tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71417395732239743872024-03-13T16:23:12.909-04:00Dashboard DadAn optimistic and humorous blog about fatherhood, marriage and life in general told from the perspective of a working dad who does his thinking behind the dash.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-28692380695474926882016-03-01T23:40:00.001-05:002016-03-01T23:44:07.168-05:00A Family Tree With Branches That Grow Legends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V7344w3998E/VrjwdE8aubI/AAAAAAAAhnI/j-ImQzXQYvs/s1600/IMG_141329361965713.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V7344w3998E/VrjwdE8aubI/AAAAAAAAhnI/j-ImQzXQYvs/s320/IMG_141329361965713.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My name is Casey Grice. This is a picture of me and my two boys. The following is the story of how I came to realize the importance of having a basic knowledge of my ancestry & family tree.</div>
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As a young man I never really cared about where I came from. My parents were pretty cool and so were my grandparents and anything that happened before them, well, that was just ancient history that nobody really had time to care about. Atleast, not me anyway. Then one day I received an emergency collect call from my estranged Uncle Ned, pictured below:</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KSaAQkl2Bfk/VrJBGyl2U4I/AAAAAAAAhhE/Jh8OEQTglvM/s1600/FB_IMG_1454466600734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KSaAQkl2Bfk/VrJBGyl2U4I/AAAAAAAAhhE/Jh8OEQTglvM/s320/FB_IMG_1454466600734.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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Uncle Ned is an I.T. guy for a marketing firm in Jackson, Mississippi. His interests include high fashion, nature, and croquet. The left side of his face is 88% paralyzed from a bird watching incident that occurred in the spring of 1994. It involved a painters ladder, an aggressive woodpecker and a sidewalk, but those are the only details Uncle Ned cared to divulge.</div>
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It only took 2 minutes on the phone with Uncle Ned for that handsome silver tongued devil to convince me that I needed to lend him a helping hand. You see, he was on the road working on his side job, managing the career of my cousin Chico, an up and coming artist... </div>
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(Quick aside: Not only had I never met Ned or Chico before this phone call, I also never knew they even existed.) </div>
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Ned and Chico were passing through town and needed a place to crash for the night, due to a hotel room cancellation resulting from a sponsorship mix up. As a man with a passion for family...and art for that matter, I couldn't say no.</div>
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Well, as it turns out, Chico's art form of choice was that of the Mixed Martial variety. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HyrrRr3M9eU/VrJKcDd_mYI/AAAAAAAAhhg/DIeySyHVXXM/s1600/FB_IMG_1454466982150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HyrrRr3M9eU/VrJKcDd_mYI/AAAAAAAAhhg/DIeySyHVXXM/s320/FB_IMG_1454466982150.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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(This is a poster Chico gifted me for "tu hospitalidad.")</div>
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Not exactly compliant with my expectations but family is family...and like Chico said continually throughout the night, "Tu Casa es Mi casa!" I don't speak Spanish but I do believe that's something they say in their culture to express gratitude. </div>
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We stayed up late that night exchanging stories of life and love. I learned so much about Chico through his broken English and intense facial expressions.</div>
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Among other things, I learned that Chico is a man of many passions. He has a passion for gambling, fist fighting and beef jerky... as well as a serious passion for passion itself. Chico fights in the MMA featherweight division under the name "El Chupacabra."</div>
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By the end of the night Chico asked me to be the best man in his upcoming wedding. I was honored and I obliged even though I'm not exactly convinced we're related. The resemblance is uncanny though, so I was forced to give him the benefit of the doubt.</div>
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I know what you're thinking. "How could you put your family in danger by letting these strangers under your roof for a night?!"</div>
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I understand your concern. I really do, but as strange as these two men seemed, I couldn't escape the fact that the strong genetics from my dad's side were undeniably present. I just couldn't figure out why my parents had kept Ned and Chico's existence a secret for all these years. </div>
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When I finally expressed my concern to Uncle Ned he explained to me how he had some of the same unanswered questions that he'd been juggling around in his unusually large brain. He explained to me how he recently uncovered a piece to this mysterious puzzle and as he pulled his Nextel phone from his pocket he suggested we extend an invitation for the night to my alleged half Uncle Early Ray who claimed to be travelling though town with the Pro Bowlers Association... One beep, one direct connection and one 10 minute cab ride later, Early Ray was ringing my doorbell with his nicotine stained fingertips.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dH2tSHAL5II/Vro6fk58OtI/AAAAAAAAhoY/ZcKNbXbGu2I/s1600/FB_IMG_1454466868792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dH2tSHAL5II/Vro6fk58OtI/AAAAAAAAhoY/ZcKNbXbGu2I/s320/FB_IMG_1454466868792.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Early Ray was unemployed. He had been bouncing around the underbelly of the amateur bowling ranks since 1998 looking for his big break, while growing his bangs. He blamed his unemployment on Obama... and Nixon... and every president in between. All the man seemed to care about was politics, smoking cigarettes, bowling, and smoking "left handed cigarettes" as he called them. After he finished venting about his understanding of the intricacies of divorce law, I was finally able to get some valuable family information out of him.</div>
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Could this night get any stranger?</div>
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YES! The answer is obviously, YES!</div>
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Apparently this "family mystery" was something Early Ray stumbled upon late one night in a cyber cafe, shortly after his seventh divorce became official. He struck up a conversation with a waitress named Ernestine who was in the twilight of her life. After a few rounds of drinks and in between drags on her cigarette, she spoke of her great grandmother's long distance romance with a war hero named Ulysses. </div>
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Now, you just don't hear the name Ulysses every day. Long story short, after a bit of prying, Early Ray was able to conclude that Ernestine was speaking of my Great Great Great Great Grandfather on my Dad's side: </div>
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Ulysses S. Grice. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sCcXfzAhvWo/Vr1X1sLrxOI/AAAAAAAAhsw/RLKYXDBlnyI/s1600/FB_IMG_1455249274896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sCcXfzAhvWo/Vr1X1sLrxOI/AAAAAAAAhsw/RLKYXDBlnyI/s200/FB_IMG_1455249274896.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vhfNddvQirE/Vr1X6GxCS_I/AAAAAAAAhs0/EbMmxOUUZyA/s1600/FB_IMG_1455249262964.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vhfNddvQirE/Vr1X6GxCS_I/AAAAAAAAhs0/EbMmxOUUZyA/s200/FB_IMG_1455249262964.jpg" width="199" /></a> </div>
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Amazingly, these pictures survived the great fire of 1800 with minimal damage. He was an inventor, a scholar, a barber, a soldier and most importantly, a genius. He was single handedly responsible for 85 Indian scalps in the French and Indian war before he realized they were allies to the French and the point of the war wasn't to eradicate the Indians. (He fought for the French as a favor to the Great Marquis Duquesne who he befriended while bartering on the black market.) He was also responsible for the scalps of the President and all of Congress which he cut regularly at his barber shop in Norfolk, Virginia some time after the war. Some of his most popular inventions are the monacle (pictured above), the bifocal, the 21st century scissor (also pictured above, not to be confused with the 20th century scissor) as well as the 2 way mirror/window thing they use today in police interrogation rooms. </div>
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At the peace conference of 1763, the British received the territories of Canada from France and Florida from Spain, opening the Mississippi Valley to westward expansion. According to Ernestine, this is when Ulysses relocated to France to become the liason of foreign affairs. </div>
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Ernestine provided Early Ray with a satchel full of letters her great grandmother received from Ulysses. The letters served as a detailed documentation of their romance up until the point where Ulysses informed her that he met an italian debutant named Catalina and he had fallen in love. This was as far as Ernestine was able to take Early Ray, but it was all we needed.</div>
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We used the information Ernestine armed us with and that night we were able to find Ulysses' biography on a French website where we found out that he and Catalina had a son who grew up in southern Italy and became the founder and owner of the best pizzeria in Southern Europe.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gmGsQJiFvNk/VrEPRdXEM8I/AAAAAAAAheI/xUp2tugq7q4/s1600/2016-01-28%2B15.15.54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gmGsQJiFvNk/VrEPRdXEM8I/AAAAAAAAheI/xUp2tugq7q4/s320/2016-01-28%2B15.15.54.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
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My Great Great Great Grandfather went by the name of Harry. He made a delicious pie. He had many years of kitchen experience having worked in cafeterias and bistros across Italy throughout his formative years.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zh3nWAoAILw/VrEPUn9HT1I/AAAAAAAAheQ/dlWrv2ynnLs/s1600/2016-01-28%2B15.08.30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zh3nWAoAILw/VrEPUn9HT1I/AAAAAAAAheQ/dlWrv2ynnLs/s320/2016-01-28%2B15.08.30.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
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Harry built a pizza empire. A Harry Pizza Empire. He became the richest man in all of Italy and it was due to his inability to settle for anything less than the perfect pizza pie... that, and whatever the secret ingredient in his sauce was. </div>
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Along came fame and fortune and with that fame and fortune came power and with that power came dreadfully horrible decision making.</div>
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Harry's European downfall came when he used a dough roller to beat up a member of the media who wrote an expose exposing the fact that the hair on Harry's head was not actually attached. An anonymous source (most likely a disgruntled colleague) was quoted in the peice:</div>
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<i>"Did you ever notice that, from the age of 19, Harry wore a hair net everyday? Did you ever notice that every job Harry occupied required a hair net to be worn? Coincidence? I think not. Did you ever notice that Harry grew a massive beard once a year and when he shaved, he pasted the clippings atop his head and unsuccessfully attempted to hold down the runaways with a hair net? Did you every notice that hairy shed like an English Bulldog?"</i></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ASn2iJ8sp5M/VrEPdfH0UeI/AAAAAAAAheY/GxFguJOY99Q/s1600/2016-01-28%2B15.05.09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ASn2iJ8sp5M/VrEPdfH0UeI/AAAAAAAAheY/GxFguJOY99Q/s320/2016-01-28%2B15.05.09.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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Harry was exposed and run out of the country as a fraud. He also had charges of collusion, racketeering and tax evasion which didn't help. Harry's birth name was actually Floyd. He changed it to Harry when his hairline began to recede. Maybe good desicions were never Floyd's strong suit.</div>
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He came back to America and had a son himself. </div>
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My Great Great Grandfather Ace:</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Vh8stRSbN34/VsUJkOHvPeI/AAAAAAAAhxM/0vIO3UWMj64/s1600/FB_IMG_1454466727675%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Vh8stRSbN34/VsUJkOHvPeI/AAAAAAAAhxM/0vIO3UWMj64/s320/FB_IMG_1454466727675%257E2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ace was was a true champion. His only interests were throwing things and racing things. He lived to be 111 years old. He died from a self imposed dart wound to the neck. That dart ricochet off of the metal surrounding the bullseye and pierced his jugular. Had that dart stuck (in the board) it would have been his 455th tournament championship. </div>
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Ace is in the Guiness Book of World Records... twice. Once for the longest "Red Bullseye" ever thrown (57 yards) and again for the most DUI's while riding a lawnmower (also 57). Ace had a self described "serious to somewhat serious" drinking problem that could also be attributed to the cause of his death.</div>
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Ace left behind two sons who made an impact on this world unlike many before them. </div>
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I introduce you to an entrepreneur like no other:</div>
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My Great Grandfather</div>
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Dr. Darryl Grice</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P-zo2Z7QAmU/VrEjahKzfqI/AAAAAAAAhfM/N31UT8o-6wI/s1600/2016-02-02%2B16.43.39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P-zo2Z7QAmU/VrEjahKzfqI/AAAAAAAAhfM/N31UT8o-6wI/s320/2016-02-02%2B16.43.39.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
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Darryl was a Labor & Delivery Dentist. In fact, Darryl is the father and founder of modern day Labor and Delivery Dentistry as we know it.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TG_voLD2r7U/VrEO1lvD0sI/AAAAAAAAhdo/ZkO2dvPMggg/s1600/2016-01-28%2B14.27.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TG_voLD2r7U/VrEO1lvD0sI/AAAAAAAAhdo/ZkO2dvPMggg/s320/2016-01-28%2B14.27.21.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
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What's that? You've never heard of Labor and Delivery Dentistry? That's because Darryl also invented the Epidarryl, which is known today as the Epidural. His patent was stolen by his partner, Dr. John Bonica in the year 1940 and the name was subsequently changed. The invention of the epidural anesthesia put Labor & Delivery Dentists out of work world wide.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YiiVhM_OF1o/VrEPAARIxUI/AAAAAAAAhdw/veICdFzofzc/s1600/2016-01-28%2B14.41.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YiiVhM_OF1o/VrEPAARIxUI/AAAAAAAAhdw/veICdFzofzc/s320/2016-01-28%2B14.41.18.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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You see, before the Epidural, laboring women would get their cavities filled, their root canals, their teeth pulled, etc. during child birth as a form of anesthesia. The good old distraction technique. This practice killed two birds with one stone while simultaneously allowing the mother to feel that sense of accomplishment as she was able to multi task while giving birth. It killed 3 birds with one stone actually. It was during this time that cases of post partem depression hit an all time low.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8kTOXNDO0SA/VrEPF2yiKPI/AAAAAAAAhd4/xRGFl9OpgNE/s1600/2016-01-28%2B14.37.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8kTOXNDO0SA/VrEPF2yiKPI/AAAAAAAAhd4/xRGFl9OpgNE/s320/2016-01-28%2B14.37.00.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>
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These pictures were taken during the Labor & Delivery Dentistry BOOM of the 1930's. Many world renowned doctors still refer to the 1930's as Darryl's Decade.</div>
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Darryl passed away during the birth of his only son Swinton (my Grandfather). For old times sake he attempted to perform a root canal in the mouth of his laboring wife. I find that it's best to leave the details out when telling this part of the story.</div>
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That leads me to Darryl's brother, my Great Uncle Gary. There aren't many known pictures of him. The first one to come up on a Google search is this police sketch from an aggravated manslaughter charge from the year 1940.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n7fger3_4bE/VrEPloo7DtI/AAAAAAAAheg/dkPtnqBbluo/s1600/2016-01-28%2B14.51.36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n7fger3_4bE/VrEPloo7DtI/AAAAAAAAheg/dkPtnqBbluo/s320/2016-01-28%2B14.51.36.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
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On the surface one might struggle to find any redeeming qualities in the character of Gary Grice. However, if one were to dig a little deeper through the wake of prohibition in the 1920's and the subsequent rise of the American Mafia in the 30's and 40's one would see a man devoted fully to his craft.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E3z7gCoaGjI/VrEPxSRVW7I/AAAAAAAAheo/116cxAvZ8CM/s1600/2016-01-28%2B15.00.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E3z7gCoaGjI/VrEPxSRVW7I/AAAAAAAAheo/116cxAvZ8CM/s320/2016-01-28%2B15.00.43.jpg" width="280" /></a></div>
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A few face tattoos and multiple arrests later Gary managed to engage in a crime spree that left no doubt in the mind of the notorius mobb boss Lucky Luciano that Gary was a legitimate bootlegger as well as a deserving associate and anchor of a burgeoning criminal empire. The transformation was complete.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OVSEL27G5sM/VrEP4JPOJdI/AAAAAAAAhew/rxisG7hyq_w/s1600/2016-01-28%2B14.48.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OVSEL27G5sM/VrEP4JPOJdI/AAAAAAAAhew/rxisG7hyq_w/s320/2016-01-28%2B14.48.40.jpg" width="289" /></a></div>
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Gary had taken on the alias Brutus Sampson and ingrained himself deeper in the American Mafia than any FBI agent before or since and Gary was single handedly responsible for the undoing of the American underworld. He's also the man who is responsible for why I never knew any of these profound men were a part of my family.</div>
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We were put in the witness protection program but we weren't forced to change our last name because everyone in the mafia knew Gary as Brutus Sampson and Mr. Sampson was so dedicated to his craft that he had no traceable family.</div>
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What a legend.</div>
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It took a lot of digging but with the help of </div>
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Ned, Chico and Early Ray I was able to uncover a relatively interesting family ancestory. How about you? Have you ever come across any characters like these in your family tree? If not, you should check it out. I'm sure this type of thing happens all the time. </div>
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The first two sentences of this story are true. The rest is a piece of complete fiction.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-39361641735937622442015-09-08T21:27:00.001-04:002015-09-09T09:55:57.464-04:00What was your favorite part of the day?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hands down, without a doubt, my favorite part of a typical week day is the very moment I walk in the door from work. I'm sure all of you working parents know exactly what I'm talking about. There's nothing else like it. I'm a hero simply for walking through the door and I'm home with the three people who mean more to me than anyone else in the world.<br />
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My wife freaks out, drops what she's doing and runs towards me with a smile that lights up the room. She tries to hug me with all her might but she underestimates how fast she's running and bounces off my leg and ends up on the floor as she frantically starts filling me in (two inches from my face) on which bad guy she's been fighting today. Scarlet Overkill? El Macho? The Shredder? If no bad guys have stopped by the house she enthusiastically fills me in on the latest episode of Bubble Guppies or tells me all about her adventures at school or in the backyard...<br />
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Wait a minute... I always get confused here... I think it's actually the kids who lose their minds when I arrive. Their mother is only slightly more calm. Slightly...severely... it's all the same. I'm still trying to figure out how to convince their mother that she should react the same way they do when I walk in the door. I should have her convinced any day now. I can feel it coming. I'll be sure to blog about it when it finally happens. ;)<br />
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Regardless of who reacts how, I'm just happy to be home in a house so full of love. I'm happy to see my wife's beautiful face whether she's in a good mood, stressed to the max, or just ready to tag me in so she can tag out and get a break. I'm happy to hear the excitement in the boys voices as they drag me into the playroom to help them find the Hulk or as they ask me to bury them in a pile of pillows. I'm happy to take a lick of my two year old's fake ice cream cones that he has developed such an affinity for. His favorite flavor is "Fadilla." I'm happy to be the bad guy that they've been searching for ever so impatiently while I was at work all day. I'm just happy to be home.<br />
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That's usually my favorite part of the day but every now and then something happens to overtake the reigning champ. The past two days have been prime examples. At some point during the dinner, bath and bedtime routine we usually ask the boys what their favorite part of the day was. The answers range from nonsensical and imaginary to sweet and heartfelt. My two year old's favorite part of the day often has to do with cheetahs. I'm still trying to figure out why. My four year old's favorite part of the day used to often be something like, "when I went to time out" or "when Fletcher bit my finger and I cried." At a certain point we sat down with Cooper and had a descriptive explanation of the definition of the word "favorite" and we got back on track.<br />
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We started getting answers like, "when we swam in the pool" and "when we hopped across the gym like kangaroos."; The type of answers we were looking for. My four year old has even started asking me and Mom what our favorite part of the day was. It always turns into a fun conversation.<br />
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Two nights ago I had just put the boys pajama's on when I remembered to ask them what their favorite part of the day was. Cooper's response was my favorite yet.<br />
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I looked at him with anticipation in my eyes.<br />
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"<i>Cooper, what was your favorite part of the day?</i>"<br />
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He replied, "<i>You Dad</i>" ...accompanied by a "tackle hug" as he calls it.<br />
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Well, it doesn't get any better than that now does it? Thanks buddy.<br />
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Last night when I asked his little brother what his favorite part of the day was I got the same response from a tender and slightly smaller little voice.<br />
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"<i>You Dad</i>."<br />
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He must be paying attention to his big brother's example. I hope I never forget this.<br />
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People always say that parenting is the most "rewarding" thing in the world. Well, this is the type of thing they are referring too. I can't imagine much more rewarding than this at this point of our parenting adventure. Unless, of course, I came home from work one day and my wife reacted to my presence the same way the boys do.<br />
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Now that would be rewarding and by rewarding I mean hilarious.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-66608865130939557272015-08-16T23:26:00.000-04:002015-08-16T23:26:07.518-04:00Quick Read: Brotherly Love!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This morning at Church my wife and I taught the 2 year olds class during the first service. We had 4 children including our youngest son, Fletcher.</div>
