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Thursday, January 29, 2015

Welcome to the NFL!

As long as I can remember, the NFL has been a big part of my family. The logos, the helmets, the long standing rivalries, it's all so nostalgic for me. I have memories from a very young age of me, my brother and my dad spread out in the living room throwing the football back and forth while watching a game. My parents would let me stay up late to watch Monday Night Football from time to time when most other kids had long since gone to bed. My dad taught me so much about the game when I was very young. To this day my brother and I can make each other laugh by quoting some of my dad's old NFL films videos.

"In days of old when men were bold and face masks weren't invented, 
they ran like hell knowing all too well that sometimes they'd get dented." 
That's just the first one to pop into my mind. We would just lay on my parents bed and watch, only stopping long enough for the VHS tape to rewind so we could watch it again. I'm sure if my mom knew the video used the word "hell" we wouldn't have been allowed to watch it. I guess what mom didn't know didn't hurt her in this case... or maybe she knew but she understood the magnitude of the male bonding that was going on so she made an exception.

I vividly remember my dad playfully tackling me on the living room floor, burying his nose into my cheek and saying, "Welcome to the NFL" in his best tough guy voice. This was a regular occurrence and one of my very favorite childhood memories. It's something I always knew I'd carry on as tradition if I was blessed enough to have sons of my own one day. Sometimes dad would strip the ball away from me and teach me the need to hang on for dear life because "anything goes" on the bottom of the pile. I would just giggle my little heart out. Like all kids, I loved that feeling of running from him knowing that I was inevitably going to be hit with a giant love tackle; Or the feeling of hanging on to that ball knowing it was about to be pried from my tiny little hands. It was incomparable to anything else! There's just nothing like the joy of rough housing with your dad, except for maybe carrying on the tradition with your son(s).  So far I'd say we're off to a pretty good start.
Football is a big part of our relationship already. Don't get me wrong, they don't show much interest in watching the games yet. The most exciting thing about the games is the simple fact that they get to snuggle on the couch with Mom and Dad instead of going to bed on a game night. Scratch that, the most exciting part for them is probably watching Carrie Underwood sing the Sunday Night Football song while trying to sing along.

My oldest son, Cooper, is 3 (almost 4). At two and a half years old he had all 32 NFL team helmets memorized. At this point he didn't know his ABC's. I know. You don't have to say it. Bad parenting. Sometimes I'm ashamed of this fact but honestly, most of the time I'm pretty darn proud of it. After all, before I was a parent I was only a man.

 Turns out, a childs brain truly is like a sponge. You'd think they'd run out of space up there but they actually do have room for 32 team helmets among the 26 letters, so many numbers, a few handfuls of colors and the names of approximately 133 animals. I actually used the fact that he learned his NFL teams before his ABC's as motivation and we had the ABC's whooped by 3 years old. Cooper also has this sweet Manning-esque quarterback cadence that he recites like it's the pledge of allegiance. I taught him some of it and the rest came from only he knows where:

"Blue 42. Red 98. 3 on the green. Omaha Omaha. Easy Easy. Eleven Eleven. Hut Hut Hike!" 

You're right. I probably should have taught him the pledge of allegiance instead... but I didn't. However, I did teach him how to strip a football from a ball carrier. Big mistake...

 We were at an indoor playground called Bay & Bee about a month ago and he ran up to another child about his age and exclaimed, "I'm going to strip you!" I watched in horror, feverishly making my way from the other side of the room like an outside linebacker in pursuit of a running back as Cooper knocked the poor boys balloon out of his hands. I knew just what was going to happen before it happened but I couldn't get there until Cooper had already raked the balloon from the boys grip and yelled, "FUMBLE" as he jumped on it. Thank God he yelled fumble. The boys mom was standing right there and I can only Imagine the thoughts running through her mind as another little boy told her son that he was going to strip him on the playground. 

