing the wayward sax to the school...the head nun thanked me and said the child in question owed me some extra prayers. I wish I could have come up with some kind of witty answer about the theology of "prayer payment," but all I could think of was "no problem." Ah well. It's probably for the best anyway that I didn't create some kind of ecumenical crisis. =)

• Last night, Kiddo woke up not once but twice with poopy diapers. And, as always, when he wakes up with them, he makes sure Daddy also wakes up with cries of "I'm poopy! I'm poooooooooooopy!" I had to laugh out loud the second time, though. I had him lay on the floor, and as I started cleaning him up he looked at me with the most serious expression on his face and said "I HAVE to stop DOING this!"

• Last night was also the long-awaited musical Scrubs episode. That one's going in my top-5 episodes of any show in any genre...in short, it was amazing. The music was actually very good, with a bunch of different song styles, alternately hilarious and touching, and more than one nod to some well-known Broadway musicals (42nd Street, Grease, and Les Miserables, as well as Pirates of Penzance, a rock-opera and those big-production movie musicals of the 1950's). A lyric sample from one of the group numbers (modeled on "We Go Together" from Grease): "We’re as close as the vena cava and the aorta, we go together like diverticulitis and a barium enema." A-ha-ha-ha-HAND...you haven't lived until you've seen Dr. Cox do one of his patented rants in the style of A Modern Major General! The music and lyrics were written by the folks who did the current Broadway hit Avenue Q, and they brought the same smart yet off-the-wall sensibility to what they did here. I wish I had a way to post the whole episode here...I'm telling ya, if you missed it last night and EVER get the chance to see it, don't miss it again. =) I did find two clips that don't even begin to do the show justice, but are better than nothing. The first is another song from the episode (I posted Everything Comes Down To Poo below). This one's called Guy Love, where Turk and J.D., best friends since college, profess their mostly-hetero best-friend love for each other. The song is exactly what was in the episode last night, though NBC chose to release this clip in the style of a music video...the "flashbacks" while they're singing (as well as the shots of them singing in the studio) weren't part of the episode. Funny stuff though:

The other clip is a general overview of the entire episode...you get to hear at least little pieces of a couple of the other songs here as well as snippets of interviews with the cast:

Enjoy, and happy Friday!!!!

One Child's Honesty

For Christmas, I received (among other things) the new, self-titled Taylor Hicks album. For those of you who may be rolling your eyes, I encourage you to at least give the album (as well as its predecessor, Under the Radar, which was released independently before he ever set foot on American Idol) a listen. There's 12 tracks--generally, on any given album, I can identify 3 or 4 "keepers" with 8 or 9 additional filler songs to round things out. Here, there's a couple of songs I could do without, but in general it's a GREAT album. Especially when one takes into account the fact that The Powers That Be at American Idol most likely foisted some songs on Taylor that they felt would be "radio-friendly" (in other words, crap for the faceless hordes). All in all, a really SOLID debut. Listen for the What'd I Say keyboard sample in Heaven Knows and a song originally written for Ray Charles that he didn't get to record before he passed away (The Right Place). There's also 2 songs on there that Taylor wrote and had originally sung on his independent Under the Radar album (Soul Thing and The Deal)...very interesting to hear different takes on them.

But I digress.

Rewind a few weeks with me, if you will.

It's now the middle of December. The Taylor Hicks album had been on my Amazon wishlist pretty much ever since Amazon pre-orders for it were available. I was home with Kiddo, and had promised him that he could play a computer game on pbskids.org. So he was sitting on my lap at the computer. I wanted to do two things before going to the pbskids site--check my email and doublecheck my Amazon wishlist to make sure there weren't any out-of-date items on there. I scanned my email quickly, then surfed over to Amazon, and began scrolling down my wishlist.

As the picture of the Taylor Hicks album scrolled up, Kiddo stopped me. "Daddy," he said, "that's what you want for Christmas!"

Since I had never informed him of this, I was immediately interested in what he had to say. "Oh, really?" I replied.

"Yes. That's just like what I saw in the store with Mommy, and she said you wanted it for Christmas," he told me, pointing to the picture of the album cover.

I started laughing. "What's funny?" he asked me.

I don't remember exactly what my answer was, but I think I made something up about remembering something funny Kiddo had done earlier in the day.

And like that, the cat was out of the bag. The secret was out. Well, not completely, I suppose, he never did actually say that they had bought it, but I knew.

Ya gotta love a child's honesty.

Three years ago...

About a week and a half ago, Kiddo turned 3.

My little baby is 3 years old.

Of course, that night after Kiddo went to bed Sweetie and I had to pull out the old videotape of the days surrounding his birth. We laughed at the pile of luggage I lugged to the hospital room (hmmmm...is that why it's called "luggage", because you "lug" it everywhere?), winced as we watched Sweetie's pain during early labor, laughed again at the sudden change in her demeanor AFTER the epidural, cried as he was born, and went through the whole range of crazy emotions we felt in the following 3 or 4 days, emotions intensified by an INCREDIBLE lack of sleep.