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After a few minutes of free play we sat them all down at the table, which is blue and shaped like a horseshoe. </div>
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Fletcher referred to the table as "The Colts" all morning, which made me proud. You see, he is learning his NFL football helmets and he just learned the Colts a few days ago. </div>
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That's my boy! Way to recognize a similarity. That's not the point of the story but I couldn't help but include that proud dad moment. Please, allow me to carry on.</div>
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Once we sat the children down we asked them all what they were thankful for before we prayed. Some of them listed off a few things like "toys", "mommy", "daddy", "my hair" etc. </div>
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Fletcher said he was thankful for his grandmommy and granddaddy which was very sweet. The best part though, was after every other child said what he/she was thankful for, Fletcher exclaimed passionately... "AND COOPER!" (his big brother) every single time. What an amazing big brother he must have. He just needed everyone to know that Cooper is so great that we should all be thankful for him. We just can't forget about Cooper.</div>
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As if this wasn't heartwarming enough, when we left church and headed home we overheard Cooper in the back seat talking to his little brother. He said, "Hey Fletch, I love you so much... and don't you ever get a..." ...to which Fletcher replied, "dinosaur!"</div>
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If you keep up with my blog you know that is the right answer. If you've never read about it, you can do so <a href="http://www.dashboarddad.blogspot.com/2015/02/dont-you-ever.html?m=1">Here: DON'T YOU EVER!!!</a></div>
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I'm so proud to see that love reciprocated between the two of them. What a great way to start the week. We can learn so much from our kids if we just try to. I hope this little story gets your week started on the right foot as well.</div>
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Don't forget to love each other!!!</div>
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<u>DD</u><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-87872375308636664432015-08-04T23:01:00.001-04:002015-08-04T23:03:37.956-04:00YOU CAN'T! YOU NEVER WILL!<img src="https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/1497671_10101291613089141_1516126461_n.jpg?oh=b7bba95128d0d7d0f607c20a72833924&oe=5656C225" /><br />
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I CAN'T! </div>
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You CAN'T!</div>
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CAN'T. CAN'T. CAN'T!</div>
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There's NO way!</div>
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You'll NEVER make it!</div>
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NEVER. NEVER. NEVER!</div>
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Powerful words right? Especially to the fragile psyche of a child.</div>
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I don't know about you but when I was growing up it was always reiterated to me to keep that negativity out of my thoughts. Not just by my parents but by my teachers and coaches too. We don't say <i>"CAN'T."</i></div>
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<i>Don't use such negative words.</i></div>
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<i> Focus on the positive. </i></div>
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You've probably heard the old saying, <i>"Can't never did anything" </i>or <i>"Never say Never."</i> There are tons of similar ones. Well, from my experiences as a father, I happen to wholeheartedly disagree with those sayings.</div>
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I've seen <i>CAN'T </i>do a lot. It's power is impressive. It <i>NEVER</i> ceases to amaze me.</div>
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You're probably thinking that I am about to warn you about using these negative words with your children. However, that is not the case at all. I actually think words like CAN'T and NEVER get a bad rap. They can be some of the most motivating and encouraging words you could imagine. It really just depends on your perspective and who/where these words are coming from. Both of my boys have helped me learn this lesson over the past few years.</div>
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Don't get me wrong. None of us parents want our children moping around dwelling on the fact that he can't tie his shoes or she can't write her name or a million other things a child might be struggling with. I understand that. I'm not a complete idiot...close...but not complete. At the same time though, I don't think we should be teaching our children that words like <i>can't</i> and <i>never</i> are negative words. I think it's a good thing when a child recognizes that he/she can't do something and it's our job as parents to find a way to teach and motivate them.</div>
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I still remember the first time I heard my oldest son Cooper say <i>"I can't." </i></div>
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We were potty training. He was 2.</div>
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I instinctively replied, "We don't say I can't." </div>
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I was frustrated. He was frustrated.</div>
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Potty training was one of our toughest challenges with him. I immediately wondered where he learned to say those words and why he was so easily ready to give up.</div>
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Then I said, "You CAN do it. I KNOW you CAN," in the most encouraging voice possible. I could tell that he could feel the positivity but it just didn't motivate him to try harder. This happened often. It was very discouraging for me as I'm sure it was for him. I remember thinking about how my wife and I are two of the most encouraging people I know. I wondered how could he possibly not find motivation in our encouraging words? We worked so hard to create the most encouraging atmosphere possible.</div>
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If only I knew the power of <i>can't</i> and<i> never</i> at this point in my parenting adventure...</div>
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I made this discovery in the backyard one day a year or so later. It came from my complete and utter desperation to instill a love of sports in my children. We were playing baseball. Hitting from the tee. Cooper was losing interest. He started to notice every grasshopper and love bug in sight. I was losing him fast. The battle between father sports and mother nature was about to be won by mother nature by KO with the help of her interesting little creatures.</div>
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That's when this Dad did some quick thinking. I started with a condescending laugh to get his attention. Then, when he looked over at me, I followed it up speaking the words, "You CAN'T hit a home run. There's NO way!" in the same condescending tone with a sneaky smile on my face. In my head I was thinking that those were the least encouraging words I had ever spoken to my son and I had no idea how he would react. Luckily for me, he saw it as a challenge just as I had hoped. At that moment, his face instantly lit up and he replied, "OH YES I CAN!" He stepped up to the tee and knocked one to the fence. I retrieved the ball and chased him to home plate just missing the tag before he got his home run. I dog piled on top of him and made a huge deal about how well he had done. Then I picked him up and we celebrated. He just giggled and beamed with pride. So did I. Cooper wins! Cooper wins!</div>
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Daddy wins actually! I never could have imagined how motivating the words "YOU CAN'T" could be for a child. I'm sure all children are not this way and I'm sure if I didn't have such a positive and always encouraging relationship with my children that these words would not have been interpreted in a positive challenging way, but I do... and they were.</div>
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To be honest, I don't think more motivating words have ever been spoken in our house. Turns out, my 2 year old, Fletcher, finds motivation in these words as well. Trying to get Fletcher to eat a whole meal of food at the dinner table is like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. He would take a few bites, lose interest and start stuffing each bite into his cheek like a squirrel storing nuts. Take one guess at our most effective means of getting him to actually chew and swallow those stored nuts?</div>
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You guessed it.</div>
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Look at him with a shocked look on my face. Gasp aloud. Issue the challenge: <i>"Fletcher! You can't chew up and swallow that bite! I say NO WAY!"</i></div>
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That gullible little joker bites every time. Both literally and figuratively. "I say YES way" he replies. Then he starts chewing his little heart out, which is frustrating. Why on earth does it take a challenge for you to chew up your food, son? Do you enjoy just sitting there holding food in your cheek wasting time at the dinner table? Really?</div>
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Are you kidding me? Oh well, I guess I can't complain.</div>
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It's safe to say that we use this technique quite often.</div>
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When the play room is a wreck: <i>"Oh no boys, we're NEVER gonna get this place clean. I don't think we can do it!"</i></div>
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When hurrying to the bath: <i>"If only you could take your clothes off and get in the bath by yourself before I count to twenty. You CAN'T can you? I don't think so."</i></div>
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When putting on lotion and pajamas or sunscreen: <i>"You CAN'T freeze like a statue. Nope. No way. Not gonna happen. I don't think you can do it."</i></div>
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etc. etc. etc.</div>
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It may not work for your kids but it sure works for my little guys. I guess it all depends on their personality. Give it a shot if you'd like, you never know what might work. Remember, It's all in your delivery. I certainly had no idea these words would be so helpful. The next time you think about these words as negative words stop yourself and give them a little credit.</div>
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CAN'T. CAN'T. CAN'T.</div>
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NEVER. NEVER. NEVER.</div>
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A tremendous thank you. You're not so bad after all.</div>
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DD</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-73522568776603680402015-07-21T23:57:00.000-04:002015-07-22T08:39:53.997-04:00Should We Do It?!?! I ask myself every day.Every day.<br />
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Every single day.<br />
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I ask myself the same question.<br />
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Sometimes I ask my wife too.<br />
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I've been doing this since the day our second son was born.<br />
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I'm not exactly sure why.<br />
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I never have an answer.<br />
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She never really does either.<br />
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Well, I take that back. Some days I have an answer but the next day it changes. Then it changes back and so on over and over and over. Sometimes my wife and I have different answers on the same day. We both go back and forth. It's crazy! I've never struggled with coming to a decision like this before. Most of life's big decisions have come pretty easy for me. They've come pretty easy for my wife and I as a couple too.<br />
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Not this one.<br />
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When it comes to answering this particular question I'm like a teenage girl from the valley trying to decide whether to stay with my high school sweetheart or to break up with him and go get crazy at college. I'm constantly weighing out the pro's and con's and pondering the best and worst case scenarios.<br />
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(Cue the valley girl accent)<br />
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<i>"OMG guys!! I mean, like, he is such a sweet guy, like, total marriage material. He drives a Range Rover. He sends the sweetest texts from his I phone 10...not to mention the snapchats. OMG! He bought me the most epic pair of rainboots. His parents are like totes rich and he has a totally sexy bod...but girls just wanna have fun you know...like, How am i supposed to rage at my sorority parties with my besties when I've been dating him for 4 years?!? We're practically married old people already...ew... and there are so many other fish that swim to see in college...er, whatever..."</i><br />
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Or something like that.<br />
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What do the cool folks say these days on social media?<br />
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Oh yeah, <i>"The struggle is real"</i> only I'm not an 18 year old sorority girl. I'm a 34 year old father of two young boys trying to make a tough life decision with the help of my wife and it's really difficult.<br />
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The question is:<br />
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<b>Should we try to have a third child?</b><br />
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Toughest decision ever... but why is it so hard?<br />
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We were incredibly excited to have our first child. As soon as we felt like we had a decent grasp on parenthood we forged ahead with baby number 2 with no hesitation whatsoever but for some reason it's different this time.<br />
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When we first started out as a married couple we thought we wanted to have four kids. However, we got a late start. We didn't start having children until our thirties. We also had no idea how much work a child is when that child is ours... full time.<br />
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We have plenty of love to give to a third child but do we have the patience to go back to a life just trying to stay afloat in a sea of breast milk with a constant barrage of mid-night feedings and diaper changes, gas, indigestion, teething and God forbid...COLIC?!? Our first child was an easy baby. Our second child tried to kill us in his first 5 months of life. They were both perfectly healthy but I think our second child has scarred us. The<b> "What If''s"</b> and <b>"Will we's" </b>are constantly rattling around inside my brain. (Her's too, I'm sure... though they may have different priority and she may not ask some questions with the same frequency that I do.)<br />
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What if we have another baby? Will we have enough time to give all three of them the attention they need and deserve? Can we afford it? Do we want to afford it? Will we ever have sex again? Will our children miss out on fun because of the change of family dynamic? Can we have a third child and still be friends? Will we still find the time to go on dates? Will my wife go crazy? How will our boys react? Once they out number us will they start a mutiny and overthrow us? Things are as easy as they've been in years. Do we really want to take the chance of messing that up? Will we ever have sex again?...<br />
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What if we have another miserable baby? What if we have twins? What if we have a baby with a birth defect or some kind of developmental delay? Downs Syndrome? Autism? Some kind of rare disease I don't even know about?<br />
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Or worse... what if we have A GIRL!?!?!?!<br />
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We are both scared to death of having a baby girl. My wife often says that she "speaks boy fluently" and would be lost trying to learn "girl." I think she's more scared than I am of having a girl, which is odd to most people. She's said on more than one occasion that if we could guarantee a third boy then she would sign off on getting pregnant a third time. The only difficult thing about having a boy in our eyes is having to care for the circumcision as it heals. Your heart breaks for the poor little guy. What made it easier for us was just looking at it as a pretty small price to pay for never having to buy a prom dress, tampons or pay for a wedding.<br />
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Winner! Winner!<br />
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I guess it's all about perspective.<br />
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Oh, speaking of that, I left out one <b>"What If."</b><br />
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What if the baby is PERFECT? What if he is the perfect final addition to our family no matter how he turns out? What if she is the perfect blessing we didn't think we were ready for? What if we just need to pray a little bit more and have faith that God won't give us anything we aren't capable of handling?<br />
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I think we'll be just fine whether we try for a third or not. It's just crazy to me that we haven't come to a conclusion after putting so much thought into it. Patience. Patience. I know. It'll work itself out.<br />
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Do you guys have any advice on the subject? Have you struggled with a similar decision? The same decision?<br />
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Help!<br />
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...and oh yeah, I can't believe I forgot to mention this...<br />
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If we did have a third child I wonder if we'd be able to find time to have... oh, nevermind... maybe I did already bring that up once or twice.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-14431823850076859382015-07-02T00:52:00.001-04:002015-07-08T22:08:41.216-04:00DISCIPLINE: It's okay Dad. You're doing the right thing.<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh man! </div>
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Parenting is the best. It really is. There is nothing like it. It's the most rewarding thing in the world. There is no way to understand a parents love until you become one. I love my kids more than life itself.</div>
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Sound familiar?</div>
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If you are a parent you've probably said all of these things and you've probably said them multiple times at some point or another along your parenting journey. You probably also meant them too because they are all true statements.</div>
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However, parenting is not only the most rewarding thing in the world. It's also somehow simultaneously the most frustrating thing in the world too. I'm not breaking any news. I'm sure this also sounds familiar. In parenting circles we typically replace the word "frustrating" with the word "challenging" because we don't like to admit that the children we spend most of our time trying to convince others are angels, are actually not. They are nowhere close. I guess challenging is a much more positive word and it makes us parents, especially those of young children, feel like we haven't been defeated...yet. Truth is, they are VERY frustrating and its okay to admit that.</div>
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Why? Because once you've spent enough time around a two year old you come to the realization that it's a lot like being in a relationship with a tiny bipolar tyrant midget who doesn't speak English very well and makes way too many demands for someone who has such a major deficiency in the tenure department.</div>
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The good news is that we, as parents, hold the power to turn these tiny tyrants into human beings who resemble something a whole lot closer to angels than belligerent drunks with an attitude problem. That's where DISCIPLINE comes in. Ah, yes, it is such a necessary evil. There is nothing I look forward to LESS than disciplining my boys. It's simply in my nature to be loving and fun and nurturing and I don't feel like any of those things when I'm sending my boys to time out or God forbid, giving them a spanking. However, I also understand that implementing and adhering to a sturdy set of rules teaches a child his boundaries and if followed through on, one day turns him into an accountable young man.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ft4Lpm_p9UU/VZTCwKMG4ZI/AAAAAAAAauQ/Njuw5ItaWco/s1600/20150620_191155-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ft4Lpm_p9UU/VZTCwKMG4ZI/AAAAAAAAauQ/Njuw5ItaWco/s320/20150620_191155-1.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
The above picture is what we're trying to prevent down the road. I don't think they'd look near as happy in real jail.</div>
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We are a time out family. Nine times out of ten time out is an effective way to discipline both of our boys (ages 2 and 4). Taking away a privilege is another effective tool and a spanking is certainly not out of the question but it is used as a last resort and rarely do we visit that resort. (Hmmm, speaking of resorts, visiting a "resort" sounds nice right about now.) </div>
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Anyway, consistently disciplining your children is tough. Resisting the temptation of letting a threat become empty may seem mean and unnecessary at the time, but it's actually the best thing you can do for your child. I always thought the whole, "This is gonna hurt me more than it's gonna hurt you" thing was a bunch of hippy dippy bologna but it turns out there's a whole lot of truth to it. We all just want to see our kids be happy and the last thing we want is to be the cause of unhappiness. Unfortunately, when we follow through on our disciplinary threats, our children associate that unhappiness directly with us. Who knew it was this tough to be on the other end of the discipline?<br />
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Like any difficult part of life a little encouragement goes a long way. My wife and I do a great job of communicating our feelings to one another as we discipline our boys and it helps to keep us on the same page and keep us accountable for our actions. We are firm believers in disciplining out of necessity and teaching rather than disciplining out of anger or frustration. Our boys understand that we love them tremendously as we discipline them because we always make sure to communicate that to them but sometimes it's a little more challenging when both of us aren't home.</div>
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Tonight my wife was on a girls night and I was home alone with the boys. My two year old, Fletcher, was being especially challenging at the dinner table. Something I'm very used to. Fletcher had a rough go at it for the first six or eight months of his life. You can read about that <a href="http://www.dashboarddad.blogspot.com/2015/03/oh-so-this-is-why-people-shake-babies.html">here</a>. Since then, however, he's been such a perfect addition to the family... except for at the dinner table. If it's not a pop tart, grilled cheese or cereal he usually does not want to eat it. It really just depends on the night. Tonight he was doing his typical "store the food in the cheek like a squirrel and no one will notice I'm not actually swallowing" routine. Needless to say, the stash of "nuts" in his cheek built up and I wasn't in the mood. So I hastily sent him to time out and told him he could come out after he swallowed his bite. We went back and forth for a good thirty minutes and my 4 year old, Cooper, devoured his meal and began to play. </div>
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At this point I began to get discouraged. Doubt started to creep into my mind. Was I being too hard on him? Should I just give in and let him eat something else? Is he just exhausted? I really wanted it to be a fun night and this was the furthest thing from fun. What should I do? I didn't have my partner in crime, my wife, there to ask for advice. Just then I heard the sweet voice of my innocent little four year old from a few feet behind me</div>
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"It's okay Dad. You're doing the right thing."</div>
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What?!?!</div>
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Did he really just say that?!</div>