Thankfully, I arrived on the scene just in time to apologize and explain to the mother that we were in the process of learning when it is and when it isn't okay to strip people. As you can Imagine, that was an interesting conversation. A conversation where I probably came off as an incompetent father. What can I say? You win some; You lose some. I also had Cooper give the balloon back to the boy and apologize as I overturned the call due to the boys knee touching the ground slightly before the balloon came out. This was hard for me to do. It was a textbook strip and I am extremely biased. Upon further review it was the right call; or maybe I just didn't want the boy to develop self confidence issues...could you imagine discovering you have a fumbling problem at 3 years old? That poor boy may have never recovered from that. Plus, Cooper needs to learn that in the cruel game of life you just don't recover every fumble that comes your way. There's a reason why a football isn't round. There's also a reason why the balls of life are oblong as well. Did I lose you in that extreme deep thought? I think we all learned a thing or two from this experience.

My youngest son, Fletcher, is 1(almost 2). He's a work in progress. The only NFL team he recognizes is the Jaguars and his quarterback cadence is, "Red. Green. Hike" on a good day. I'd say it's more Gabbert-esque than Manning-esque but he's getting the hang of it. Thanks to his big brother, he understands what a tackle is and what a fumble is. He's been "stripped" and tackled by his big brother more times than he'd like to remember. I'll take the blame for that. However, I continually catch Cooper talking to Fletcher about football when he doesn't even know I can hear him. We recently started letting the boys fall asleep together in the same bed. Daphne and I just watch them on the monitor. They provide some pretty priceless material. We get to watch for free. You have to pay 10$ minimum for this kind of  entertainment at a movie theatre. I eavesdropped on Cooper quizzing Fletcher just the other night:

Can you say Packers?
Can you say Seahawks?
Can you say Lions?
Can you say Redskins?
Can you say Rams?
Can you say Bengals, Browns and Chiefs? 
Those are my 3 favorite teams. What are your favorite teams?
 The Packers, Eagles and Panthers? How about the Falcons? 
You can have 4 favorite teams Fletcher.

Fletcher tried his best to answer every single question. He tried to pronounce every team name that Cooper threw at him. My heart just melted right there listening to my 3 year old and 1 year old laying in bed talking football. I've already succeeded at passing down the father like son. Actually, like grandfather, like father, like son, like little brother. 
If I had to guess, I've probably spoken the words, "Welcome to the NFL" to my boys a total of 200 times in their short little lives to this point. Those 4 words just have their own special meaning to me. If  you ever want to tell me that you love me but you're the kind of person who doesn't like to say it, just tell me: "Welcome to the NFL!" I'll understand what you mean and we can just carry on like the meat heads we are and nobody has to know that we just shared a moment.

Before my wife and I decided to start our family Sunday afternoons were reserved for tailgating and attending Jaguars games. When the Jags were on the road we'd get together with friends, order pizza and watch the game. Maybe we'll do that again someday but for now Sunday afternoons are reserved for pushing all the living room furniture against the walls and piling up every pillow in the house on the living  room floor. What team are you? I'm a Green Bay Packer linebacker! Welcome to the NFL boys!

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Monday, January 19, 2015

When I Grow Up

What do you want to be when you grow up?
Do you remember what your answer was?
What if you had actually become that?
How different would your life be?

My first grade teacher was named Mrs. Alford. In her class I did a project where I had to give a speech about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Although I can't remember much of anything from that long ago, this particular project really resonates with me to this day. Would you like to know why? Because I told the class that I wanted to be a Marketing Representative, that's why. You may be asking yourself, "Why on earth does that make this so memorable?" Ha! Let's see, possibly because I couldn't pronounce my R's properly in 1st grade so my entire life since then I've had to listen to my parents and older sisters talk about how cute it was to hear me say "Mawketing Wepwesentative" over and over in front of my class. I guess the definition of cute and embarrassing mean roughly the same thing, depending on your perspective. Truth is, I don't even know exactly what a mawketing wepwesentative does. I doubt I really understood in first grade, even though my parents did their best to explain it. I never truly wanted to be a mawketing wepwesentative but my dad was a mawketing wepwesentative by day and my hero by night and I wanted to be just like him so... why not? If it was going to make me more like my dad then sign me up.

 Side note: He was also my baseball coach. Nice knee pads Dad.

So, I didn't want to be a Marketing Representative. There was a brief stretch in fourth grade where I wanted to be Garth Brooks. (Today I'm not a fan of country music but let's be honest, the dude was a genius when I was 8 years old.) I don't know what I wanted to be. I guess I just wanted to be happy like my mom and dad and maybe one day have a son who I could make this for:

Yep. Eat your heart out! My very own Garth Brooks lunch box that my parents made for me in fourth grade. It's a one of a kind. Limited Edition. Yeehaw!

