Nary an Original Thought

A few gems from Pete as of late…

In AWANA Cubbies, Pete just memorized John 14:2. The “activity” to go along with this was a coloring page showing clouds, starbursts, some more clouds, and some more sun-looking things. Pete colored the starbursts yellow, the sky-looking area blue, and the rest green. He told his mom that the picture looked like it was supposed to be a bunch of clouds and stuff, but he thought it made sense to color a lot of it green because “there will probably be a lot of land in heaven, not just clouds and stuff.” I suppose he’s right.

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While we were in St. Louis the kids spent a fair amount of time “swimming” in my in-laws’ hot tub. At one point Elsie noticed that her scraped knee was “all better”. I said she should probably take a second to thank Jesus for healing her knee, and instinctively I looked up toward the sky as I thanked him myself. She asked why I looked up toward the sky, to which I replied that sometimes when we pray we can look up toward the sky to remember that Jesus is in heaven. She thought a minute and then said, “Alaina’s in heaven too, right?”:”(My cousin accidentally shot and killed his wife, Alaina, a few weeks ago. The kids are still trying to understand it all, as am I. More about this here.)”: Before I could get an answer out, Peter chimed in. “Yes, Elsie. Alaina is in heaven. When people who love Jesus die they go to heaven. And then, when Jesus is done fixing the earth, we will all come back to live with him on it again.” Looks like our little post-mil’er in training is well on his way.

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So, in light of what happened with my cousin, we’ve been doing a little bit of gun safety talking these days. I asked Pete if he was allowed to touch a gun. “Nope. Never.” Then I asked him if he would just stand back and watch if he ever saw one of his sisters playing with a gun. “No way,” he said, “because that would be just like what Adam did when the snake talked to Eve.” Yes. Good point. Wouldn’t want to repeat that little mistake.

Elsie is getting mighty “crafty” these days. She has really enjoyed drawing lately, and last night she and Grandma Joan created a couple of Princess Picture Frames. As you might expect, they required a fair amount of glitter glue.

Which got me thinking… where does glitter glue come from? Is this what happens when My Little Ponies die?

“Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.”

~Pierce Harris, Atlanta Journal, via: Writer Dad

I see this from my own childhood. There are some things I remember because Dad said them about a thousand times (e.g. “It’s better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it”, or “Even if you could get away with it, would it be right?”) that I find myself still repeating today.

There are other things that stuck and I have no reason why. I changed the oil in our van the other day, which brought back a picture-perfect memory of being in the driveway with my dad when I was 16 or 17 and he walked me through it for the first time. I remember the exact words he used in telling me to let it run for a bit so the oil would be warm, so it would flow out more easily. It couldn’t remember it more clearly if it had happened yesterday.

This makes me a little nervous. When my kids are grown, what will they remember? Will it be the time I lost my cool because one of them got out of bed one too many times? Will it be one of the nights that I didn’t make it home in time for dinner like I said I would because something came up at work? Will it be some random event, like changing the oil in the middle of the afternoon on some Saturday in the Spring? It all seems so unpredictable.

Happy Birthday, Tess!

Daddy’s little girl turned three today. Happy birthday, Elsie Lou!

I need a favor. Amanda and I don’t have that many pictures of the two of us together, because one of us is always on the other side of the camera (no, Pete does not take a very good picture). So, in honor of our 6th wedding anniversary, we’re going out Sunday afternoon for an around-the-town photo shoot of sorts. We’ve got the tripod, and I know how to use the timer. So, let’s hope this works. Should be a lot of fun, if for no other reason than that we will be sans children for the afternoon. I love those little people, but an afternoon with just their mommy sounds mighty appealing to me.

I’m putting together a list of places that I think we could go to get some nice shots. I have the obvious ones already (Sunken Gardens, UNL campuses, etc.) and I’m planning on finishing up with the columns out at Pioneers Park, followed by a picnic dinner. Other than those, does anyone have suggestions of good places to shoot fun, candid, occasionally romantic pictures? Thanks for the help!

Elsie turns three on October 3rd, but she’s been going around for a few weeks now telling everyone that she’s “frwee”. Amanda had the audacity to tell her the other day that she’s not three yet, to which Elsie replied, “I’m a wittle bit frwee.”

Yes, she’s a little bit three. And a whole lot of trouble. I’m going to have to keep a close eye on that little sassy britches.

One of the supreme joys in my life is “snuggling” in bed with all of my kids first thing in the morning. Tess usually wakes us all up, and then everyone piles in while Tess works on the first bottle of the day.

Several days ago, I said something about how amazed I am at the softness of Tess’ skin. She’s about 11 mos. old now, but she still has the softest baby skin I’ve ever seen. Pete is never one to miss an opportunity for commentary, so he remarked that girls all have soft skin.

But not boys. Boys are bumpy.

Though I’m not entirely sure why, I’ve been in a country music mood for the past few weeks. I don’t know if it is an end of summer thing or what, but last night while I was doing the dishes I had Froggy 98 on in the background. It was odd enough when a song by Darius Rucker, former frontman for Hootie and the Blowfish, came on. The song after that? “Who Says You Can’t Go Home,” by Bon Jovi. Bon-Freakin’-Jovi. On Froggy 98. This is not the Froggy I grew up with. Froggy is dead to me. Dead.

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We stopped by Blockbuster on Sunday night to pick up Star Wars, Episode I. You see, Pete has an opportunity I never did growing up, namely to watch all 6 Star Wars movies in order. Amanda already spilled the beans (for shame!) that Anakin will become Darth Vader, but hopefully he’ll be able to experience the rest of the story as it unfolds before him.

While we were trying to find the movie, I passed by the Guitar Hero III demo they had set up in the store. I had never *experienced* the Guitar Hero phenomenon, so I picked up the guitar, scrolled to Weezer’s “My Name is Jonas,” and began to jam. The first time through didn’t go so well, and I got booed off the stage less than half way through. Not one to be easily discouraged, I started the song over again and began to find my groove. Before the lead singer could sing about the choo choo train leaving right on time, I had the digi-fans out of their seats, hooting and hollering as I wailed away on my recently acquired axe. When it was all said and done, I hit 89% of the notes but was convince that if I played it just one more time I could probably get into the high nineties. I can see how people get addicted to that game.

By the way, Pete really liked the movie and has since been frequently stabbing me with his collapsible light saber and “aiming” his palm at me, attempting to throw me across the room using the Force. Does anyone know where I can pick up a kit to test Pete’s midi-chlorian levels?

If you caught Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, then you probably still have the A Man’s Gotta Do song stuck in your head (if not, you can buy it from iTunes or hear the song on youtube).

You can nominate me for Father of the Year if you want, but we watched all three acts of Dr. Horrible with Pete over the weekend. He thought it was pretty entertaining, and stayed engaged through all 45~ minutes. Then, yesterday I caught him singing “A maaaaaaaaaan’s gotta do what a maaaaan’s gotta do” under his breath. As if that weren’t funny enough, last night while he was taking a bath he turned to me and said, “I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do. ‘Cuz I’m a man, right Dad?” As I tried to keep myself from bursting out with laughter, I asked him what he thought he had to do. “You know,” he said, “Man stuff.”

I’m hoping that doesn’t involve peeing in the back yard, but I wouldn’t count on it.