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Yes he did.</div>
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Is he infinitely wise beyond his years?!</div>
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I don't know if he said it because he thought that's what mom would have said if she was here or if it's something he's seen on a movie, or if he was just really enjoying watching his little brother get sent to time out, but whatever it was, it really helped. It helped me remember that I was fighting the good fight and that this would pay off in the long run as long as I was coming from a place of love.</div>
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I just replied to him, "Thanks buddy." and he said, "You're following the instructions."</div>
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At that point I began to wonder if his mother had left a set of instructions that I wasn't aware of.</div>
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Probably.</div>
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Oh well.</div>
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I just gave him a big hug and carried on, feeling encouraged, and knowing that I was doing the right thing.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-56955108526454987322015-06-23T23:56:00.000-04:002015-07-06T21:40:15.477-04:00Everybody Loves Byron: Death in the Facebook Era<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
Disclaimer: There are so many people more qualified than me to write this post but I just felt the need to take advantage of the forum that I have... out of respect for a friend... and to bring light to some pretty amazing observations I made in the days following his passing. Much Love...</div>
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Grieving is not something that anyone ever wants to do but eventually we all have to do it. There are no instructions for grieving. Unlike many things in life, no one ever really sits you down and teaches you a lesson on how to grieve or mourn the loss of a loved one. As a general rule, I'd say that most people just figure out what works for them as they go, because everyone grieves differently. What works for some may not work for others when facing some of life's most difficult situations.</div>
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For some, grieving is a very private matter and they don't want any added attention on them during the process. Others, however, want the world to know just how much they miss the deceased (no matter how close they may or may not have been) and they seem to enjoy the attention. Their grieving can become a very public ordeal, even more so living in the Facebook era. Everyone else falls somewhere in between. I'm not judging people for the way they deal with loss. I'm just pointing out the fact that people are very different. When it comes down to it, whatever helps you feel better... DO IT! (Unless it's smoking crack. Don't smoke crack under any circumstance!!) Hopefully, we all get some good advice or a shoulder to lean on from a family member or close friend in times like these.</div>
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In my 34 year life I've been blessed to be able to say I haven't lost anyone too terribly close to me. However, a few years back I lost a childhood friend from my one red light hometown to a freak accident. His name was Scott and he was a great guy. I was able to see how the viewing, funeral and celebration of life afterwards really brings people together to grieve, grow and come to some kind of closure or acceptance of their loss... a process that seems impossible when the news first surfaces.</div>
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It was truly <u>a</u> beautiful thing to see everyone go from devastation and tears of sadness to tears of happiness and acceptance (considering the situation) as they recollect a life cut short. I was overwhelmed by how much that process really seemed to help, which brings me to the reason for this post.</div>
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Three days ago I lost another childhood friend from my small hometown of Keystone Heights, Florida to a car accident. Don't go feeling sorry for ME. That's not what this is about. He has family and much closer friends who need your condolences. His name was Byron Nelson. We called him TANK. We grew up playing baseball together in our elementary years.<br />
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We were always on the same team.<br />
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Byron was only slightly more handsome than I was. Mostly because I was too busy trying to be cool.<br />
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We both always used the same bat to get us out of a slump. We called her "Old Faithful." We didn't always use Old Faithful because, in reality, she was a pretty ordinary bat but she just seemed to get the job done when we needed her most. To this day, when Byron and I would run into each other Old Faithful was always a topic of conversation. Oh, the good old days!!</div>
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We were friends in high school but we weren't super close. As adults, other than Facebook interaction, we only bumped into each other once every couple of years, but I was always met with the biggest sincere smile, a giant hug and great conversation. Byron was a friend for life. Apparently, he was a friend for life with every single human being within a 100 mile radius of our hometown and probably beyond, which is no surprise if you knew Byron. This explains why Facebook EXPLODED when he died. I just have a few things I'd like to say about this explosion and the fallout afterwards.</div>
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On the grief spectrum, if there is such a thing, I fall very strongly on the side of a private griever. I share my feelings about a lot of things with the world on social media but I'm not the kind of person who takes to Facebook to write my own personal eulogy to someone when they die. When I heard the news of Byron's accident I was really sad. It was a gut punch. However, I am by no means one of Byron's closest friends and I didn't find it necessary to express my sadness on social media. (I certainly didn't expect to end up writing this blog post.) I thought I would just leave that up to his closest friends and maybe comment here or there on something that struck a chord with me...</div>
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AND THEN IT HAPPENED! </div>
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Three days straight of nothing but Facebook statuses about Byron and the impact that his life had on almost everyone. LITERALLY, ALMOST EVERYONE. Everyone but me...it was like I was the only one who decided not to shout out to the TANK and THAT really struck a chord with me. I've never seen anything like it. This guy got more out of life in 35 years than most people could squeeze into 70. He touched so many different people in so many different ways just by being himself... just by being happy and sincere. It was sad but beautiful to watch this play out over the last three days. It was like I was watching the whole viewing, funeral and celebration of life process that I spoke of about Scott's funeral before. It was playing out in front of me on social media and it was big and it was amazing, just like Byron. No matter how sad people were they couldn't help but share stories of good times because that's really all there was to share, even though Byron had been through more than his share of loss in his life. If you are reading this and you are friends with him I know that you know what I'm talking about.</div>
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I got to thinking and I realized that if everyone just grieved privately (like I chose to do)... and kept their comments to themselves during these sad moments... and left it up to those closest to the deceased... then the impact of that persons life would never truly be felt the way it should be. I felt the impact of Byron's life over the last three days like nothing I've ever experienced thanks to people who grieve differently than I do. Thank you for that. I definitely learned a lesson from you all. In the world we live in today, like it or not, people communicate on social media about everything and death is certainly fair game. A lot of people criticize Facebook and social media for causing drama and strife but fail to see the good that can come from it in a close knit community like ours in such a difficult time.</div>
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I just hope that somehow Byron knows that on the day he died he almost took the internet with him. He almost broke Facebook. I hope he knows that he was grieved and celebrated on social media like the rock star that he is for at least three days straight. I hope he knows that his death made everyone stop and wish they were a little more like him. I hope he knows that when we all think about his smile from this day forward we'll get chills knowing exactly how sincere it was and how treasured it should have been. I hope he knows that his death and all his friends caused me to do some deep thinking and share the effect his light had on me rather than keeping it to myself like I had originally planned. </div>
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You know, it dawned on me earlier today that the one person I still specifically remember seeing and having a meaningful and uplifting conversation with years ago at Scott's funeral was Byron. He is and will always be truly memorable.</div>
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Definitely not ordinary, just Old Faithful!</div>
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk" title="The Dad Network"><img src="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/image1-e1423257762888.png" alt="The Dad Network" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-83564977581117736912015-06-03T01:29:00.000-04:002015-06-03T01:31:56.568-04:00Who are the people with the belly buttons?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
There's been a question floating around my house for the past 6 months or so that has caused me to do a little thinking. The same question has been asked in multiple different ways by my 4 year old son. It actually started when he was 3...</div>
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"Hey Daddy, who are the people with the belly buttons?"</div>
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"Where are the people with the belly buttons?"</div>
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"Can we see the girls with the belly buttons again?"</div>
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"Why do those girls wear the shirts that show their belly buttons?"</div>
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You get the point. He's quite inquisitive about the girls who show their belly buttons. </div>
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Cheerleaders.</div>
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My wife and I are big sports fans, as you may already know if you know us personally or if you follow the Dashboard Dad Blog. We're constantly watching sports and our two boys have been exposed to just about every team sport imaginable. I honestly never even notice the cheerleaders anymore. Seriously, I don't...or at least I didn't until my son started pointing them out and asking questions everytime the game would come back from commercial break. He's even asked me to rewind the TV before.</div>
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Recently, we've been watching a lot of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Go Lightning! That's hockey for you non sports fans. He asked me the other night if hockey had cheerleaders. I told him no and he seemed disappointed. </div>
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"Oh, just football and basketball?"</div>
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When he first asked the question about the people with the belly buttons I didn't know exactly what he was talking about but it didn't take long for me to figure it out. My initial reaction was pure excitement.</div>
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"That a boy!"</div>
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Like any red blooded heterosexual American Dad, I was proud. I still am.</div>
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My son is obviously attracted to the female body.</div>
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Scratch the alternative off the list of potential issues that I'm severely unprepared to handle.</div>
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Oh, wait a minute, <b><i>My 3 year old son is attracted to the female body!?!?!</i></b></div>
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Uh Oh!!</div>
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Add that to the list of potential issues that I'm severely unprepared to handle!!!!</div>
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Oh boy. Is he going to be girl crazy? Is he going to come home from Kindergarten and tell his mother and I that he has 5 girlfriends, like I told my parents?!</div>
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Probably.</div>
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Who knows.</div>
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I just had this flash forward to him as a teenager "checking out chicks" with his friends or little brother. Whoa! I wasn't prepared for this. </div>
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I'm not here to take some moral highground and say that cheerleaders or swim suit models should wear more clothes. It doesn't bother me. I just find it very interesting that, with no outside influence from me or anyone that I know of, a 3 year old boy naturally finds a womans body to be attractive enough to cause him to grin sheepishly and inquire about it.</div>
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We also had an occasion a little over a month ago when our family was on vacation in Hawaii and he saw a swimsuit model on a poster at a store and he froze in his tracks to check her out. When I asked him what he was looking at he replied,</div>
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"Uhh, nothing Daddy!!"</div>
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He seemed embarassed; like he got caught doing something he shouldn't. I certainly don't want him to feel like being attracted to the body of a woman is something he should feel any amount of shame about. On the other hand, I don't want him to go too far to the other extreme where he just gawks at women all the time. I tried to explain to him that he wasn't in trouble and it was okay if he thought the girl on the poster was pretty. I told him that Daddy thinks girls are really pretty, ESPECIALLY HIS MOMMY! He just smiled and asked why the lady on the poster wore a shirt that showed her belly button and I explained to him that is just how girls bathing suits look and we carried on.</div>
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There are so many things you just never think about before becoming a parent. This is certainly one of them. I guess it's true that this is something that probably wouldn't have even crossed his mind yet if we lived in a more conservative society, but we don't. I'm not going to waste my time wishing that we did because I don't think it's necesarilly a problem. Of course, I'm also not a father of daughters. Sorry guys.</div>
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I'm just going to teach my son to respect women no matter what and make sure he is well aware that he can talk to his dad about anything... even if he is only 4 years old. It's never too early to start that open line of communication.</div>
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So, what do you think? Do you have any similar experiences to share? Does this seem early to be asking this type of question? </div>
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I look forward to reading your input. Until next time- DD</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-9534316761042789862015-05-21T01:59:00.001-04:002015-05-21T23:10:47.655-04:00What Are You Thankful For?<div style="text-align: center;">
There are so many things in my life that I am thankful for. It seems like once I became a parent I truly realized the abundance of blessings that I already had in my life. I guess a new perspective and a significant multiplication of blessings will do that to you. Right now what I am thankful for is very simple and it's something we've developed as a family over the past four years. I am extremely thankful for the bedtime routine, or lack thereof, that we have established in our family of four.</div>
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Many families have a rigid bedtime routine that they adhere to practically every single night. They have a set dinner time and bath time followed by teeth brushing (hopefully), some version of story/prayer time and lights out at a specific time. This routine is rarely altered.</div>
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WE ARE NOT ONE OF THOSE FAMILIES.<br />
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I'm not saying there is anything wrong with this type of approach but it's just not the way we choose to do things. Perhaps this will change once our kids get into school, but as for now our bedtime routine basically consists of dinner and bath in no particular order, followed by teeth brushing and...</div>
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A.) snuggling on the couch with one or both parents watching football, basketball, hockey or baseball depending on the season. Right now we are in the midst of the Stanley Cup playoffs so we're watching a lot of hockey at "bedtime." We are a big sports family and its the perfect opportunity to show them that watching sports as a family is important to us. Plus, they usually lose interest and fall asleep rather quickly.</div>
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B.) story time on our older son's bed. (we currently have a 4 year old and a 2 year old: both boys). We snuggle them up on the bed and read a few books. When we're all done we usually just turn out the lights, say goodnight and walk out. Our two year old who is still in a crib usually whines for about 30 seconds and then they either fall asleep or start talking to each other (which is always great entertainment listening over the monitor). We leave him in the bed with his big brother to fall asleep and we move him over to the crib later when we come in the room to check on them. This works out well. He never gets out of the bed as long as his big brother is there with him. The transition from crib to big boy bed with our first son was kind of a nightmare. He was always getting out of bed. So far it looks like we won't have to worry about that the second time around. This also provides a good opportunity for some classic pictures.<br />
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C.) On Friday nights or special occasions we'll all just pile into our bed for a movie or a few episodes of Fixer Upper or a good family talk. The boys love this and they usually get a little rowdy but we only do it on nights when we don't have to wake up for anything in the morning. The quality time is definitely worth it although I end up having to lug them to bed at some point in the middle of the night.</div>
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Regardless of how we decide to do bed time on a particular night there is always one constant and that is prayer time. Now, I'm not going to sit here and tell you to do prayer time with your children if you don't believe in God (although it couldn't hurt) but I am going to advise you to do what precedes prayer time in our house because you don't need to believe that your blessings come from God to be grateful for them. Every night after story time or after we pause the television, we ask the boys what they are thankful for. They answer with an array of "blessings" ranging from favorite television shows to family members to friends names to favorite toys to animals to chocolate fishing rods. </div>
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When we first started doing this they didn't have much to say. That's when my wife Daphne and I decided to ask each other what <b>we</b> are thankful for so we could set an example for them as to how the question should/could be answered. </div>
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<i>"I'm thankful for the roof over our heads" </i></div>
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<i>"I'm thankful for 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep."</i></div>
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<i>"I'm thankful for two healthy and happy boys."</i></div>
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<i>"I'm thankful for the opportunity to make good choices tomorrow."</i></div>
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This is also a good time to show your kids that you love, respect and appreciate your spouse with answers such as <i>"I'm thankful for the job Mommy does at home with you boys"</i> or <i>"I'm thankful for Daddy's hard work every day."</i> After seeing this a few times their answers went from a blank stare, gibberish or "I don't know" to something meaningful. Sure, sometimes their answers are pure silliness but I can really see them developing an appreciation for the things in this life that they have. </div>
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Now that we've been doing this for a while we get them to tell us at least three things that they are thankful for each night. My 4 year olds current go-to is, "I'm thankful for you, Daddy" which melts my heart every single night, of course. He usually follows that up with a shout out to his Mom and his little brother. </div>
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Although my two year old typically likes to just give us a run down of his favorite TV shows, he's developing a reputation of thinking of people in his life who he is thankful for other than his Mom and Dad. When he randomly mentions our friends Adam and Amy or my buddy Leroy or Mrs. Janet from church, I know his wheels are turning and we're doing a good thing. They are understanding what gratitude is more and more each day. They are learning an appreciation for blessings. Even if most of the blessings they are grateful for are toys today, one day those blessings will be something more and they will be sure not to take them for granted. I can only dream of where they will go from here.</div>
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What about you? Do you have any routines or traditions that the rest of the world just has to know about? Feel free to share. In the mean time I will leave you with this video from a few days ago of my boys telling me a few things they are thankful for. Enjoy!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-86408996664611129452015-05-15T14:37:00.003-04:002015-05-15T14:37:22.694-04:00They Call it LABOR for a Reason (guest post by Daphne Grice)<header><div class="header-outer" style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: 0px 0px; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: initial; margin: 0px 0px 10px; min-height: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;">
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This week I am sharing a guest post by my wife Daphne. In this post she compares the labor experience of our second born child with that of our first and the differences of labor with and without an epidural. I'm just as proud of her today as I was on each of the two days our boys were born. She was a trooper. I was a cryer. Happy tears of course. Without further ado...</h1>
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<a href="http://hotmomcheckingin.blogspot.com/?m=1" style="color: #1d9990; text-decoration: none;">Hot Mom </a>Checking In</h1>
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They call it LABOR for a reason!</h3>
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<span style="color: #004d4e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.8400001525879px; line-height: 20.5919990539551px;">It is hard to believe that I am now the Mom of two very handsome little fellas... I am not sure if that is because it feels so wonderful or if I am so sleep deprived that the lines of reality are blurred. I wouldn't trade the bags under my eyes for anything in the world. So maybe I would have traded it for an epidural, but who's to say really?</span><br style="color: #004d4e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.8400001525879px; line-height: 20.5919990539551px;" /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #004d4e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.8400001525879px; line-height: 20.5919990539551px; text-align: center;">
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Fletcher Lee Grice was born on April 27, 2013 at a very dark 4:25 am. We arrived at the hospital around 7:00 on Friday night- concerned that my labor was going to come quickly and we wouldn't make it in time, I would have to deliver the baby in the car, etc... Needless to say that wasn't Mr. Fletcher's plan. He took his time, let us savor a few more sweet moments as a family of 3, squeeze Cooper's neck and start the caravan to deliver. </div>
