Addison stood up on his chair at lunchtime yesterday and said, “I am the Lord, and you are Satan.”

He was pointing at me, his faced clench into the most adorable expression of wrath I’ve ever seen. I really didn’t know what to say . . . I was really just doing my best not to laugh. I mean, was I supposed to lay down the law here and now that in the world of make believe, you are not allowed to pretend to be Jesus. The only acceptable times to assume that role is in manger scenes and Passion plays. This was neither, so the obvious thing to do was to nip this behavior in the bud.

“Sit down, Lord,” I heard myself say. Okay, this had gone too far. And then, it went farther. Addison went into old school WWF mode.

“Watcha gonna do, Satan? Are you gonna destroy me? Or are you gonna give up?”

“Well, I guess I’ll give up. What’s the point, really?”

“No, you’re gonna destroy me.”

Okay, so the theology was beyond messed up at this point, so Mommy stepped in between the Lord and Satan to offer this word of counsel: “No, Jesus is all powerful, so Satan can’t destroy Him.”

“Oh.” Thoughtful, four-year-old pause. “You know who can destroy Jesus? Bad guys.”

We eventually straightened Addison out, assuring him that Jesus could not be defeated by anyone or anything and that pretending to be Him for play was probably not the best idea, nor was calling his father, “Satan.” He still gave me one more Hoganesque, “Watcha gonna do, Satan?”

Heather (and Addison) swear that Colin is saying, “Da-Da.” Frankly, I don’t see it. Or I don’t hear it. I don’t buy it. No one is suggesting he’s actually calling me Da-Da, but I don’t even hear the sounds. I hear awooyaga. And olyowaa. But not Da-Da. Why I’m not playing along, I don’t know. I’d kill for a Da-Da. Maybe I’m just not ready for another kid to grow up. Nothing to fear . . . he’s not yet eight months old, but still . . .

Tonight as Addison was going for his ritualistic bedtime cereal snack, he said, “I’m vo, vo, vo, voracious.” God bless Pinky Dinky Doo’s Great Big Word Machine.

February 25, 2008 question

Gone with the Wind is the top box-office earner of all time when you factor in inflation. When you don’t consider inflation, it’s just a really old movie. Here’s who knew:

Karen H (the H stands for Huge Ears Like That, You Ought To Give A Darn)

On to today’s movie news, where researchers have proclaimed to finally possess the ability to film the flight of an electron. It’s gripping theater, if you care to watch. (Find the footage here: http://www.livescience.com/php/video/player.php?video_id=080222-ElectronRide). And of course by gripping, I mean that it is the singular most ridiculous so-called footage I’ve ever witnessed. It looks like a Real Jukebox visualizer effect from 1992. But, sure, hooray for you, Mr. Scientist. You can now safely return to your high school reunion and prove to all your old classmates that they were wrong: you are even more boring than they suspected. Here’s today’s question:

What three films have swept the Big 5 categories at the Oscars (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Screenplay)?

Little Cub

(UPDATE: If you were wondering, here’s an update on Liev.)

After we named Colin (and I think an hour or two went by after he was born before we finally decided on one) we later discovered that one of the meaning of his name is “Little Cub.” So it came as no surprise to me yesterday when the donning of an oversized Cubs hat caused him to burst into fits of hysteria. By the time I got the camera, it had downgraded to a mild case of smilius goofus. By the way, the hat Colin is wearing in these pictures is adjusted to fit Addison perfectly.

Colin’s happiness aside, he probably won’t be joining us on May 1 when Heather, Addison, and I head to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs take on Prince Fielder and his vegetarian Brewers. We bought tickets for just one game when they went on sale Friday . . . I’d like to think we could attend more games than just the one, but the Cubs’ recent rash of success (financially; baseball, not so much) has ticket prices just a bit high. It doesn’t help that you wind up paying about 5 bucks per tickets in convenience. Getting the shaft, so convenient. The real hilarious thing is that the ticket sellers recommend you use the uber-convenient “print the dang tickets yourself” option, which will cost you $2.50. Yes, they invite you to print out the tickets you bought on your own printer, on your own printer, with your own ink . . . and pay them two and a half bucks. I opted for the no extra extra charge for just having them print out the tickets and mail them to me. Go figure.

And here’s a random tidbit from the Oscar red carpet festivities. When Cameron Diaz was talking about . . . something incredibly important, I’m sure, Addison asked, “Is that Mommy?” I hadn’t heard that one before.

Oh, and I’ve seen just a smattering of the Oscars so far, and it’s so good the writers are back so the presenters have something freshly awkward and unfunny to recite. Yay!

Posted by Picasa

New Site of the Week – White People Blog

If you read only one blog today . . . dude, seriously, this one? But if you read only one more blog today, I would highly recommend this blog about Stuff White People Like. It is hilarious. Every post triggers at least one of two reactions: 1. Ha! White people are so ridiculous. 2. My stalker has been blogging.

It really is fine work. The blogs make fun of white people, but they aren’t kidding. It’s insightful, brilliantly written, cutting, sarcastic . . . everything you’d ever want in a blog, right? If you’re a white person, or if you’ve ever met one, you should check it out. Difficult breakups, expensive sandwiches, the Toyota Prius . . . it’s a veritable emporium of mock whiteness.
Today’s change: less laziness.