As I got older I don't remember ever wanting to be anything other than a baseball, football or basketball player. Poor guy... what I didn't understand as a young boy was that...well, I was a runt. I still am. 34 years old and I go about 5'9 160 lbs. Professional sports just wasn't in the cards for me but I kept plugging away anyhow. I prayed about it.

In the eleventh grade my focus began to shift from sports to music. I started playing guitar and formed a band with a few friends from school. My dream job officially changed. I wanted to be a rock star now. Yep, I wanted to graduate high school, move to California and travel the country playing music in bars and various other venues. Man, I just hope mom and dad didn't blame Garth for this. It truly wasn't his fault.

Look at that face.

Nope. It was punk rock music that had stolen my heart this time around. No more country for me. Looking back I'm sure mom and dad weren't too thrilled about this. I played guitar in a punk rock band for somewhere around 8 years and rare was the night that my 60 something year old (at the time) parents weren't in attendance with the video camera avoiding the mosh pit to support their baby boy. I was truly blessed. What an example those two set for me.

Okay. Let's recap. The only jobs I ever really wanted to have were a professional athlete or a rock star. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I really really wanted to do one of these two things. After high school I put all of my time and effort into music. Our band had a lot of talent. We were about to hit it big. I could feel it! I prayed about it...but it just never happened. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that we named our band, "Breaking Up." Foreshadowing? Needless to say, we broke up.

Who was that old singer? You know that old song? How did it go?

"Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers." If 8 year old me was here right now he'd look me dead in the eye and say, "I told you that guy was a genius." I guess I'd have to concur.  I'd bet that I thank God for unanswered prayers at least once a week. A professional athlete and a rock star, huh? What a sweet juxtaposition. If I had become one of those I might be married. I might still have children. I wouldn't be home though, in THIS home living THIS life with THIS wife and these two boys. I wouldn't be able to invest time into my boys lives every single day and teach them how to count with flash cards at the dinner table or help them learn their ABC's with foam letters in the bathtub. I wouldn't be able to experience the utterly odd joy when my sons eyes start to water as he finally grunts for the first time while sitting on the potty and poops somewhere other than his diaper or the tub. Oh, sweet victory! I wouldn't have near as much time to teach them how to swing a baseball bat, catch a football or shoot a basketball. I wouldn't have as much time to teach them manners or how to treat a woman. I wouldn't have as much time to teach them about character and accountability. I'd be having fun. I'd be making more money. I understand that some people do it and make it work. Not me though. God wanted me at home every day a few minutes after 5 for those, "Daddy's Home" moments. He wanted me to have no excuses if my boys didn't turn out to be better men than I am. That's the challenge. That's the goal. I accept. I am who I want to be when I grow up. Thanks God... thanks Garth.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Handyman's Game!

Let me start out by telling you that my wife is amazing. Her name is Daphne. We've been married for 5 and a half years. We have two boys. 3 years and 1 year old respectively. Sure, we butt heads and drive each other crazy from time to time but when it really comes down to it, she's a great teammate. I'm talking about the kind of wife who, when we got married and before we had kids, signed off on a rule that balls being thrown in the house are totally welcome. If she regrets making that deal now it's only slightly but she hasn't voiced it. When she made the deal I did what any self respecting man and sports fan would do. I put up a basketball goal on the living room wall.

My friends and I designed a game called "Man's Game" that consists of three grown men playing close to full contact basketball inside the house and when you make a good physical play you simply exclaim, "MAN'S GAME!" to the other two guys. As you can Imagine, things get broken and people get hurt. Fortunately, not that often and not that bad. Now that we have kids it's a rarity that we play Man's Game because it typically gets a little too loud. However, we do play a lot of horse. You know horse right? If not I'll just say it's a trick shot game and the nature of the game suggests that balls will be bouncing off walls and certain other parts of the house that balls probably shouldn't bounce off of.