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This time I decided I was going to go at this like a hero Mom... One who watched <i><a href="http://www.thebusinessofbeingborn.com/about/" style="color: #3ab5a1; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">The Business of Being Born</a></i> twice and felt like I knew nothing the first time around. I was determined that I was going to have the ultimate experience, feel like more of a Mother than I ever had, and take this like a champion. I came, I saw, I conquered... and I did a little bit of yelling, crying, and a lot of doubting myself. But we went to the hospital with the intentions of having a baby. And by George, we did.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w8lc9nxBeb4/UZPiHtuXzWI/AAAAAAAANFM/ZS5pYqM8K14/s1600/IMG_5740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #3ab5a1; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="185" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w8lc9nxBeb4/UZPiHtuXzWI/AAAAAAAANFM/ZS5pYqM8K14/s280/IMG_5740.JPG" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; background: transparent; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; box-sizing: border-box; max-width: 100%; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="280" /></a>I was SO worried I would not make it in time I had myself convinced that we should have been at the hospital hours before we arrived. "The second one comes so much faster"... "If you don't have an epidural your labor will go so quickly"... At 10:00 pm they broke my water, and each CM of labor seemed to come and go with little troubles- contractions, yes they were there though. I worked up to 8 CM and felt like a champion. I was breathing it out, walking around, laboring if you will :D In true Lee-Grice fashion we had a huge party there awaiting the arrival of our sweet baby who, at this point, we still didn't know if it was a fella or a gal. My parents, my sister, my in-laws- which included my BIL and SIL, were all there laughing, talking, falling asleep, and supporting me through this process.</div>
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Then it started to become more labor less laboring. Wow, it sure did hurt. It didn't help that my cervix was not sitting properly and the nurse had to "help it" along during my contractions. I know at one point I said very loudly "You are HURTING me!"- and she was... From 8 to 10 CM to pushing felt like the shortest-longest time in my life. I was in pain, it was a blur, then I was pushing, trying to catch a breath, pushing again, then there was a baby! My baby was here! I had done it... and I was EXHAUSTED!!! They let me hold him right away and I felt that huge rush that can't be compared to anything in life. WE DID IT! </div>
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<br style="color: #004d4e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.8400001525879px; line-height: 20.5919990539551px;" /><span style="color: #004d4e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.8400001525879px; line-height: 20.5919990539551px;">I am so thankful my hubby was able to be there with me (not that there was ever a reason he wouldn't, unless we go back to my fear of hardly making it to the hospital- in which he would be at work/the store/playing basketball and would not make it before the baby did :D), crying more than I did, holding my hand, and thank goodness keeping pretty quiet but super supportive. He cut the cord, cried a little more, then went to check on our new little guy. And I was left to finish the job, the labor. I just wanted to take a second and compose myself- I wasn't crying- I was sweating, and I was so out of breath! There were a few loose ends to tie up, a few things to get us to the actual finish line- and those were not pleasant either... and I felt every bit of them.</span><br style="color: #004d4e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.8400001525879px; line-height: 20.5919990539551px;" /><div style="color: #004d4e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.8400001525879px; line-height: 20.5919990539551px;">
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Finally I was clean, he was clean, and he was alllll mine to kiss, snuggle and fall in love with. But it was still a little hazy. I was there, but it felt like I was watching the whole thing. I could feel my heart overflowing but I could also feel my eyes getting heavy. It was a rush like no other. The pain is something you can't even remember that same day though. I know it was the worst pain ever, but the negative feelings pass so quickly. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wqt8Ro9Wq-8/UZPj5-qHKfI/AAAAAAAANGU/ha3d-M9Uivc/s1600/205207_900120669131_3298880_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #3ab5a1; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wqt8Ro9Wq-8/UZPj5-qHKfI/AAAAAAAANGU/ha3d-M9Uivc/s200/205207_900120669131_3298880_n.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; background: transparent; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; box-sizing: border-box; max-width: 100%; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Oq0vtT2GX8I/UZPj59TvHLI/AAAAAAAANGQ/iyMq8jBh2QA/s1600/207838_900120574321_2659116_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #3ab5a1; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Oq0vtT2GX8I/UZPj59TvHLI/AAAAAAAANGQ/iyMq8jBh2QA/s200/207838_900120574321_2659116_n.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; background: transparent; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; box-sizing: border-box; max-width: 100%; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="133" /></a>Comparing it to Cooper's delivery- I arrived at the hospital at 6 CM, received my epidural, pushed for a little while, had the baby, loved the baby right away, and felt nothing. I felt no different after having my epi-baby than I did with my natural birthed baby as far as love for him or that overwhelming Mommy urge. I did in fact feel like I could enjoy the moments after birth more with the epidural- you don't notice so much the follow-up tasks that are going on while you are loving on that sweet bundle. I feel like just as much of a Mom now as I did then, and it makes me feel wonderful that I didn't short change myself on the experience the first go round. I love them both with an overflowing heart and drugs or not they were my whole world from the first moment we met.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-26563189840505818022015-05-07T01:14:00.000-04:002015-05-19T08:45:12.324-04:00The Mom Lottery .<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>Mom.</b></div>
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You don't get to choose her.</div>
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One day you just squeeze your way out from between two legs or a doctor pulls you through some ladies guts and out of a big cut in her stomach. </div>
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TaDa!!!</div>
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There you are. On stage.</div>
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It's really bright and everyone is watching you.</div>
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You don't know what else to do so you just start screaming for help.</div>
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Then, if you're fortunate, that lady who just sent you sliding out of her womb picks you up and shoves her breast in your mouth.</div>
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Wait! What?</div>
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Who is this lady?</div>
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You never even had a chance to do a background check.</div>
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A meet and greet.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mom speed dating. </div>
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You know...10 mom options. </div>
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You get to sit down for 5 minutes with each of them, pepper them with questions and pick the one who seems the most compatible.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Nothing.<br />
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It's a lot like the lottery.</div>
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You get what you get and you're stuck with it. That is, if she even wants you.<br />
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If she doesn't want you, you can't go back into that nice comfy womb. You just get put on hold and you don't even get to watch the clear plastic container of balls dancing in the gale force wind, while you wait for your number to be called.</div>
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If she does want you there is still no guarantee that you should actually want her to want you. Last I checked, there is no such thing as a mom license. Are you going to a good home where you will be loved and nurtured the way a baby is supposed to be loved and nurtured? Many mothers bring their beautiful babies home to the safety of their nest with the best of intentions only to fail miserably.</div>
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Take the mother bird from<i> "Are You My Mother" </i>for example. Motherhood looked bad on that mama bird from the jump. First, she managed to find a way to miss the birth of her baby. Second, she let her baby fall from the top of a tall tree. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the poor baby bird had to wander aimlessly for the first hour or so of his life thinking that a kitten, dog, hen, cow or perhaps the dreaded SNORT might actually be his mother. Poor baby!<i> </i><br />
<br />
Luckily, that scary SNORT was a hero and returned the baby bird to the nest and the mama bird was none the wiser. She didn't even know that she had already failed miserably. Ignorance is bliss, right?<br />
Like anything else in this world, mothers come in all shapes, sizes and forms. Just because you are a mom doesn't mean you are a good one.</div>
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Anyway, back to the Lottery.</div>
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I've never won the lottery we play today at convenience stores with miniature pencils like the ones you get at putt putt golf courses and tiny scan tron like pieces of paper with rectangles full of numbers. I've never come close.</div>
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However, I did win the "Mom Lottery" some 34 years ago and something tells me that the odds of winning that are even more slim than the lottery we play today. The stakes are definitely higher.</div>
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Have you ever sat back and really thought about it?</div>
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Be careful if you haven't. It can be a lot like plugging in one too many kitchen appliances into the same outlet. </div>
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Boom.</div>
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Overload.</div>
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Someone needs to go flip a breaker.<br />
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How much of who you are today is a reflection of your mother?</div>
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There are a plethora of women near your mothers age that could have ended up being your mom yet your mom ended up being your mom.</div>
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I know. When I put it like that it sounds silly...and No, I'm not on drugs... unless you consider sweet tea a drug. In that case, I'm sitting at my computer high as a kite on sweet tea typing a blog post about how mind blowing it is that my mom is my mom.</div>
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Boy. She must be proud.</div>
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Seriously though, I'm not sure what your situation is with your mother but for me it truly is mind bottling (or mind boggling for those of you who aren't familiar with Chaz Michael Michaels) to think about how blessed I am in the Mom department. I was born into this world to a mom who would literally do anything for me. She's disciplined yet forgiving. She's tough yet kind and understanding. She's like a finely tuned, well rounded athlete with a highly developed craft and her craft is motherhood... and she's good at every aspect of it. It's like I got the Bruce Jenner of moms.</div>
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Wait a minute. You have to remember that I was born in 1980. Back then Bruce was a man. I mean, he was THE man. Not only a man but THE man. On the Wheaties box, might I add, a highly trained Olympic male athlete at the top of his game.<br />
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My mom is THE MAN... but she's a woman. Now that I think about it, she may be the exact opposite of Bru... nevermind.<br />
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I'm Sorry. This is going nowhere fast. Yet another bad comparison on my part.<br />
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Carrying on...</div>
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In all seriousness, if you read my blog frequently you know that I go on about my relationship with my dad constantly and my mom often takes a back seat. That's only because my dad and I are both sports addicts with a whole lot in common and a lot to talk about. I wont let dad high jack this post mom. This one is for you.<br />
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In reality, my mother is the one thing in this world that I am most grateful for, including my wife and kids. I was able to choose my wife. I've been able to influence and mold my children. I had absolutely NO SAY in who my mom was going to be though. If it weren't for my mom's example of what a wife and mom should be I wouldn't know what qualities to look for in a wife/mother of my children. I wouldn't know how important it was to find a woman: </div>
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<ul>
<li>whose priorities are faith and family</li>
<li>who understands the love and nurturing children require</li>
<li>who holds her husband accountable with just the right amount of patience and understanding</li>
<li> who prays with her children</li>
<li> who goes the extra mile to teach the things that some let slip through the cracks</li>
<li>who is capable of staying at home with the kids or providing for her family depending on what life asks of her.</li>
<li>who is honest and stands behind her word</li>
<li>who loves her husband and leaves no room for doubt</li>
<li>who willingly sacrifices what ever it takes for her children's well being</li>
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ETC.</div>
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I could go on all night.<br />
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My mother possesses all of these qualities and many more.<br />
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What did I ever do to deserve a Mother like this?<br />
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When we were young my mom was a stay at home mom. As we got older things changed and she had to go to work full time so she delivered mail for the next 20 years. She adjusted. She sacrificed. She went with the flow of life with a smile on her face.<br />
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She was the spiritual leader of our household. She made sure we woke up and went to Church. She dragged my lazy butt out of bed every single day for school. Because of her I had perfect attendance from Kindergarten through 12th grade, which is no easy task, just ask her. All these years I thought it was something fantastic that I had done. She's the one who did all the work. She deserves the credit.<br />
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To this day I still don't know how she did it. After I went to sleep she stayed up cleaning my filthy baseball uniform. I was the dirtiest kid on the team always sliding head first every chance I got but come the next game I was the cleanest kid, for a few minutes anyway. That woman could work mind blowing magic on a dirty baseball uniform and she still woke me up in time to get to school the next morning after putting in the over time. If it wasn't a baseball uniform it was a school project. She would NOT let us get a bad grade, even if we had to stay up all night.<br />
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We used to... who am I kidding... we still always give my mom grief because she can fall asleep anywhere at the drop of a hat. The couch... a red light...Church...the bath...the toilet...the middle of a conversation... it doesn't matter, Mom can fall asleep anywhere.<br />
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Mom was notorious for staying up all night wrapping Christmas presents. She was always dozing off on Christmas day. One year my brother and I got a Sega Genesis for Christmas. When we were done opening presents we decided it was time to play the Sega. There was only one problem. We didn't get any games. After a couple days of searching the house we found them in my Grandma's closet. Santa must have hidden them there. Another year mom lost the turkey altogether.<br />
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One time when my mom dozed off sitting up on the couch my brother and I decided it would be a good idea to start putting change on her face to see how much we could get on there before she woke up. We went to my dad's change drawer and grabbed a hand full of pennies, dimes and nickels and went to work. I'm not positive but I think there may be a picture of this floating around somewhere. I'll have to ask dad. Mom wasn't too happy with us when she awoke to a change face avalanche.<br />
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Anyway, I bring all of this up to say that we should have just cut mom some slack. We should have just let her catch up on her sleep. I don't think my brother and I realized why she was so exhausted all the time. The woman devoted every second of her life to raising and providing for my two older sisters, my brother and me and she didn't care how much sleep she lost doing it. She was forgetful and she was chronically exhausted but more than anything, she was DEVOTED to her family. She still is.<br />
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Because of her example I was able to recognize these same qualities in my wife when I met her. My dad recognized them too. We met her on the same day and only hours after meeting her he told me that I needed to marry her one day. When all my friends told me it wasn't time to settle down, I knew better. I knew I'd be missing out on a woman who shared so many amazing qualities with my mom.<br />
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That type of woman doesn't come around every day.<br />
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Now, because I won the Mom Lottery I've also won the Wife Lottery and therefore my sons have also won the Mom Lottery. What a beautiful cycle. I hope it continues. I hope one day my boys find their own little minds blown, their own little breakers flipped, when they attempt to wrap their heads around the fact that they ended up with the amazing mother they have, because she is amazing too. Would you like to know how I know?<br />
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Because my mom tells me all the time.<br />
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How did I end up with a wonderful mother like this?<br />
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How did my kids end up with a wonderful mother like this?<br />
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I'll tell you how...<br />
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My genius dad chose them both.<br />
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Ha.<br />
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Happy Mother's Day to all you Moms out there, especially to my mom and the mother of my boys.<br />
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We love you guys.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-22798794478738195322015-04-29T14:00:00.001-04:002015-05-09T11:52:47.801-04:00How I bottled up that Christmas morning feeling in the month of April.<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uk9UZ9r2b8s/VUEYdXeuEJI/AAAAAAAAW1U/EMZrQ3RW26A/s1600/christmasprintable_milk-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uk9UZ9r2b8s/VUEYdXeuEJI/AAAAAAAAW1U/EMZrQ3RW26A/s1600/christmasprintable_milk-1.jpg" height="191" width="320" /></a></div>
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Christmas as a child was the most magical thing in the world. The most magical thing I can remember, anyway. I grew up in a middle class family but my parents always found a way to make sure we had more than what we wanted and way more than what we needed for Christmas. They had a close personal friendship with Santa Claus. I'm sure that probably had something to do with it.</div>
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I always loved the lights and the tree and all the Christmas traditions we had but let's face it, I was a kid and kids love presents. PRESENTS!!!! I'll never forget the feeling of waking up on Christmas morning; the excitement and anticipation of what was waiting for me under that tree. If you celebrate Christmas I'm sure you remember what it was like.</div>
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<i>"What could it possibly be?"</i></div>
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<i> "Did Santa bring me what I asked for?"</i></div>
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<i>"Come on Mom and Dad! Wake up! Let's do this!"</i></div>
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...and then I opened the presents. I don't ever remember being disappointed. There may have been slight disappointment here or there when I opened new socks but I was pretty easy to please and I don't THINK I EVER asked for too much. (I probably asked for too much every year.)</div>
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The most memorable gift my brother and I ever got was probably this giant G.I. JOE aircraft carrier that seemed to take up half of the living room. We played with that thing non stop and let our imaginations run wild. Oh man! It was great! Always great!</div>
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However, every Christmas toy I ever received inevitably got old and I got tired of playing with them. </div>
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Every single one. </div>
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Even the G.I. JOE aircraft carrier.</div>
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I know. Sounds crazy; hard to believe. I bet you're telling yourself now as an adult that if you had a giant toy aircraft carrier that took up half your living room you would play with it every day and you would never get sick of it but I'm here to tell you that's simply not true. I understand. To be honest, as I'm sitting here typing this I've halfway convinced myself that if I had another G.I. JOE aircraft carrier that things would be different this time but experience tells me otherwise. I'd end up selling it again to make space. Hopefully for a lot more money this time.</div>
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Even the new bike gets old. The new football gets old. The My Buddy doll (please tell me you remember this). The new Nintendo, Sega Genesis or Play Station... </div>
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you guessed it: </div>
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GETS OLD. They ALL do.</div>
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There's always next year right?</div>
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If only there was a way to bottle that magical feeling of Christmas morning. </div>
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What if I could dip my toys in the fountain of youth? What if a toy manufacturer finally came along and discovered a way to make a toy that never lost its luster? Is it possible? Could I wake up one morning and experience that magical Christmas morning feeling every day for the rest of my life?</div>
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Unfortunately, I never found a way to bottle up and experience that feeling every day as a child. Nope. Once a year and that was it. I had to wait 364 days for that feeling again. </div>
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That's the bad news.</div>
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The good news is, now that I am an adult, I finally figured it out. Yep. After years and years of ideas, research, failed inventions and disappointment, I figured it out. Like a mad scientist I finally found the proper combination of ingredients to yield that good old fashioned Christmas morning feeling year round. My very own Frankenstein. Scratch that. That is a horrible comparison and it's not really true.</div>
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I gave up on figuring it out long ago and then I finally stumbled upon it on April 3rd, 2011 with the help of my wife. We were able to repeat it on April 27, 2013. What can I say? April is a good month for us. We thought about moving our Christmas celebration to April but decided against it. That would just be unorthodox overkill.</div>
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By now you've probably figured out what this perfect gift that captures that Christmas morning feeling is</div>
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or</div>
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If you have children, you figured it out a long time ago.</div>
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MY BOYS.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QGr8macCF-s/VUDTItY5etI/AAAAAAAAW1E/bUq2RgfSSEw/s1600/FB_IMG_1430311392869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QGr8macCF-s/VUDTItY5etI/AAAAAAAAW1E/bUq2RgfSSEw/s1600/FB_IMG_1430311392869.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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How come on one ever told me?</div>