Top Ten Myths the Church Loves to Believe

10. Your personal level of righteousness is directly proportionate to how nicely you are dressed.
9. Punctuality is commanded in the Bible.
8. Heaven will be a democracy.
7. Satan was a musician.
6. Dissent is the same as dissension.
5. There are seven things that please the Lord: the habits of highly effective people.
4. Perfection is possible.
3. Righteousness is impossible.
2. If your theology is correct, it’s okay to be a jerk.
1. Comfort is a virtue.

Bonus: Pastors should pee standing up.

February 22, 2008 question

Hey, hey, we’re the Monkees, and Jenn and Karen* know our address, but we’re too busy in trial to think about stalker stress.

Today is the day single-game Cub tickets go on sale. In like . . . seven minutes. But I’ll be busy, so feel free to pick me up some, kay? Thanks. Here’s today’s ticket question:

Adjusted for inflated ticket prices, what is the top U.S. domestic box office grossing movie of all time?


*H (the H stands for Heart Goes Out To Davy Jones Who Was Sued For Singing Monkee Songs In A Commercial)



I decided a while ago that I wanted to do something special for post #100, which this is. I mean, it is post #100. But it is also special.

I just wanted to invite you, dear reader, to pray on behalf of a little boy who might be in the process of being born right now. His name, I’m told, is Liev (which is the Russian word for lion). Because of complications, he has to be delivered right now, three months early. Obviously it’s a shock for the whole family, most of whom live in Ukraine.

Anyway, I said I would pray, and I hope you will too, that God will protect this little guy. Thanks.

UPDATE: Liev was born the good old fashioned way and is doing well. He weighed in at 2 lbs., 10 oz., (1.2 Kg) which they say is actually pretty big for being born that early in the pregnancy. No complications other than the early delivery. He’s on a respirator (but is starting to breathe on his own in a “who needs this ridiculous machine” kind of way) and is being fed through a tube (although he is sucking at it, showing he knows full well this is a task he’s supposed to be doing by himself). He’s still at incubator status, but the family is ecstatic about the prayers Liev has received and the strength he has shown thus far.

Not Nice

I am not a morning person, but I appreciate 5:00. As much as I hate to roll out of bed (and I relive it with multiplicity each day, depending on how many times I go all Rick James on the snooze button) there’s something special about those first few moments of the day when I’m the only waking person in the house. It is that window of time when I have convicting thoughts. There is clarity in the morning, and clarity almost always reveals something I’ve been doing wrong for years. But unlike the regret that creeps in at nighttime, morning clarity has a certain positive spin . . . I think it’s equal doses of reality and hope.

Reality is the nerve-shredding buzz of the alarm that gets you out of bed, and hope is the hot shower that convinces you it’s worth it to try a little harder.

But this morning’s dose of reality was a little stronger than that of the typical day. I realized that most of the nice things I do for others come at absolutely no sacrifice to me. I get accused from time to time of being nice, but the more I thought about it this morning, the more convicted I became that I don’t do it enough . . . or at least, I’m not usually very selfless about it.

It’s like this. In life you have three different types of activities: things you’re supposed to do (responsibilities), things you want to do (desires), and things it would be really nice if you could do for other people (good deeds). I would guess most people’s lives are pretty full of responsibilities, and I tend to fill in the rest of the blanks with desires. As for me, when I decide to squeeze in time for good deeds, it’s not my desires that take the hit. When I do something nice, it’s usually at the expense of responsibilities. Not always, but . . . usually.

So that sucks. And it’s pretty obvious what the change for today needs to be. It won’t be easy. I think I know where to start. I know, I’m not the only one with this problem. And it could be worse. But, it’s gotta get better. I believe it will.

February 21, 2008

The Daytona 500 is 500 miles long. But it only takes 200 laps to get there.

Heather M (the M stands for My Kids All Knew Too)
Steve T (the T stands for Talladega Man)

all knew that without blinking an eye. At least, I assume, eye-blinking had little to do with their ability to answer that question. No idea why I chose to put that idiom in there, but I’m having so much fun mocking myself for putting it there, I can’t help but leave it. Sorry if the trivia layoff caused you to get restless. Here’s today’s new question:

Who lived at 1134 North Beechwood Drive? (Smaller but more obvious hint than the one already given above: If this were Trivial Pursuit, I think it would be a pink, maybe a brown question.)

Changing Batteries

The change of the day is pretty simple, and I started it a little while ago. Old batteries are going in a paper bag to be recylced at some point. I confess, I’ve never been a battery recycler. Now I am. We are. We recycle.

Alright, planet slightly less destroyed, I was shoveling away the lack of global warming this afternoon, and it was hilarious. The snow was as light and cloudy as a dry cappuccino. Seriously, there was a ton of it, but I’ve expended more energy brushing dandruff off my shoulders. Okay, that’s gross and untrue, but you get the picture. I truly have never shoveled snow that was that light before. It was so light, I was spending most of my time just thinking up metaphors just to give me something to do.

When I came in from the mini-exercise, Addison commented, “Daddy, you’re really strong! I saw you move a whole pile of snow!” It was true. I did. I was going faster than my neighbors with snowblowers. Heather wondered how I could plow through it so fast. I didn’t tell her (until now) that it was ridculously easy. I mean, that’s the first lesson in Chick Impressing 101: If the girl you like is dishing out credit, you take it, no matter how little you actually deserve. It’s even more important after you’re married and she grows accustomed and unphased by your feats of strength. Oh well, it was a fun couple of hours of falsely received glory.

Aaaand . . . so far American Idol has been one big eyeroll for me. I’m ready for the dead weight to be cast off. Why does this show bring out my inner Simon?