Typically, when Daphne and the boys go out of town I like to invite the guys over for a guys night where we eat some wings, watch some sports and play a little indoor man's game and horse. About two years ago I made a new friend named Mike. Mike and I discovered quickly that we have a whole lot in common. As children we played against each other in baseball tournaments and didn't know it. We're both family men with kids. We have similar parenting styles. We both have a son named Cooper. We both love sports. We even recently discovered that we both spent last summer watching seasons 1-6 of Breaking Bad to bridge the gap between college basketball season and football season but even though we talk about pretty much everything we didn't tell each other because we both had the same fear that the other one may have already watched the show a year or two ago like everyone else and might slip up and spoil the ending. I guess that means we both have amazing discipline... and oh yeah, we both enjoy playing man's game and horse at guys night and usually one of us wins. (Mike is basically a taller and more handsome version of me with actual skills with tools and technology.) Check him out at:

It also didn't take us very long to realize that Mike and I have one major difference. He is super handy and I am super not. There was a time in my life a few years back when I was in major denial that I suffered from some type of "handy-cap" if you will. I have long since grown out of that stage of denial and fully embrace the fact that that is just not me. I was the baby of a family with 4 children. I had 3 older siblings and a Mom and Dad to do things for me. There are so many things I should have learned how to do or someone could have taught me but instead they just did it for me. I'm not blaming anyone. That's just how it went. I'm not handy. To be honest, my wife is probably slightly handier than I am. I can't believe I just typed that. My man card should be revoked but I can't find it...oh yeah, it got revoked when my first son was born and I cried like a baby back in April of 2011. It was reinstated in early 2013 just in time to be re-revoked when my second son was born that April. Anyway, what do non-handy men do when they don't know how to fix things? They call up a handy friend for help. I usually call my brother but Mike has come over a time or two to help me out.

It just so happens that Daphne and the boys are out of town for a few days. This time around I decided not to have a guys night but rather to take down the tree and all the Christmas decorations, complete a small honey-do list and relax in the peace and quiet instead. I also decided to try to do a little handy work by myself. Now, I never said I'm not a hard worker. I'm just not handy. I'll mow the lawn and do any type of basic house work with the best of them. I'm just not going to be able to figure out how to fix the dryer or the ceiling fan when something goes wrong. The ceiling fan? You mean the same ceiling fan in the living room that's been making an awful knocking sound every time I turn it on or off for the past year or so? That ceiling fan? The same ceiling fan that Daphne insists started making that knocking sound because it's been hit too many times by arrant horse shots or loose balls from man's game? (No pun intended.) Well, I had a little spare time so I decided to man up and climb up on the ladder and take that joker apart piece by piece if I had to, find the problem and fix it. And I did, in no time. MAN'S GAME!

I'll be honest, I was really proud of myself so I shot a text to my wife so she knew when she got home she could stop complaining about the knocking and stop worrying that the ceiling fan would fall on her head because Lord knows she'd trust that I fixed it properly. Hmm. That thought process right there gave me an idea of an innocent little joke really only intended to make myself laugh.

 "I'll just tell her that Mike fixed it" I thought. "It'll be funny. I know just how this conversation will go" I'll say, "Hey, guess who just fixed our knocking ceiling fan?"  She knows I'm home alone. At least I think she does. She'll assume I'm proud that I just did something pretty handy but she'll humor me and ask, "Who?" expecting me to say that I did it and brag on myself a little bit but I'll reply, "Mike" and she'll reply with something like, "Ha. Figures. Tell him thanks."  We'll both get a little chuckle and she'll be relieved because I think she convinced herself that it was going to be pretty hard to fix. So I sent the text. Here's how it went down:

ME: "Hey, guess who fixed our knocking ceiling fan?"

HER: Mike?

 Ouch! MAN'S GAME! Point for Mike. Just after this exchange I informed her through text that I fixed it myself but I didn't go into any details. I still haven't decided if I should let her know that when I climbed up on the ladder I happened to notice that all that was wrong was that a tiny screw had come slightly loose and when the fan blades were passing slowly they were ever so annoyingly brushing against the screw. It literally took one twist of a screw driver. Maybe I'll just leave that little detail out. Yeah, maybe. Point for me!

What does Fatherhood mean to You?