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People always told me I could never understand what a parents love for a child was like until I experienced it for myself but no one ever told me that it made every single day feel like Christmas morning and that I was going to wake up excited and full of anticipation for what each and every day with them held (and it would never wear off). It's a good thing no one ever put it to me like that or I probably would have gone out and knocked up the first broad I saw so I could get my hands on one of these real life "My Buddy" dolls...and that surely would have ended badly. ;)</div>
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I just want to wake up and play with these perfect evergreen Christmas toys all day. Okay, truth be told, I wake up and tip toe around the house trying with all my might NOT to wake them up. That part is much different than Christmas morning. However, the second they do wake up or the second I walk in the door from work, we get down like it's Christmas morning, minus the turkey and stockings. I don't know what else to compare it to. It's the best feeling in the world.</div>
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Sure, they get older by the day but not in the way a toy does or any other feeling I've experienced in life. Their luster shines brighter by the day as you mold their malleable brain into the beginning of what you hope turns out to be a masterpiece. Four years into parenthood and I'd say they age more like a fine wine getting better by the year. Plus, I get a better buzz off of spending time with these little trouble makers than I could get from any wine.</div>
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I understand that not all parents feel this way about their children and that breaks my heart. I truly hope that as you read this you nod your head in agreement if you are a parent. If you didn't, I hope you can figure out why not and make a change to help get you there because they deserve to be loved like a child loves his favorite new toy on Christmas morning and you deserve to be able to share that love with them for as long as you both live. I have not experienced anything in this world that compares to pouring your whole self into a child. That quality time is irreplaceable.</div>
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If you do not have a child and you are reading this please do not go out and make one with the first person you meet because of what you read here. Trust me. It's worth the wait and you will be more equipped to handle these amazing gifts with a little age on you. I'll warn you, they are not exactly "better" than Christmas gifts in every way. I'd guess that it's safe to assume you never had a Christmas gift that:</div>
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<ul>
<li>actually cost YOU thousands of dollars just to bring home</li>
<li> woke you up 5 times in the night by screaming (night after night.)</li>
<li>spit up a terribly stinky substance on you 37 times in the first 6 months you had it</li>
<li>pooped or peed on you</li>
<li>demanded your attention at all times that it wasn't sleeping </li>
</ul>
...and that's just to name a few and you still got tired of these toys. Yet somehow these babies that become a full time job just make every day better and better.<br />
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Just a few hours ago at bedtime I told my 4 year old that I loved him and he replied:</div>
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<i>"I love you too Daddy and don't forget, your ideas change the world."</i></div>
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I'm sure he got it from some movie or TV show and he probably doesn't even know what it means but it melted my heart and inspired me to write this blog post. I had him repeat it so I could have it on video to watch if I was ever having a bad day.<br />
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Truth is, in the grand scheme of things, I haven't had a "bad day" since he was born. Every day has been like Christmas. At one point before he was born he was nothing more than a possibility... an IDEA in my head. I guess my ideas do change the world... and for the better. They've changed my world anyway.</div>
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.welcometomycircus.com/" title="Welcome to My Circus" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.welcometomycircus.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/Small-Party-Under-the-Big-Top-Button.jpg" alt="Welcome to My Circus" style="border:none;" /></a></div><a href="http://honestmum.com/category/brilliant-blog-posts/"><img style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; display: block;" src="http://i.imgur.com/fJzNWoE.jpg" alt="Brilliant blog posts on HonestMum.com" width="301" height="189" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-79722183175269540812015-04-16T05:54:00.000-04:002015-04-28T10:03:53.273-04:00"Daddy, can you turn around?" (The most interesting selfie I have ever taken)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
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Traveling with children can present many different kinds of challenges. While I'm not prepared to jump into all of those challenges just yet, I'd like to share one that snuck up behind me on a layover at the Los Angeles airport last week as my family and I headed to Hawaii for vacation.</div>
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This little incident led to the most interesting selfie I have ever taken.</div>
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We were in a bit of a hurry to reach our connecting flight, but not too rushed. We grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed on the way to our gate. Cooper, my 4 year old, had to go potty so we scampered to the closest men's room as he informed me that we were talking about the #2 variety.</div>
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We were in a cramped stall together. I got him all set up with toilet paper on the seat and everything. That's when he asked me to turn around. This is normal procedure when he's sitting on a public potty. </div>
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The boy needs his privacy. He always has.</div>
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He always asks us to leave the bathroom when we are at home because he likes to do his business alone but he knows that's not going to happen in a public restroom. So, I turned around and faced the door, still in the stall. I took out my phone to look at some pictures I had taken on our previous flight.</div>
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That's when the potty flushed all by itself. The automatic flusher must not have registered that Cooper was still on the potty because he's so small. At this point in his life, I'm not sure there's much of anything thats scarier to Cooper than a loud, unexpected, flushing potty. Coop was so concerned that the flush would be loud that he put both hands over his ears.</div>
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Right then I felt something hit me in the back of the left leg. It took me a couple seconds to realize exactly what it was. It was warm and it was running down my leg into my sock...<br />
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"Point it down Coop! Point it down..."<br />
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I exclaimed as I turned around to see Cooper covering his ears for dear life...and peeing on his dad's leg, of course.</div>
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We looked at each other & I couldn't help but start laughing. Cooper started cracking up. I tried to explain to him that it's not really funny and we should never ever pee on people. </div>
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I just couldn't keep a straight face. Eventhough it was a major inconvenience the giggles just got a hold of me. The look on the poor boy's face definitely had something to do with it. </div>
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So, I told him that it was only funny because it was an accident, which probably wasn't the best parenting in the world but hey, I never claimed to be a perfect parent.</div>
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I let him finish up and I took him to his </div>
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mom before I went back in the bathroom to throw away my socks and scrub my </div>
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left leg (from the back of the knee down) in the sink with soap and hot water. </div>
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That's when I noticed myself in the mirror and thought, "When will I ever have a better reason to take a selfie?!"</div>
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8 or 10 people walked in and looked at me like I was crazy. One pair of <u>socks</u> and a few odd looks later I realized the lesson at hand.... never turn your back on a loaded weapon.<br />
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Four days later and I've heard this question at least five times:<br />
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"Hey Dad, is this potty a flusher?!?!"<br />
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At least he's thinking ahead.</div>
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Aloha.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-83499671620332978022015-04-08T01:04:00.001-04:002015-04-08T12:32:59.161-04:00The Ultimate Sacrifice<div style="text-align: center;">
If you do a quick Google image search with the words, "The Ultimate Sacrifice" you will be met by a barrage of pictures depicting Jesus dying on the cross and soldiers giving their lives for our freedom. It's actually quite humbling and something we should remind ourselves of and be grateful for on a daily basis. This is not something I expected to encounter while preparing for this blog post, but I'm glad I did.</div>
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That being said, I'd like to share with you a completely different type of "Ultimate Sacrifice" that was made for my big brother and me when we were approximately 4 and 8 years old respectively. This was a sacrifice that I will never forget. A sacrifice that I am eternally grateful for and a sacrifice that taught me a life lesson that stuck with me some 30 years later.</div>
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I hope that one day when the time comes (and I know it will) I am able to quickly access this memory from the recesses of my brain so I can successfully grab this specific situation by the handle bars of life and make the right decision.</div>
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Come, will you?</div>
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Step inside my DeLorean.</div>
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Allow my flux capacitor to whisk us away in the carpool lane back to sometime around the year 1984. ( I know. I know, I've got to stop with these Back to the Future references. A bad habit I'm trying to break.)<br />
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The following is based on a true story:</div>
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Meet my parents.<br />
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Stacy & Susie<br />
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They are both 71 years of age now but I wanted to introduce you to to them back in 1984. As you can tell, my mom was (still is) a beauty and my dad was basically the Harry Styles of his day. Total Dreamboat. A true power couple...like a white Kim and Kanye...<br />
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Okay, that derailed quickly. Let's re-focus.<br />
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My parents are amazing. I am so grateful for them. Throughout my childhood and adolescence they bent over backward (and sometimes forward) to teach me valuable life lessons. I feel so fortunate that they cared so much about the kind of adult I turned out to be. They invested so much time and effort into me, put my well being ahead of their own and sacrificed so much to ensure that I became an honorable man.<br />
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I'd like to share with you this one particular instance that, in my opinion, is the closest thing to an "ultimate sacrifice" that anyone has ever made for me.<br />
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One might assume that an "ultimate sacrifice" made by a parent for a child would be giving birth; A mother giving up the body of her youth for the well-being of her child. Perhaps the unconditional love of a mother who moved from the big city to a one red light town and gave up a career as the next Prudential Woman of the Year to stay at home with her four cubs to love, nurture and nourish them daily.<br />
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While these are all honorable undertakings. They fall just shy of the sacrifice that was made on a fateful summer day in 1984...<br />
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My Dad was at work. My dear mother was watching over my brother, myself and a few other young children she cared for regularly. My oldest sister and her boyfriend stopped by the house in his 1970 Chevelle hot rod. It was your typical muggy Florida summer afternoon. The kind of day that you could just sense the afternoon thunderstorms approaching. Before you could ever see the clouds billowing in through the giant trees, you could smell the rain as it descended upon the damp leaves, dirt and sweet gum balls in the front yard of our Lake Geneva home.<br />
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What none of us knew is the fact that we were about to be hit with the storm of the decade in our quaint little town. The storm was on top of us in a flash. There was no warning; no time to prepare. My mother's sixth mommy sense alerted her to the fact that this storm was not like our typical afternoon thunderstorm. The wind packed an extra punch. The lightning flashed with a fierce fury and the thunder shook the earth to it's very core.<br />
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As the bottom fell out of the sky, she ran outside to the front yard and herded us like cattle into the bathtub, which she designated as the safest place in our home. Soon after, branches snapped atop power lines. Power lines lost their battle with gravity and fell to the ground like angry electric snakes striking wildly in all directions. An entire sweet gum ball tree (so big you couldn't wrap your arms around it) a mere 5 feet from our home, was uprooted. It came crashing down like the foot of a giant Tyrannosaurus...right on top of my sister's boyfriend's car.<br />
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Ouch.<br />
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He was devastated!<br />
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We were frightened!<br />
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The storm eventually passed and everyone was okay. The only casualty was the car.<br />
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My mother was a local folk hero!!!<br />
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<i>Well</i>, that last sentence <i>might</i> be a slight exaggeration...<br />
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While my mom will always be a hero to me, she admitted that she really just did what any adult would or should do in a situation like this. She also admitted that the bathtub she put us in was in the corner of the house closest to the tree that came crashing down and if it had fallen in a different direction, we all could have been smashed. Thank God that didn't happen.<br />
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If my mom's "heroics" were really just a parent taking the proper precautions for children during a storm with above average intensity, then what is this "ultimate sacrifice" I keep talking about?<br />
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Well, that, you see, came a few days later by my father after the crushed car was removed from our driveway and the long neck of this dinosaur like tree remained in our front yard.<br />
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<b>What were we going to do with this thing?!?</b><br />
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...I know Mom. Dad always gets to be the hero and it's just not fair. I'm sorry. I even led everyone to believe that you were the hero and yet again, here comes Dad flying in like E.T. on Elliot's bike to save the day and take all the credit. I understand and maybe there is something I can do to make it up to you in the future. For now let's get back to the story at hand...<br />
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Keep in mind that I was approximately four years old at the time and this is by no means a direct quote from my father, but I like to imagine that this is what he said next...Wait! Before I tell you... Did I mention that my dad is brilliant? Well, he is...here goes:<br />
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<i>"I'll tell you what were gonna do with that old dead tree sitting in the yard. We're gonna take this here metal ramp, lean it against the tree and the boys can use it to launch themselves over the tree for hours upon hours upon days upon days of fun."</i><br />
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OH!!! We were so excited! It doesn't even matter what happens next. Dad was already our hero just for suggesting it.<br />
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There we were standing in the yard. The four of us: Dad, Mom, my brother Stacy and myself.<br />
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This was about to be the greatest day of our lives; The pinnacle of fun in my short life to this point here on earth. This storm was the best thing that ever happened to us. This tree was about to become like a family pet; A part of the family. I could envision years of ramping into the sunset before Mom called us in for dinner.<br />
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I could hear myself now,<br />
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<i>"Just one more jump Mom and I'll be in for dinner. Just one more jump."</i><br />
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I could even hear her reply,<br />
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"<i>Honey, you've been ramping that old tree for hours. This is the LAST time. That old tree will be there tomorrow. It's not going anywhere."</i><br />
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Then, just before I was about to hit that ramp for the first time and fly like Evil Knievel over the Grand Canyon, I heard Dad speak the words that changed everything:<br />
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<i>"Hold on Son, let your old Dad show you how it's done."</i><br />
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Brilliant Idea. I told you he was brilliant.<br />
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There's no better person to learn from; No better person to take the inaugural flight.<br />
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You have to understand that my dad was perfect. My dad could fix anything. My dad caught the biggest fish. My dad threw the best spiral. He had the best jump shot. He could bare foot ski. My dad could beat up your dad but he probably wouldn't fight your dad because my dad was smarter than your dad and he knew that fighting doesn't resolve anything. I'm telling you... he was perfect.<br />
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We stood back to let the man do his thing. He circled around to gain enough speed to launch into orbit. He hit the ramp with such precision. He launched into the air like a dolphin breaching beautifully for all to see. He stuck the landing like Kerri Strug on a bum ankle in the 1996 Olympics...<br />
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...Only he was on a bike. When I say he stuck the landing I really mean he STUCK the landing. He slid off the bike seat and completely and utterly...<br />
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racked his nuts...</div>
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like I've never seen before or since.</div>
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I was 4 years old. I didn't know exactly what was going on. All I knew is that my dad was DOWN FOR THE COUNT! Moaning, groaning and "OH NO-ing."</div>
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As my mom ran to check on her wounded dare devil in distress she paused only for a moment and said six words in a tone of voice we knew not to question.</div>
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<i><b>"Boys, go inside the house NOW!''</b></i></div>
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I don't remember much else after that. The tree was removed before we knew it or it may as well have been. We were forbidden to touch, look at, or think about that tree that almost stole my father's manhood. Now that I think about it, I am the baby of the family. I wonder if that was by choice or if the tree made that decision for them. Either way, I'm glad I'm the baby. Maybe I owe that tree a thank you.</div>
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Oh what could have been?!?</div>
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The friendship with the tree was over before it began.</div>
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Although I've always been seriously disappointed that I never got to ramp the giant tree, I like to think that my Dad saved me and my brother from a few major injuries. It makes me feel better about the whole thing anyway. He sacrificed his "boys" for his boys, if you know what I mean. That takes an unconditional love that I'm not sure I fully grasp.</div>
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Although I know my dad never got flowers, never became America's sweetheart and certainly never got put on the cover of a Wheaties box for this ultimate sacrifice, I like to think that my mom did her best Bela Karolyi impression and carried him into the house to a nice warm bath and some painkillers.</div>
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Dad ended up being just fine. No real injuries to speak of. Maybe just his pride. We realized our dad was not invincible, but he was still our hero. To this day when this story comes up my brother and I just laugh like little kids.</div>
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Thanks Dad. (for multiple reasons)</div>
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You will forever be to me what Kerri Strug was to our Nation back in 1996...</div>
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A Champion who's not afraid to make the ultimate sacrifice.</div>
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I wish we were all reading this together. We'd be laughing our balls off... or at least the rest of us would be.</div>
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I guess sometimes the most effective parenting tool is the ability to teach a child what not to do, like the dad of the Berenstain Bears. That guy was always teaching those kids what not to do. Let's just hope the sacrifice you make while teaching this lesson is minimal. As a father of two young boys myself, I hope that I am able to resist those, "Let your old dad show you how it's done" moments, no matter how tempting they may be.</div>
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Have any of you parents out there had any similar situations?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-31144042373236328302015-03-31T23:24:00.001-04:002015-04-14T01:15:47.689-04:00 Stay at Home Moms Just Don't Get it...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My wife is a stay at home mom. My good friend <a href="http://www.sunshinedad.wordpress.com/">Mike Smith</a> is a stay at home dad. I converse with these two people on a daily basis, probably more than I do with anyone else besides maybe my Dad. It's safe to say that I've heard my share of "venting" on how "difficult" their "JOB" of being a stay at home parent is. Needless to say, this is a very difficult subject for me to broach because of these relationships. While I love them both dearly and I never mind listening to them vent, <b>I just don't think they get it.</b><br />
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Job (noun): 1. A paid position of regular employment.<br />
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As for me, I wake up every morning before the sun rises and I drive 45 minutes to work. I get into a work truck, drive to a neighborhood and run in a race against the clock to finish my work allotment before I run out of time. All the while I'm being threatened by customers, chased by dogs and at the mercy of mother nature (Who is also a stay at home mom, coincidentally). When I'm finished I get back in my car and take the 45 minute drive home in rush hour traffic. I do this every day 8 a.m to 5 p.m (plus drive time) Monday through Friday. Every two weeks I get paid for my work and my family uses that money to pay the bills, eat and buy a few things we might need. I've done this job for 15 years.<br />
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What exactly does a stay at home mom do?<br />
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<li>Rolls out of bed and takes a nice peaceful shower </li>
<li>Makes a delicious breakfast to eat while catching up on some television shows</li>