On the one hand, it felt like yesterday.

On the other hand, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

I remember taking him home from the hospital. As we got into the car, Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" was playing on the radio--we were videotaping ourselves driving away, and with the music and the freshly fallen snow outside, it honestly sounded like a movie soundtrack. One of these days, if I have a chance to convert that video to digital, I'll have to post it because it's entirely too funny. I remember driving home white-knuckled, more nervous than I've ever been behind a wheel since I was a teenager learning the ropes in an empty parking lot, knowing that I had this brand new life that I was responsible for in the back seat.

I remember walking into the house, setting Kiddo down in his carrier, looking at Sweetie helplessly and both of us saying to each other, "okay, what do we do now?"

I remember the first diaper change at home. Now, you need to realize that I've changed many a diaper in my day, even before Kiddo was born. I did a lot of babysitting growing up, and worked for a time at a child care center. But I made a classic mistake for this first "at-home" changing. He had pooped a little bit, and I had him on the couch, butt facing outward, as I knelt with my face at butt level, getting ready to wipe him off. Well, you can guess what happened next. That's right, he wasn't quite done pooping yet. Ever had a faceful of baby diarrhea? No? I swear, it was something right out some B-grade new parent comedy movie, except if it had happened in a movie I would have said "that's too unrealistic, that NEVER would happen in real life!"

I remember having the entire Nick at Nite lineup from midnight to 6 AM memorized.

"Memories...light the corners of my mind...wispy watercolor memories...of the way we were..."

Happy belated birthday, Kiddo.

LH

"Mommy, it's a FEEDBOX!"

Well, Kiddo's starting to get a handle on the Christmas story. Every night before bed, he gets to read 3 books. The last couple of weeks, by Mommy and Daddy's perogative, book #3 each night has been a kids' version of the Christmas story. Last night, Sweetie was reading it to him, and just like other stories when you try to deviate from the script he knows, he set her straight. In the story he hears, Jesus is laid in a feedbox. Sweetie wasn't paying attention and accidentally called it a manger, but he corrected her right quick. "No Mommy, not a manger, it's a FEEDBOX!"

Funny thing is, for the first few years of my life I just assumed "manger" was just a fancy word for "crib." Maybe Kiddo will have a better grasp of that little detail of the story. We'll see.

Later, Sweetie was corrected again when she had the angels sing "glory to God in the highest," instead of "glory to God in heaven," like the book says.

Who knows if the comprehension is there. Bottom line is, he's remembering the details. Comprehension can come later, but it's oh so important to know the framework of the story in the first place.

Oh, there's SOME comprehension there. The other night, after he finished his bedtime prayer, he looked at me and said, "Daddy, when I pray I'm talking to Jesus, just like baby Jesus who was born!"

Keep talking to Jesus, Kiddo. Keep talking.

LH

Out of the mouths of babes...

I was in a hurry yesterday morning to whisk The Kiddo off to daycare so I could get to work. As he was eating breakfast, I was rushing around the kitchen straightening things up. After a few minutes I noticed that he had stopped eating and was watching me. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: "Keep eating."

Kiddo: (with a big grin) "Daddy, we almost forgot to pray before breakfast!"

Me: (thinking to myself) "No, we didn't almost forget. We, or I, was in too much of a hurry and hoped you wouldn't notice. What kind of church Christian Education Director and dad am I anyway? I suck."

Me: (to The Kiddo) "You're RIGHT!!! We did almost forget!"

Kiddo: "Fold your hands, daddy. I'll pray for us."

Me: (folding hands) "Okay."

Me: (thinking to myself) "Yes, please pray for me, the hustling, bustling Martha to your smiling Mary. Kid, I love you to pieces. You're only two and already teaching me things."

Kiddo: "Come Lord Jesus, be our guest. And let these gifts to us be blessed. Amen."

Me: "Amen."

Amen, indeed. Let it be so! Kiddo, thanks for reminding your daddy of my need to pray, especially during those busy and hectic times.

Amen, amen, and amen!

T.A.(P)D.

Thoughts of a Precocious 2 Year-Old

Some word-for-word quotes The Kiddo has said in the last 24 hours:

Said very loudly upon seeing a boxing match on TV in the restaurant where we were ordering food:
"Those guys aren't being very nice to each other."

After overhearing my wife and I discussing a football team that lost a game:
"They lost just like the Yankees lose!" (Wrong sport, but right sentiment...daddy was very proud after hearing that one!)

Watching me pop a mint in my mouth:
"I'm glad I'm growing up, otherwise I might not ever get to eat mints."

After passing gas while getting ready for bed last night:
"I'm not poopy, daddy...it's just air."

Sitting up in bed, at the top of his lungs at 2:30 this morning:
"I'm POOPY!!!!! I'm POOPY!!!! I'm POOOOOOOOOOOOOOPY!"

T.A.(P)D.