Perhaps more than anything else in life Parenthood really stimulates my brain. Fortunately for me, I have the kind of job that affords me the luxury of driving around alone in a truck all day, day dreaming behind a dashboard about my kids and my role as a father. If i didn't I'm sure I'd be looking for a new one. I've heard it said many times that men have a "nothing box" where we drift off to from time to time. It's true. We do. From our wives perspective we stay there for the majority of our life and only poke our heads out from time to time like a sleepy groundhog looking for his shadow, and that's only when they shake us hard enough or scream loud enough to get our attention. Even then, like the groundhog, we forget what we are looking for and we don't even check the weather. We just throw on some camo cargo shorts, a tee-shirt (that may or may not match) and possibly a lightweight jacket and we strike out on our merry way as we follow our nose and let the chips fall where they may. This is not exactly the best approach when we have children in tow but I'm here to tell you that this description is UNFAIR. Okay, partially unfair. Alright, completely accurate before we became fathers but now that we have kids... partially unfair. For crying out loud, we took the time to make sure we were wearing cargo shorts with extra pockets for snacks. That has to count for something. Can we compromise on this? After all, that IS what marriage is about, right? The truth is that most of us men live our life in a perpetual trial and error. There's nothing wrong with that as long as we learn from our trials... and errors. That's where things get interesting.

Needless to say, this is NOT how our female counterparts operate. Excuse me for generalizing. I know there are exceptions to the rule but if your wife is like my wife she's always on her toes. She's sharp. She's a great planner and motherhood seemed to come naturally to her. Dare I say... she's graceful in her own special way? I count my blessings every day but honestly it was intimidating at first how she had never been a mother but when we came home from the hospital and they informed us that a doctor was not staying at our house and we were now permanent full time baby sitters, she still somehow knew what to do. Turns out, she was just flying by the seat of her pants and doing a great job of disguising it. I was too but my disguise was much less convincing. As a father who has to go back to work, and especially for a father whose wife is a stay at home mom, it's easy to take a back seat and a less involved role in the home but its something altogether amazing to fight that tendency and dive in head first.

It's safe to say that fatherhood came somewhat naturally to me as well, but not in the same ways. I'm definitely not sharp or a good planner. I'm forgetful and scatter brained. I don't possess some of those "good parent" qualities. My wife would think something was wrong with me if I didn't walk all the way to the car before realizing I needed to get the keys from inside the house in order to crank it up. If i try to get on my toes anywhere outside of a football field or basketball court I'm sure to lose my balance, but when I do I'm very quick to adjust and make things work when they don't go as planned. I like to give myself credit for at least that much anyway. I say all this to say that at some point after becoming a parent you have to ask yourself exactly what fatherhood, or motherhood for that matter, means to you. Be honest with yourself. Ask the tough questions. Do not take the easy way out. Assess your strengths and weaknesses. Grow them. Compare them to your spouses strengths and weaknesses. Try to combine them to be the best team you can be. Do you want to actively parent your children every day and give your time to them instead of using it for yourself or do you want your child to be a cute little accessory that you don't let interrupt your already fabulously flowing life? Do you think it's enough to simply provide for your child and spend your time doing what you want to do because that's how your dad did it and you turned out okay? I understand how this might sound. I'm not pointing fingers. I'm not judging. Well, kind of I am, but I'm really trying to encourage. I struggle with the balance too and it's important not to lose the identity of who you were before you became a parent, but maybe your dad was wrong. Maybe my dad was wrong. Maybe we shouldn't decide how we think proper parenting should be done and stick to it but we should make a point to learn what works from a constant trial and error that we pursue daily.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've found it healthy and unbelievably rewarding to really challenge myself and get outside of my comfort zone and do things as a parent that I didn't particularly think I'd like to do. Crazy, right? Make bath time your responsibility. Sure, we'd all like to come home after a long day at work and prop our feet up and watch some mindless television show instead of bathing a 3 year old but try using it as an opportunity to talk to your child about his day. Close the shower curtain and let him splash and have fun. No one likes changing diapers but put your nose in there (not literally) and change every diaper you can when you come home from work and give your wife a break from it on the weekends. After a certain amount of time you'll find out that it's really not all that bad and its actually a good bonding experience between you and your child where you can develop inside jokes that make your child laugh and in turn, strengthen your relationship. Plus, you'll get major brownie points from your wife which will definitely... no, probably...  okay, I can't lie. Honestly, there is a very slim chance that these actions will strengthen your sex life but it's worth a shot and that's not the motivation behind this anyway so don't get discouraged. Keep an open mind and you can find little things like this outside of your everyday routine that provide the opportunity for you to invest more time into your children. It's amazing how many opportunities there are. You just have to look for them. It's also amazing how you'll feel when you come out on the other side after having taken one of these opportunities.