<li>Enjoys a nice warm and peaceful cup of coffee on the back porch</li>
<li>Feeds the kids a Pop Tart</li>
<li>Scrolls through her Facebook news feed for a few hours commenting on a picture of a cute Pinterest idea and a status of another stay at home mom complaining about how her toe nail painting got interrupted by her toddler who knocked over her nail polish and how frustrated she is now that there is a big ugly stain on the new plush carpet she just paid for with money her husband made at his job.</li>
<li>Calls a friend and talks on the phone for an hour</li>
<li>Feeds the kids a sandwich</li>
<li>Does some online clothes shopping</li>
<li>Calls the kids over to pose with her for a picture with her new selfie stick.</li>
<li>Sits the kids down in front of the television until daddy gets home from work.</li>
<li>Sends a few texts to her bestie about how she doesn't feel like cooking dinner</li>
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Does that sound like a job to you? Would you "vent" about the "job" you had to perform every day if this was your daily routine? I don't think so. <b>Some people just need a reality check. These people need to count their blessings and be grateful for what they have and the people who make it possible.</b></div>
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Don't you agree? I'm sure you all do and I look forward to reading your comments. There won't be any debating this one. It's pretty cut and dry. Thanks for reading and have a great day.</div>
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Oh, wait...</div>
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Check your calendar before you start calling me a chauvinist and berating me for my jingoistic comments waging war against the stay at home parent.</div>
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Ah, yes, 'tis April Fools day. Well, it was when I wrote this anyway... I may be a child but I'm not a chauvinist. Allow me to offer you a second definition.</div>
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Job (noun): 2. a task or piece of work.<br />
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Is there a more important piece of work one can be called to pour her blood, sweat and tears into? This leads me back to a question I asked earlier.<br />
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What does a stay at home parent really do?<br />
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<li>Wakes up on command</li>
<li>Feeds on command</li>
<li>Struggles to make time to actually brush her own teeth and take a shower.</li>
<li>Changes ungodly diapers at all hours of the day</li>
<li>Cleans up mess after mess after toy after puke after coloring on the wall (you get the point)</li>
<li>Plans three meals a day</li>
<li>Pays bills</li>
<li>Handles Doctor visits</li>
<li>Shapes and molds tiny humans into well mannered and respectful children</li>
<li>Shops for groceries</li>
<li>Disciplines</li>
<li>Manages melt downs (for both child and self)</li>
<li>Forgets to feed herself lunch.</li>
<li>Remembers to feed herself lunch but the baby needs her so it'll have to wait.</li>
<li>Runs all of life's little annoying errands that come up at inopportune times.</li>
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etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. </div>
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Do I really need to list anything else? Because I can, but I'd like to wrap this thing up and get some sleep tonight so I can be well rested for my job in the morning where I really just drive around in a work truck listening to sports talk radio and get some exercise running through sub divisions while occasionally dealing with an upset customer or an angry gang of chihuahua's who, for some reason, view me as a threat in their sub divisional turf war.</div>
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I guess it just depends on your perspective. I could choose to describe my job the way I did at the beginning of this blog post or I could choose to describe it the way I did just now. I prefer the latter. However, no one should choose to describe the job of a stay at home parent, whether a mom or a dad, the way I did at the beginning of this blog post because it's the most important job on earth. The list of responsibilities is endless and thankless. To top it all off, Daddy (or the working parent) gets to barge through the door when he gets off work and be welcomed home like he spent all day saving the world when Mommy is the one who truly deserves that super hero's welcome. After all, she was protecting our world all day while Daddy was At work.<br />
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<b> </b><b>Some people just need a reality check. These people need to count their blessings and be grateful for what they have and the people who make it possible... </b>it's usually us working parents. I know my boss is a lot more understanding than a couple of tiny tyrant toddlers.<br />
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<b>Stay at home parents just don't get it...</b>they don't get the respect and appreciation they deserve for the job they do. The next time you feel like taking a break and catching up on Grey's Anatomy, go right ahead. You deserve it.</div>
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.welcometomycircus.com/" title="Welcome to My Circus" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.welcometomycircus.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/Small-New-Featured-Act-Button.jpg" alt="Welcome to My Circus" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-63390151943906324502015-03-26T01:53:00.000-04:002015-04-07T08:23:56.123-04:00Brothers Gotta Hug!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KLUm6s4AVwM/VRG_PdQxOBI/AAAAAAAAS7E/nBeM1qay-3s/s1600/2015-03-24%2B15.43.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KLUm6s4AVwM/VRG_PdQxOBI/AAAAAAAAS7E/nBeM1qay-3s/s1600/2015-03-24%2B15.43.00.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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Brothers.<br />
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These two have no idea how blessed they are to have each other. I hope that one day they are able to look back on their lives and truly understand the gift they have in one another. The bond between brothers, brothers who really love each other, is like no other bond in the world. In my 34 years on this earth I've seen examples of brothers who would do anything for each other and I've also come across a few brother duos who didn't seem to care much for one another at all. "Love" might be the absolute last word I would use to describe their interactions together. I understand that brothers show their love in different ways, depending on a multitude of variables that may or may not exist in their relationship. However, there are certain behaviors I've seen or heard throughout the years that send up a major red flag; Words and interactions I hope I never see, hear or associate with my boys.<br />
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I have an older brother myself. His name is Stacy and he's 4 years older than me. I guess you could say he's a pretty decent dude, but we'll get back to him later.<br />
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I'll never forget one day years and years ago when my mom was babysitting for a neighbor who just so happened to have two boys about the same age as my brother and me. If I had to guess I would say that I was 8 and my brother was 12. The other two boys were probably 9 and 11. We lived on a lake and since it was a nice hot summer afternoon we all thought it would be a good idea to go swimming so we suited up and hit the lake. We were all so full of excitement and anticipation for the fun we were about to have.<br />
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I still have a clear mental picture of the events that followed. I can't remember if we just ran down to the lake as my mom was still gathering towels or if he just waited for the first opportunity when my mom wasn't 100% locked in on us but the big brother of the other boys grabbed his little brother and held him underwater for what seemed like 5 minutes in my eight year old brain. I remember my excitement turning to fear and my eyes were probably bulging out of my head. I thought he was going to kill him. I just froze. When the little brother finally emerged from the water, a knock down drown out fight ensued until my mom could get them under control. It was like a good hockey fight but the ice was melted and they were trying to drown each other in it. I don't remember my mom babysitting those two boys ever again after this particular day. Hmm, I wonder why?!?<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sCC-eDOXWVU/VROMUmQqX8I/AAAAAAAAS_M/GWvVDUda9Do/s1600/20150325_191421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sCC-eDOXWVU/VROMUmQqX8I/AAAAAAAAS_M/GWvVDUda9Do/s1600/20150325_191421.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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(This picture of my boys was taken yesterday 3-25-15 on the same beach I grew up on. We just happened to visit my home town. There used to be a big dock and a nice sandy beach but no one lives here now and it's all overgrown.)</div>
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Clearly, that moment has stuck with me throughout the years. Not only because it was scary but also because I had never experienced anything like it. You might be saying to yourself, "What's the big deal? It's just boys being boys." You might be right. Wherever those two brothers are today, if they haven't gone all Cane and Abel, they might be best friends. They might not even remember the incident. Maybe I sensationalized it in my innocent little boy brain. Regardless, I pray to God that I never see my older son treat his little brother in that manner. It's just not acceptable.<br />
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You might be thinking, "Oh, just you wait until your boys get older. You've got another thing coming," and maybe I do. Maybe I'll need to get a Mixed Martial Arts refereeing license and an octagon in the backyard in order to best parent my boys. I've heard some crazy brother war stories.<br />
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I've had conversations with friends and colleagues who despise their brothers. Some of them haven't spoken to their brothers in years and have no plans to put any effort whatsoever into that relationship because their brother, <i>"is just a jerk!"</i><br />
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What a sad reality. How can a relationship between brothers make the slow transition over time from the picture above to a complete disdain for one another? How do we, as humans, so often let time harden our hearts and turn the precious gift of brotherhood into something we so easily take for granted and even consider a burden?</div>
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This should never happen. A brother should be a friend for life; A best friend given to you by God for no charge. A brother should be someone you can celebrate with, mourn with and confide in no matter the circumstance. A brother should be someone you know how to communicate with. A brother should be someone you love unconditionally. You don't have to put up with all his crap and like it, but you need to love him through it and get back on the same page down the road, after the dust has settled.</div>
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A brother needs to be like my big brother.</div>
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This is my favorite picture of the two of us as boys. You can tell we love each other here. Nothing has changed throughout the years. Sure, we could be closer. We have different interests. We both get caught up in our own life at times and forget that we live 2 minutes down the road from each other but that doesn't change the fact that this dude is a major blessing; A blessing that I took for granted for a large part of my life.</div>
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My big brother never tried to drown me, although he probably had reason to. One interesting fact about my brother is that he is 38 years old and he's never had a sip of alcohol. Well... he may have had one "sip" depending on your interpretation of what I'm about to tell you. One summer when we were in our twenties and we went on vacation together he fell asleep on a picnic table by the pool. His mouth was partially open and I decided it would be a good idea to drop a "sip" of my frozen Pina Colada from my straw into his mouth. As you might have guessed, this didn't sit very well with him. He ran me down and threw me in the pool and finished me off with an elbow drop but he didn't try to drown me. If he ever wanted to this would have been the perfect opportunity.</div>
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He never beat me up. When we were teenagers my friend Jeff would come stay at our house often. The three of us always watched movies in my parents room on their bed. Jeff and I would wait for the clock to hit a certain time, a time that we coordinated moments earlier, and we would "jump" him to try to see if the two of us could take him down. He was much bigger and stronger than us and I think he enjoyed the challenge. He had a go to move that was undefeated. He would just squeeze our feet until we said "uncle" and gave up. It worked every time.</div>
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There is one particular night that we laugh about from time to time. I must have done something to make him mad because I took off running from our room towards the living room and I just knew he was going to catch me so I threw myself into the bookshelf in the hallway and told mom and dad that he pushed me into it. I think he ended up taking one for the team on that night.</div>
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He was never too cool for me. My brother and I shared a room growing up. That's probably one reason why we were so close. When we were still in school we used to stay up late looking through our yearbooks picking the "hottest" girl on each page. I bet all you girls from Keystone Heights wish you knew the answers to that classic game. HA!</div>
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He never made fun of me unless I deserved it. Honestly, I don't have one memory of my brother being mean to me in any way that I didn't deserve. Now that I think about it, maybe he brainwashed me?!? </div>
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He just loved me and put up with me and my annoying friends. He supported all my sporting and music endeavors. He picked me up from practice. He drove me and my friends around. He may not have always enjoyed doing all of this, but he did it. He was the perfect example.</div>
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When I was young I never would have said that my big brother was my best friend but when I look back on life he certainly was. That's why he was the best man in my wedding. Maybe I should mention the fact that he introduced me to my beautiful wife. Where would I be without him? (Don't let this go to your head Stace.) Sounds like I hit the brother jackpot.</div>
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I hope and pray that my wife and I are able to foster the kind of life long relationship between our two boys that my parents did between my brother and me. My parents deserve so much credit for our friendship. I don't think they really gave us a choice. We had to learn to love each other and we did. I believe the first step is teaching the big brother to learn patience towards his younger brother. Let's be honest, younger brothers require extra patience. Don't drown him, just throw him in the pool. Don't beat him up, just squeeze his foot and show him he's still little brother. If you are blessed enough to have a brother in your life don't take him for granted.</div>
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Appreciate him.</div>
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Brothers gotta love each other!</div>
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Brothers gotta hug!</div>
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Or, if you're comfortable with it...</div>
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Brothers gotta throw on some super cool tie dyed shirts they found in Mom's old closet and crotch handshake!<br />
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I'm fairly certain nothing signifies the bond of brotherhood quite like The Crotch Handshake.<br />
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Mom and Dad, I guess that's what you get for making us share a room.</div>
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Brothers.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-54276970119475578802015-03-18T01:41:00.001-04:002015-03-21T01:02:39.143-04:00 My Dirty Little Secret: Coming Clean<div style="text-align: center;">
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So, if you follow the Dashboard Dad blog regularly, you've probably caught yourself thinking, <i>"Wow, this guy really has life figured out. He's a guys guy who is <b>exceptionally</b> manly and he sets a good example of how a strong minded confident man should lead his family while still being in touch with his feelings enough to spit 'em out and express them through the majesty of blog. His wife must be the luckiest gal on earth, but I wonder how she was able to tame such a manly beast!?"</i></div>
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No? You've never thought that?</div>
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Am I that guy whose self perception is so far off from how others actually perceive him that people shake their heads in agreement during conversation, when in reality they are wondering how on earth he could possibly view himself in that manner? You know that guy right? I think we've all had at least one or two in our lives at some point. So disillusioned, but you're not gonna be the one to break it to him. The way he (or she for that matter) views himself couldn't be further from reality.<br />
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Well, speaking of reality, I have a dirty little secret and I think it's finally time for me to come clean. Sometimes things are just not what they appear, especially when you take the time to look in the deepest crevases of someone's life.</div>
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A few years back I let a certain something creep into my life and hide in my closet. I'm well past the denial stage. Now I'm just blaming it on everyone I possibly can, other than myself. It's probably best for me just to put it out there so all of you can hold me accountable from here on out. I'm desperate. I feel like this might be my only hope.</div>
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Have you ever experimented with drugs?</div>
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I'm not talking about your run of the mill gateway drug like marijuana. I'm talking about hard drugs. The kind that really sink their teeth into you and refuse to let you go. The kind that turn the entire remainder of your life into a constant one day at a time battle of abstaining from using.</div>
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Have you ever experimented with that type of drug?</div>
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Don't answer that question. I don't really want to know. I hope the answer is a resounding NO from all of you. Me? The answer is NO. I've never experimented with any type of drug in my life. However, there IS a reason why I bring it up. Thanks to my wife, I do believe I've experimented with something just as bad. She's the one who introduced me. She stuck that first figurative needle in my arm and she continues to enable me year after year. I feel like a slave to these chains she's shackled me with.</div>
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I really shouldn't blame her but the sad reality is that I do most times, even though I know that I have free will and that I am the one who ultimately made such a poor decision. I am the one who decided to follow her down this deep dark path. No one else. I honestly thought I could just dip my toes into "the devil's water" and not get hooked. I was wrong. I believe the key is avoiding that first figurative injection of the season. I've failed to do that multiple times. Now I spend my days and nights asking myself questions that I'm not sure I'll ever have the answers to:</div>
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<li>Are Des and Chris truly happy? They sure seemed to have something special between the two of them, but does she ever let thoughts of Brooks creep back into her head? Oh, what could have been!?! Has her stupid brother screwed it up yet like he did with Sean or has he managed to keep his stupid mouth shut this time around, now that the cameras are gone? Punk! Poor Des. Good luck sweet girl. You are my favorite.</li>
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<li>What was Jake thinking? Vienna? Really, Jake? A blind and deaf person could have told you she was a vindictive hussy. I guess you found out in the end didn't you? You two deserved each other. Creep. Good Riddance.</li>
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<li>Brad??? Emily??? Never would have worked. Emily, you are a beautiful woman but you just exude high maintenance. Brad, come on man. Temper tantrums? Really? At your age? That guy just seemed fifty shades of f...nevermind.</li>
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<li> Did Sean really pick what's her face? I can't even remember her name but she would have been like my 8th choice. She must have shown you something that she never showed the camera because I just didn't see it, brother... and please explain to me how on earth you were fooled by Tierra's "sparkle" for so long. Come on man!!!</li>
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<li>Josh and Andi, you guys live in the same town and you got to date on a Bachelor budget. How could you not make that work? I guess it just wasn't meant to be. Kids these days! </li>
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<li>Oh Ali, sweet Ali... and Roberto. Out of every couple in Bachelor history to break up, yours hurts me the worst. You two crazy kids really seemed like you had what it takes. I just need to know why? WHY? That chemistry you two possessed together on the baseball field that time!?! What happened to it? Where did it go? Could I have done something to help? If I had started a fundraiser to put you guys up for just one more night in the fantasy suite could you recapture the magic and live happily ever after?????</li>
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Ah, The Bachelor!</div>
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Will you accept this rose?</div>
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Will you accept my man card?<span id="goog_1235797719"></span></div>
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I think I'm too far gone. Tell me there is a light at the end of the tunnel. At this point I'm not sure if I'm salvageable. I've been chasing the dragon for far too long. I think rock bottom for me was the time I was on my way to my flag football game one Monday night and I caught myself thinking about how grateful I was for our DVR. What is wrong with me? I'm supposed to be a man. How did I let things spiral this out of control?</div>
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I've put the blame on my wife. I've even put the blame on Chris Harrison. I think I've finally found the person who deserves to have this blame resting squarely on his shoulders though. From here on out I'm starting with the man in the mirror. I'm asking him to change his ways. No message could have been any clearer. If I wanna get my man card back I need to take a look at myself and then make that change. Na Na Na, Na Na Na, Na Na, Na Nah!</div>
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My name is Casey Grice and I'm a bachelorholic.</div>
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I admit that I am powerless over it.</div>
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One day at a time.<br />
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From here on out I will NEVER even think about The Bachelor again!!!!!<br />
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I'm a Man!!! I WILL overcome!!! I've got this!!! No doubt!!!<br />
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P.S. Did Chris really just pick Whitney over that pretty virgin girl Becca?!?<br />
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NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!<br />
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<a href="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk/" title="The Dad Network"><img alt="The Dad Network" src="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/image-e1423257811431.png" style="border: none;" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-19107476931332274702015-03-11T22:52:00.001-04:002015-03-25T18:44:09.523-04:00WARNING: Dear Dad and Mom <div dir="ltr">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SZsPssvucyI/VQD-yU27Y_I/AAAAAAAASjU/PJ73kLXTSbw/s1600/2015-03-11%2B22.47.35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SZsPssvucyI/VQD-yU27Y_I/AAAAAAAASjU/PJ73kLXTSbw/s1600/2015-03-11%2B22.47.35.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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What if I told you that I could time travel?</div>
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What if I told you that I found something of yours from the future and brought it back with me? </div>
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What if I told you that what I found was something carefully crafted by one of your children?</div>
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Would you want to see it?</div>
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I don't know about you, but if <b>YOU</b> told <b>ME</b> that you could time travel and that you found something that belonged to me I would tell you that you are certifiably<b> CRAZY</b>! However, I would want to see what you had just to satisfy my curiosity.<br />
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What could it hurt?<br />
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What could it possibly be?<br />
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I bet it's something amazing!<br />
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If I had to guess, I'd say that one of my little geniuses probably grew up to be the guy who finally invented the hover board from the movie Back to the Future, and you brought one back for me.<br />
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Am I right?<br />
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I'm right aren't I?<br />
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Weren't we supposed to have those by now?</div>
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No? That's not it?</div>
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Unfortunately, it's not something that cool. It's actually just a letter. A letter written by someone's child once he/she had grown up and done some real thinking as an adult, but I'm not sure who it belongs to. Check it out if you'd like, but don't say I didn't warn you. The future can be a dark and scary place depending on the decisions you make and the habits you develop along the way:</div>
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<i>Dear Dad and Mom,</i></div>
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<i> Hey guys it's me. I am writing to let you know that married life and parenthood are fantastic. By fantastic I mean, a real challenge, but you already knew that. For some reason I've had a lot on my mind lately and I just wanted to get it all out there and off of my chest. I'd like to start by saying that I appreciate everything you've done for me throughout the years. Now that I've been on my own for a while I'm really starting to realize all the sacrifices you two made for me. As a child I never really understood how much time and effort you put into my life. It seems like something happens pretty much every day now that helps me put it all into perspective. You invested in me. You provided for me. You taught me how to take care of myself. You taught me how to treat others. You told me all about love and the values to look for in a spouse. Thank you for that.</i></div>
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<i>I do have a few confessions and questions though. There were a lot of things that I saw or heard while growing up that you never knew about. Maybe you guys didn't think I was paying attention? Maybe you guys didn't think I was old enough to understand? Maybe you guys got too caught up to realize exactly what was going on? Whatever the reason may be, I just need a few answers. I made many observations throughout the years but I just never knew how to properly address them.</i></div>
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<li><i>Dad, I noticed that you would drop what you were doing to help a friend in need no matter what they needed, yet it always seemed like when Mom needed a favor you treated her like she was asking for the world. You just never had the time.</i></li>
<li><i>Mom, you were always so patient with me when I made mistakes. You were patient and forgiving of everyone's mistakes, besides Dad's. Sometimes it seemed like you enjoyed pointing them out, actually. It never made sense to me. It seemed like he was the one person you had unrealistic expectations for.</i></li>
<li><i>Dad, you always told me how much you loved me. You always showed me how much you loved me. Is there a reason why you didn't do the same for Mom? You taught me that we are a family and we're supposed to love each other. Is there some kind of exception to that rule between you and Mom?</i></li>
<li><i>Mom, you always taught me to speak to others with respect and I was held accountable when I did not. I never understood why you spoke to Dad the way you did when you thought no one else was listening.</i></li>
<li><i>Dad, you always expected me to be forthright and honest with my feelings. You stressed to me how important it was to communicate with others but you always seemed to shut down and hold your feelings inside when it was time to communicate with Mom. Why?</i></li>
<li><i>Mom, you didn't fight fair. You fought to win the fight, not to resolve the problem. </i></li>
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<i>Alright, it's all off my chest. I think I feel better and I hope you guys understand. I'm sorry I never said anything sooner but I just didn't know how to articulate it properly. I'm old enough now that I do. Sometimes I catch myself falling into some of these behaviors in my marriage and I don't like the way it makes me feel. You guys taught me to marry my best friend and I did, but it just made me realize that you guys did not. Or did you? Were you ever best friends? Do you love each </i><i>other?</i><i> I know it's too late to change any of this for my sake but you can do it for yours. I love you.</i></div>
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<i>Sincerely,</i></div>
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<i> ____________</i></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qdVvmXFbVzU/VQD_dBlBXpI/AAAAAAAASjc/txOsCByNYNA/s1600/2015-03-11%2B22.51.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qdVvmXFbVzU/VQD_dBlBXpI/AAAAAAAASjc/txOsCByNYNA/s1600/2015-03-11%2B22.51.25.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Was this your letter?<br />
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I hope not.</div>
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Could you imagine receiving this letter from one of your children one day?</div>
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...Or even just knowing that your child had to struggle with these unanswered questions throughout life and there was no way you could go back and change things?</div>
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Wouldn't it break your heart?</div>
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Wouldn't it make you wish you could just go back and somehow find a way to do better? To be more kind and more loving towards your spouse; to be more like we teach our children to be?</div>
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I'm so glad I've never personally had to think about these things regarding my parents. My parents are both 71 years old and just as in love as ever. I could NOT have had a better example. I know that is not the case for everyone. I consider myself blessed to have never witnessed any of the examples in the letter above. I hope that my boys are able to say the same when they are my age.<br />
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I've never understood why we choose one person to commit to for THE REST OF OUR LIVES and then we proceed to show love, kindness and patience to everyone else in our lives more than we do to the person we chose to do life with. It just doesnt make sense. I understand that we spend a lot of time with our spouse and conflict is sure to arise but we need to rise above it. We need to be more like teammates and less like adversaries.<br />
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We all need reminders from time to time. My wife and I are no different than anyone else. What's important is that we are able to step back and re focus. My wife does a great job of that. She's not perfect, but she always steps back and tries to see things from my perspective and I appreciate that.<br />
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Okay, she's perfect. Who am I kidding?<br />
;)<br />
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Remember what is at stake here. Find your proper motivation. Remember why you chose your spouse. You picked each other for a reason (last time I checked we dont really do prearranged marriages). Regardless of what that reason was, we all deserve to be treated like a best friend. Our children deserve to be able to do as we do, not only as we say, and still be on the right path.<br />
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I will leave you with a quote from the wise philosopher Jackie Moon:<br />
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"Everybody love everybody!"<br />
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Let's all do better.<br />
We can do it!<br />
Don't just be.<br />
Be Happy.<br />
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P.S. Unfortanetly, I cannot time travel. Just in case I had you convinced.<br />
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<img src="http://www.welcometomycircus.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/249x166x300x200-Sized-Button-Admit-One-to-the-Party-Under-the-Big-Top.png.pagespeed.ic.BEktohYzhR.png" /><br />
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< href="http://honestmum.com/category/brilliant-blog-posts/"><img alt="Brilliant blog posts on HonestMum.com" src="http://i.imgur.com/fJzNWoE.jpg" height="189" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="301" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-21906700130461440352015-03-05T02:06:00.003-05:002015-03-11T19:37:20.361-04:00FLETCH: So this is why people shake babies.<div dir="ltr">
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Meet Fletcher.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eW8X6nFVuPs/VPdS8As8c8I/AAAAAAAASNI/YXUC3kIJeTs/s1600/2015-03-04%2B13.45.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eW8X6nFVuPs/VPdS8As8c8I/AAAAAAAASNI/YXUC3kIJeTs/s1600/2015-03-04%2B13.45.24.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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Our 2nd born.</div>
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Fletcher has taught me so much about life in his 22 months on this earth. He has taught me how to truly love someone unconditionally. He has taught me a level of patience that I never knew existed. Fletcher has brought me closer to God than I've ever been before... I hate to say it but Fletcher also taught me why people shake babies. Trust me, that last one was harder for me to type than it was for you to read...</div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">A few weeks ago my good friend Mike Smith (<a href="http://www.sunshinedad.wordpress.com/">Sunshine Dad</a>) wrote a blog post about how crazy and difficult his second child can be. </span><a href="https://sunshinedad.wordpress.com/2015/02/25/why-is-the-2nd-child-crazy/" style="text-align: start;">Why is the 2nd child crazy?</a> <span style="text-align: start;"> </span>While reading Mike's post my wheels just started turning and I was reminded that I really have a great story to tell. A story that can help expectant parents who may one day find themselves where we were in the months following the birth of our second child. A story that can also help parents who have been where we were but may still be facing challenges as a result of their own personal Fletcher.</div>
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Ahhh, the first cries of a new born baby. Such a welcome sound to the ears of a parent in the delivery room. You cannot wait to hear that cry. For the most part, it means that everything is okay. You can relax. Your new baby is breathing and really taking those lungs on their very first test drive. Give it all you've got, son. Let her rip! In a few moments we'll begin learning how to soothe you. We'll get you fed and swaddled... but for now, just stretch those lungs. </div>
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Then we never want to hear you cry again... Ever! Ha! That first cry is the only one we'll ever look forward to. We'd rather just sit back and reap the rewards of being "amazing" parents, just like we did with our first born. I remember being convinced that our second son would be just like our first. Why wouldn't he be? We're not going to do anything different. We've got this. We've been here before. We know how this is done.</div>
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Wait! What?</div>
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You have other plans?</div>
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Unfortunately, Fletcher spent most of his first 5 months doing just what he's doing in the picture above. </div>
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Crying.</div>
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<b>Screaming!</b></div>
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Look at me. I had no idea that the wrath of Fletcher was on it's way. </div>
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Poor guy... (that goes for both of us)</div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Now, before you read any further please keep in mind that Fletcher is perfectly healthy. So many parents are unexpectedly hit with a diagnosis </span>that has life changing implications<span style="text-align: start;"> just after the birth of a child. I'm grateful that was not the case with us. I </span><span style="text-align: start;">want to be sensitive to that.</span><span style="text-align: start;"> The last thing I want to do is come off as a parent who is complaining about simply being a parent when there are so many others out there wishing all they had to do was deal with a whiny baby. Babies cry. I get that. Sometimes they are really hard to soothe. However, It can wear you out, frustrate you and beat you down mentally. </span></div>
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According to our pediatrician, he may have been born with a somewhat premature digestive system. According to a million other genius armchair doctors he had Colic.</div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Colic? What is that?</span></div>
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I mean, I know the definition of the word but</div>
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am I the only parent who thinks it's kind of strange?</div>
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When I first heard someone say he had Colic my initial thoughts were:</div>
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How do we get rid of it? What's the cure? What type of medicine do we need? Let's get him all better.</div>
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<i>"Oh, no no no. Colic is not a sickness or a disease. There is no medicine. There is no cure. Your baby is gassy and discontent which causes him to scream in pain at the top of his lungs for hours. We're going to call that Colic so we can technically have a diagnosis and hopefully that will make you feel better even though there is nothing you can do about it but try a few home remedies and give him gas drops."</i></div>
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Maybe it's just me but I would prefer you just tell me I have a gassy discontent baby and to buckle up for a wild ride because only God knows how long it is going to last... Yeah, that's probably just me.</div>
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There were many times that I thought he had cried so hard for so long that he might literally explode before my eyes. This was the most heart breaking thing I have ever experienced, while simultaneously being the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. How is it possible for a baby to cry this much? He's clearly not satisfied with the parents the doctor sent him home with. Why was this so easy the first time around and so difficult this time? Did we forget what to do? Why is burping this baby like solving a rubix cube?</div>
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Daphne and I used to joke that in his first five months he cried more than our 2 and 1/2 year old had in his entire life. It was true. We would get him to sleep at night and 30 minutes later he would wake up screaming. He would continue to scream for anywhere between 30 minutes to an hour until we finally found the secret position that got him back to sleep. He kept us guessing. There was never any rhyme or reason to this:</div>
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Who could forget the old upside down crotch grab? One of our most successful positions.</div>
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When that didn't work I would resort to the two armed baby holster. I would hold him like this, bend over at the waste and swing him back and forth. Yes, we had a swing but he didn't care for it most of the time. He would prefer his Daddy get a little work out.</div>
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One night I played him to sleep with the Bubble Guppies guitar. My real guitar came in handy on multiple occasions as well.</div>
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Here we are under a dock on a beach on the North Carolina shore after a good 2 a.m. screaming sesh. </div>
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Thank God for the ocean waves.</div>
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Ah yes, the night he wanted to prop his face in my hand and sleep sitting up.</div>
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Seriously Fletch!?!</div>
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Give us a break. Please, just one break? <span style="font-family: sans-serif;">Fletcher could turn a 30 minute drive into a 2 hour adventure in which the only time he wasn't crying was when I stood in the Burger King parking lot in the glow of the drive thru menu imagining myself trying to disguise him as the kids meal toy and handing him over to the cute little girl in the backseat of the approaching Chrysler Town & Country and running for the hills. Oh, Fletcher!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">What made trips like this even more enjoyable was the fact that his older brother was a "Team Crier." Oh boy, if Fletcher was upset Cooper was not about to let his poor little "bruhder" cry this out alone. Thanks Coop. We appreciate your concern. Really, we do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">My poor wife. When I was at work she was at home with the two boys all day. I don't know how she made it through this five month stretch. She deserves some kind of medal. No, she deserves more than that. She deserves a lifetime supply of Ice cream. Daphne, if you're reading this, I appreciate you and I will make you Ice cream 'til death do us part. I promise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">I remember taking a few days off of work just so she could have a "mental health day." I knew how helpful that extra set of hands was. There were nights when she needed to go out with the girls. Make no mistake, it was a NEED, not a WANT. I acted like it was no big deal but as soon as that door shut behind her I just prayed. There was also a two week stretch when I basically locked myself in the guest bedroom with Fletcher so Daphne could get some good rest at night. </span><span style="font-family: sans-serif;">This involved a lot more prayer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;"> Let me be clear that Fletcher's discomfort was more heart breaking than anything else but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't the most frustrating thing I've ever experienced. Some nights nothing worked. NOTHING! I'll never forget in my most desperate moments thinking, "So, this is why people shake babies." I'm sure that multiple times in your life you've seen the mug shot of some loser on the news who just went to jail for shaking a baby. Well, I've always been the type of person who immediately passed judgement on that guy and said a few choice words about him. I also made my thoughts clear on what they ought to do to him in jail, but I didn't know it could get this bad. I didn't know babies were capable of this kind of misery. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">Don't get me wrong. I've never had sympathy for someone who has made such a detestable decision. It's completely unacceptable. Empathy, however? Yes. Now that I understand how it happens, I completely understand how someone who is sleep deprived, frustrated and perhaps lacking the proper mental tools to have a child to begin with, can make such a horrible decision. After all, we literally tried everything besides shaking him and most times, none of it worked. The thought of it makes me sick. What if my mother hadn't put in overtime to teach me how to control my temper? What if God had decided to give my sweet little Fletcher to someone incapable of learning this unconditional love and special level of patience? I cringe at the thought as the tears well up in my eyes. </span>Sometimes you just have to love someone through a situation and rely on faith that the reward is there even though you may not be able to see it.<span style="font-family: sans-serif;"> Thankfully, God gave Fletcher to Daphne and Me and we made it through that chapter of our lives together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">I'll never forget a conversation we had with an older woman when Daphne was pregnant with Fletcher. She had two children. Two sons who were in their late teens/early twenties at the time of the conversation. They were close in age like Cooper and Fletcher would be. She told me that from the day her second son was born she could tell he was just difficult. She said he was just different and he's been that way his entire life. Then she kind of rolled her eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">Today her oldest son is very successful. He's confident and thriving at life. He's a contributing member to society and in good standing with mom and dad. Her youngest son continues to make poor decisions and seems to be the black sheep of the family. I've often found myself thinking back to this conversation, especially during Fletcher's "dark days." I bet she would tell you that she was given a "bad egg." She would say that she did the best she could with him but he just always made things hard on himself. I just can't help but think that she may have expected her second son to be just like her first son and because of this expectation she never let him just be himself. Maybe she always held him to a standard set by the temperament of her first son and because he came nowhere near fitting into that mold she just wrote him off as a bad egg and therefore parented him in a completely different manner than she parented her oldest son. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">I remember those thoughts creeping into my head: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">"He's just so difficult." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">"Typical Fletcher."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">"We're fighting a losing battle. Things will never change"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">"What's wrong with this child?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">When they did I would think back to that conversation and how I felt like her second son just got the raw end of the deal. It just wasn't fair for him. He didn't get the same encouragement and praise because he was difficult from day one. When you really think about it, he probably deserved more encouragement. He definitely deserved more patience. He needed more patience and I couldn't help but feel like she gave him less. I made a deal with myself that I would NOT under any circumstance short change my Fletcher. I promised myself to always let my sympathy for his discomfort win the battle with my frustration for my own discomfort. His first few months were hard enough. The last thing he needs is a hardened and impatient heart from someone who should be opening his heart even wider for him. I was not going to let that happen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">They say that parenting is a "labor of love" and they are right. I can honestly say, now that we have passed this phase, that I wouldn't change a thing. I've grown so much through these trials and I feel like Daphne and I have won a battle. We used to ask ourselves questions like, "How is it possible for a baby to cry this much?" Today we ask ourselves questions like, "How is it possible for a toddler to find so much joy in so many things?" He gets so excited about so many small things in life and brings so much joy to us on an every day basis. He's definitely still a handful. He's just a much more manageable handful.</span></div>
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Today, Fletcher is almost two years old. He's the kind of kid who will walk into the kitchen, see his high chair and think, "Man, I'm hungry. I've got to find a way to get up there." Sure enough, if I turn my back on him for one minute he'll find a way into that high chair. Its incredible. I need to hide a camera in the kitchen to figure out how he does it.</div>
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What makes it exceptionally mind blowing is the fact that once he gets up there and tells me how hungry he is, he simply refuses to eat anything...besides maybe the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms cereal.<br />
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We find Fletcher shut in a dark closet, shut in the pantry or stuck somewhere in the house once or twice a week minimum.<br />
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Oh, Fletcher! You've really made your mark on us. You've redefined the way we approach parenting and life in general. You've taught us so many lessons. I'm still trying to grasp the one where you potty while standing on your head.<br />