I'm no professional. I've only been on this parenting gig for just under 4 years. I didn't go to college for it or pass a test to get a parenting license but somehow I lucked into this dream job and somehow I came to the realization that the only thing that makes this job seem easy is hard work and overtime. Ironically these are the exact same things that make my career seem more difficult, but it's true. I make mistakes all the time and continue my trial and error but there is one thing I'm sure of. If someone asks me, "What does fatherhood mean to you?" I will reply, "Time and effort and love and gratitude and more time and more effort and more love and more gratitude." I will mean that and I will live it. I have no choice at this point. I used to think these boys locked my nothing box and lost the key in a toy box somewhere along with that old bluetooth that disappeared a few years back, but then I realized I was wrong. They found the key, unlocked the box and took up a permanent residence along with their toys and tears and smiles and laughter and poop. We're still working on getting the poop out of there. Like I said, it takes time...and trial... and error too, unfortunately. The important thing is that the effort is there.
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Let's Blaze!

It's amazing to watch the brain of a child develop. The sense of pride you feel in the unique person that they begin developing into is simply indescribable. Before I had children I never could have Imagined the rabbit trails of development I'd follow my sons down.

Close to two months ago a new kids show came on television. BLAZE AND THE MONSTER MACHINES. Some of you who have young boys are probably familiar with it. If not, it's a pretty educational show and worth checking out. It teaches problem solving skills and teamwork from an automotive perspective. It teaches about friction and pistons and other things I know nothing about. Anyway, my boys had seen commercials leading up to it and my three year old, Cooper, really expressed interest (because what three year old boy doesn't like monster trucks?) so my wife made sure the boys got to watch it from day one. Appointment television I think they call it.

A day or two after they started watching the show I came home from work and Cooper informed me that my name was no longer Daddy. Actually, while I was at work the whole family had undergone name changes in his little brain. They are as follows:

Daddy = Blaze
Cooper = Pickle
Mommy = Starla
Fletcher = Stripes

     He named us after 4 of the Monster truck characters on the show. He did this all on his own. I Thought it was a pretty cute idea on his part but I didn't think much of it. By the end of the week when he was still calling me Blaze almost every time he called my name. (and the times he called me Daddy he made sure to "correct himself" and change it to Blaze) I started to wonder how long this would last. I also thought about how much I like hearing him call me Daddy and I wasn't sure I liked being Blaze. Then the weekend rolled around and I got a chance to watch the show with him. I've had the chance now, almost two months later, to watch all 8 episodes with him and he still calls me Blaze non stop, all day every day. What I learned from watching the show with him is that Pickle is a smaller monster truck who really looks up to Blaze and always talks about how great Blaze is. Blaze ends up saving the day every episode by solving whatever problem exists that day. Essentially, Blaze is Pickle's hero. I've never had any doubt about my sons love or admiration for me but this just really made it clear how much that boy looks up to his Daddy. I hope he always calls me Blaze. I'll wear that name proudly. The fact that he made the connection  between the relationship of Blaze and Pickle and that of him and his Daddy was very impressive to me, not to mention how heartwarming it was.

About two weeks ago he started calling my parents GrandBlaze and GrandStarla. Around Thanksgiving his Poppy was having trouble getting his old work truck started. Cooper and I were outside with him. Poppy tried to crank the old truck two or three times unsuccessfully. Cooper said, 

"Poppy, I think your truck is out of batteries."

 Poppy agreed. He hooked the battery up to a charger and tried to crank it again unsuccessfully. Cooper said,
"Poppy, maybe your truck is out of gas." 

Poppy cranked again. Cooper said,

"Poppy, I think your truck is missing a piston." 

As those words escaped the little guys mouth I couldn't help but crack up laughing. A big part of me was proud of my funny little guy but a larger part of me was just scared he was going to turn to Blaze and ask me to fix the problem. Sorry Pickle, when it comes to trucks I'm afraid this Blaze has a lot of learning to do. He's learned a lot from this show. I've learned a lot from him.

Recently we went to our first Monster truck show together with a few friends. Here are a few pictures:

National Anthem

Blaze and Pickle

Being silly

Poor Pickle Passed Out

Cooper & his buddies.

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