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<a href="http://honestmum.com/category/brilliant-blog-posts/"><img style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; display: block;" src="http://i.imgur.com/fJzNWoE.jpg" alt="Brilliant blog posts on HonestMum.com" width="301" height="189" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-39509278431272434912015-02-26T08:14:00.000-05:002015-03-10T07:45:13.591-04:00You don't talk very much. I like you!<div style="text-align: center;">
Once upon a time there was a happily married husband and wife who lived in Jacksonville, Florida. They were approaching the age of thirty years old and had a few of life's ever so important questions that needed answering. Before we get into those questions it's only fair that I help you paint a proper mental picture. The once upon a time I am referring to is way back in the year 2010 and the couple I am referring to is Casey and Daphne Grice.</div>
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Yes, that is me and my beautiful wife. <span style="text-align: center;">It was time for us to make some important life changing decisions. You know the kind of questions couples without children begin asking themselves around this time in their life together:</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><i>Q: What's next?</i></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><i>A: Uhh...</i></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><i>Q: Do we buy a boat or something?</i></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><i> <span style="text-align: center;">A: No. If I don't accidentally sink it, it will inevitably break down and just end up being an eyesore in our yard. I'd rather have a child. As crazy as it sounds, a child just seems like less trouble.</span></i></span></div>
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<i>Q: Do we get a dog?</i></div>
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<i>A: Absolutely not. Growing up I was forced to take care of my sister's dogs. She couldn't take care of them so she dumped them off on my parents. My brother and I had to feed them, walk them and scoop up their poop for the better part of a decade. And oh yeah, coincidentally they just happened to be chained to my dad's old broken down boat in the yard for all those years. My prior experiences with boats and dogs have scarred me. If I'm going to be cleaning up poop I want it to be the poop of someone who's not going to end up tied to a boat collecting fleas.</i></div>
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<i>Q: Do we have a child?</i></div>
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<i>A: YES, PLEASE.</i></div>
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So, on April 3, 2011 we had a son. </div>
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We named him Cooper.</div>
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The Grice Family in early 2011.</div>
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Daphne, Casey and Cooper.</div>
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Meanwhile, approximately 10 minutes down the road lived another couple who were going through some of the same life changing decisions. At the time we did not know these people even existed. Two University of Florida graduates who were married in 2007. I introduce to you Adam and Amy Anker:</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">They already had a boat. They already had a dog. What was next for these two love birds?</span></div>
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<i>Q: Should we have a child?</i></div>
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<i>A: Sure, it seems like the right time.</i><br />
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<i>Q: Do we sell the boat?</i><br />
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<i>A: Yes. We have no family in Jacksonville and few (if any) baby sitting resources. This means the chances of us actually using the boat in the next few years are slim to none. The marina fees are too</i><br />
<i> expensive and the last thing we want is for that beautiful 17 foot Chaparral to become an eyesore in our yard.</i><br />
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<i>Q: Do we get rid of the dog?</i><br />
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<i>A: Yes. We chain her to the boat and make it a package deal. Just kidding. Just kidding. <b>What kind of person would chain a dog to a boat?!?</b> We keep the dog. Non-negotiable. We sell the boat, keep the dog and have a child. </i><br />
<i>Deal? </i><br />
<i>Deal!</i><br />
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So, they begrudgingly sold the boat.<br />
They kept the dog. It was never truly a question. The plan was made.<br />
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On April 22, 2011 they had a beautiful baby boy.<br />
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They named him Grayson.</div>
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The Anker Family in early 2011.<br />
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Adam, Amy, Grayson, and Layla<br />
Beauties, all of them.<br />
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Two baby boys born with only 18 days between them. The decision to bring a child into this world is what brought us into each other's lives. How we met is a story in itself. I had never met anyone in this fashion before this day and I seriously doubt I'll ever meet anyone in this fashion again.</div>
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It was a typical hot summer Saturday. Daphne, Cooper and I headed to the beach to one of our favorite old spots for lunch. Cooper was only 6 or 8 weeks old at the time so we were still able to leave him in his seat asleep (No, not in the car) and only worry about feeding ourselves. We could actually still use both hands and eat our food while it was still hot. We had no clue how meal time was about to change. </div>
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Anyway, I'm sure we just talked about Cooper for the entire meal like first time parents tend to do, then we headed to the parking lot to get in the car. About half way between the restaurant and the car we passed a couple on the sidewalk carrying an accessory similar to the one we were carrying: a tiny brand new bouncing baby boy. </div>
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We all four smiled as if to acknowledge that we all recently joined the same new and exclusive club of sleep depravity. There may have been some of your typical first time parent pleasantries exchanged:</div>
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"Awe, he's so cute!"</div>
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"How old is he?"</div>
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"Congrats and have a nice day."</div>
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Or maybe not. I don't particularly remember. We continued on our separate ways.</div>
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What I do remember was about 30 seconds later when I was putting Cooper in the car and a homeless person approached my wife begging for change. I thought it was a homeless person begging for change anyway. Turns out it was Amy...begging for friendship maybe? She must have prepared for this moment. She started with a pretty smooth pick-up line. </div>
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"Hey, do you know of any Mommy & Me classes around here or anything?"</div>
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I don't remember Daphne's reply. All I know is that a few smooth lines later and this strange gal had coerced my ladies phone number from her lips. Literally, like 3 lines from this silver tongued she devil and she scored my wife's digits. Impressive.</div>
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Now that I think back to our dating days, I scored the digits pretty easily too, so maybe I'm giving Amy a little too much credit. </div>
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I digress.</div>
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They chatted for a few seconds, exchanged numbers and then Daphne sat down and closed the car door. We looked at each other with a look of bewilderment and I asked, "What was that all about?" Daphne replied something along the lines of, "I don't know. She seemed normal enough so I gave her my number. We might get together with the boys." I couldn't believe it. Now, I could see me doing the same thing if some lonely new dad came up to me in a parking lot asking my son and I on a play date because I always feel compassion for people but Daphne is not the most compassionate broad in the world and she is very on guard about stranger's intentions so this seemed out of character for her.</div>
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Turns out, Daphne made a great decision that day. Actually, Amy is the one who made the great decision. Amy wasn't some lonely new mom who didn't have any friends because she had some freaky deaky skeletons in her closet. (Although I haven't personally checked the closet.) She just didn't have any friends with kids the same age and thought it would be a great idea to try to find a playmate for little G. Pretty great intentions if you ask me.</div>
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It worked out.</div>
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Years down the road we've talked about our atypical meeting multiple times. Amy's version of the story goes something like this: "When we passed you guys on the sidewalk I thought you looked normal. I wasn't going to let you get away!! Plus, Cooper had on those cute Gator shoes. Grayson had them too. It was a sign."</div>
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Here we are almost 4 years down the road and the Anker family are some of our best friends in the world. I even happen to like Adam just as much as Daphne likes Amy. It's hard to find friends who are married that you and your wife get along with equally. I would suggest that the chances of this mutual admiration plummet significantly with two strangers who harass you and your new baby in a parking lot. But for whatever reason it worked out.</div>
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We have so many memories of the boys growing up together. Most of them are fantastic.</div>
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Some were a little tougher to deal with. Regardless, these boys are each other's first friend and you can never change that no matter what happens.</div>
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Daphne and Amy started taking the boys to a place called My Gym. Grayson and Cooper learned to play, climb, roll, grab, clap, slap bang and hang together. They have learned to do almost everything together. Here they are literally learning to hang together at My Gym.</div>
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They learned to swing together. Even tandem swing sometimes when they were small enough to fit in the same swing.</div>
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We even tried cookin' 'em up for Thanksgiving dinner that first year. They weren't having it.</div>
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So we dressed them up as Pilgrims and Indians and forced them to play nice!</div>
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Even though they are Jewish and we are Christian they still came over for the ugly sweater Christmas party to celebrate friendship. Cooper and Grayson had matching sweater vests.</div>
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Tell me these little cupids couldn't turn that spark into a flame!</div>
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We take them to the pumpkin patch every year. It's tradition.</div>
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2011</div>
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2012</div>
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2013</div>
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2014</div>
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Grayson, Fletcher (our second son) and Cooper</div>
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As you can see, we have had some great times. Too many to count, actually. But it hasn't all been as smooth as we would have liked. Far from it actually. Throughout all these amazing memories something just wasn't "right." There were multiple signs along the way. </div>
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If you noticed earlier on I talked about all the things Cooper and Grayson learned to do together. I wanted so bad to type the words, "They learned to do EVERYTHING together." But I just couldn't. There were a few things I had to omit. You see, Grayson never rolled over and he wasnt much for crawling. He took his time getting around to those first steps. One might say he was a little behind schedule, but for Grayson, he was right on time. When Cooper was learning to communicate and talk to mom, dad and his friends, Grayson was not. Grayson was diagnosed with Autism a few months after his second birthday but Adam and Amy say they knew since he was 6 months old. </div>
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When Grayson was in social settings that he wasn't comfortable with he would have some major melt downs. They would tell us about other situations that would set him off and none of us could understand why. I remember trying to give them parenting advice on things to try; Things that worked for us, but it never worked. They had already tried it all. </div>
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I was just trying to be a good friend, but as it turns out, I had no idea what I was talking about. At that point I guess none of us did. It was frustrating for me. I just wanted to help them figure it out. I can't imagine what it was like for Adam and Amy. I would guess that parenting an autistic child who you do not know is autistic might be one of the most difficult things to do on this earth. I'm sure at some times they felt like incompetent parents. I can assure you that they are anything but. Adam and Amy have no idea how much they have taught me about parenting, dedication, love and resolve in the 4 years that I've known them. </div>
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Once Grayson was diagnosed with autism (non verbal; he still does not talk) Adam and Amy took the bull by the horns. I'm sure it's been much more difficult than they let on but they've learned how to communicate with him in his "language." They are potty training him with flash cards and he's starting to make progress. Are you kidding me? Potty training Cooper with words was the hardest thing I've ever done as a parent and I whined about it all the time. Adam and Amy have stepped up to a much tougher challenge and I know they will succeed. I didn't know anything about autism before Grayson's diagnosis but I've learned my fair share since. Not only about autism in general but how to be a better friend and how to be a better parent.</div>
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Here we are in downtown Jacksonville at the Annual Autism Speaks walk.</div>
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I've learned that parents of children with autism don't need you to feel sorry for them. They don't need anything special from you. They just need support. I've learned that children with autism are different. They are unique and special. I would hope that no one would take offense to that statement. True, I don't know first hand what it is like to have a child with autism but I do know what it is like to love a child with autism. </div>
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Adam and I recently had a moment with the boys that taught us a great lesson. A few months back when the they were 3 1/2 Cooper must have all of a sudden realized that Grayson has never talked. We were at Zaxby's after dinner and as we were headed to the car Cooper made a point to make eye contact with Grayson and he asked, </div>
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"Grayson, do you talk?" </div>
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Grayson doesn't talk yet so he did not answer Cooper. This left the explaining up to me. I dropped the ball and said something along the lines of, "No buddy, he doesn't" and I apologized to Adam. I clearly wasn't prepared for this. I thought for sure we had at least another year until we needed to explain this to Cooper. I had no need to apologize to Adam. Adam wasn't offended. He made that very clear but I guess I was just put in a situation I didn't know how to handle so my human nature took over and I apologized while completely dropping the ball on an explanation as to why Grayson doesn't talk. Cooper deserves to know why his very first friend hasn't spoken a word to him since they met so long ago and Grayson deserves to have someone speak up for him and explain to his buddy why he doesn't talk to him.</div>
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It all hit me on the way out to the car and I explained it to Cooper the best way I knew how. I told him that Grayson is our quiet friend. I told him that he doesn't talk right now but we hope that one day he will. I told him that he is special to us and that we love him no matter what and then I used one of his favorite movies to help him understand.</div>
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UP</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/4tC7W7y2HFE/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4tC7W7y2HFE?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe><br />
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"You don't talk very much. I like you."<br />
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For some reason he has always loved this part of the movie when Ellie tells Mr. Fredrickson (when they are kids) that she likes him because he doesn't talk very much. We would say it and he would laugh or he would randomly say it during the day. It just struck a chord with him.<br />
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He smiled really big and said "Okay Daddy."<br />
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I think I got the point across.<br />
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A few weeks later Adam and Grayson came over for a guys play date. We were playing with the boys in the playroom. Cooper brought it up again. He said something along the lines of "Grayson doesn't talk." I reminded him that Grayson is our quiet friend and that he is very special to us. When Adam told this story, he said that Cooper's response was innocent, positive and matter of fact:<br />
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"He'll talk one day."<br />
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Adam also said that it's not the easiest thing in the world to stay positive about Grayson one day being verbal but if he ever needs a glass half full kinda guy he's going to head to the playroom to find Cooper.<br />
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There are no words to describe how proud it made me feel to read those words when Adam typed them. I guess that is fitting.<br />
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Since the day that Cooper was able to communicate with us it became obvious that he has a very tender heart. When his little brother Fletcher would cry as a baby, Cooper would cry too. He would get sad because Fletcher was sad. There is one instance that stands out in my mind when Cooper accidentally ran into a little girl at the zoo and knocked her down. He stood up and he was fine. He noticed she was hurt and crying. He helped her up, gave her a hug and a kiss and then cried right along with her until her mommy came and got her. He's tender, caring, supportive and understanding. When he learns how to harness those emotions as he gets a little older he'll be the perfect teammate to be in Grayson's corner. Grayson might need a friend to understand him and speak up for him but maybe, just maybe Grayson will just need a friend to encourage him to speak up for himself. It is my responsibility and my challenge to continue to teach Cooper how to be that friend.<br />
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The further we get away from that day in the parking lot at the beach when something told Amy not to let us get away, the more I'm convinced that we didn't meet by chance. There is a reason why we've been put in each other's lives and it might just be this special little friendship or it might be something more. I heard a rumor that God works in mysterious ways.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-65mioC13RyA/VO8bkoaqQZI/AAAAAAAASG8/b1pTQuPRiJw/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-65mioC13RyA/VO8bkoaqQZI/AAAAAAAASG8/b1pTQuPRiJw/s1600/image.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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We're only 4 years into this story.</div>
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To be continued.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-90712484204049631892015-02-18T09:21:00.002-05:002015-02-20T22:06:07.373-05:00There's a WHAT inside my wife?!?!<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kUGcN43sIA/VOQzWE4A2UI/AAAAAAAARvI/TkGo8okBeMg/s1600/2015-02-18%2B01.37.33.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kUGcN43sIA/VOQzWE4A2UI/AAAAAAAARvI/TkGo8okBeMg/s1600/2015-02-18%2B01.37.33.png" height="226" width="320" /></a></div>
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Do you remember those super cool pictures with the hidden 3D images that became really popular back in the nineties? They just looked like some type of pointless radical design at first glance but then your buddy who already had it figured out taught you how to look deeper into the picture. Maybe he showed you how to put your nose against it, slightly cross your eyes and slowly move your head away from the picture while gradually uncrossing your eyes until you finally saw it. </div>
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<b><i>What took you so long?</i></b></div>
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<b><i> For crying out loud, there's an angry three dimensional shark with two rows of flesh hungry teeth exploding out of the murky water (that you thought you actually felt splash your face) seconds away from chomping down on a tasty unfortunate surfer that the shark had mistaken for a manatee!!!</i></b> ...and this is all happening mere inches from your face! You were practically giving him a cross eyed kiss only seconds ago!!! </div>
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<b><i>BOOM!!!</i></b></div>
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Your mind was officially blown.</div>
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How in the world did they do that? </div>
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Well, the answer is: I don't know.</div>
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I read some stuff on Google but I don't really remember... or maybe I'm just too elementary minded to comprehend what I read. Maybe that's why I have such an appreciation for these pictures in the first place.</div>
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What I do know (thanks to Google) is that the super cool picture with a hidden 3D image actually has a name. It's called:</div>
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<b>THE STEREOGRAM:</b></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JX1TBdfwWgo/VOOgbZwRcnI/AAAAAAAARuM/3-v6uJqo3Eg/s1600/3039252-poster-p-1-at-last-a-way-to-generate-your-own-magic-eye-art-in-the-browser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JX1TBdfwWgo/VOOgbZwRcnI/AAAAAAAARuM/3-v6uJqo3Eg/s1600/3039252-poster-p-1-at-last-a-way-to-generate-your-own-magic-eye-art-in-the-browser.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Blast from the past, right? When was the last time you saw one of these bad boys? Did you know it's called a Stereogram? I'm impressed if you did. To be honest with you I had completely forgotten about these things until about two years ago. I remember exactly where I was when the memory of the stereogram re-entered my mind. I was sitting in a chair at the hospital while my stunningly beautiful pregnant wife was paying the receptionist for our 19 week doctor visit. We were anticipating the birth of our second child. We were approximately half way through the pregnancy. I was pouring over 8 or 9 pictures that were somehow even more mind blowing than the stereogram... </div>
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and that's before I saw it.</div>
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What is<b><i> "it"</i></b> you ask? I'll get to <b><i>"it"</i></b> momentarily. For now, let's talk about those pictures.</div>
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<b>THE SONOGRAM:</b></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rtdDaYcYFAg/VOOcscnCr1I/AAAAAAAARt4/rRW3RfDw6IE/s1600/IMG_308537292998798.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rtdDaYcYFAg/VOOcscnCr1I/AAAAAAAARt4/rRW3RfDw6IE/s1600/IMG_308537292998798.jpeg" height="226" width="320" /></a></div>
( Our second son, Fletcher, in the womb @ 10 weeks all by himself)<br />
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I'd venture to say that pretty much everyone knows what a sonogram is. Those of us who are parents could never forget. I'm sure you remember that feeling you had the first time you saw a sonogram of your child/children; the first time you heard the heart beat. It's really the first chance to bond with your child. Even though your wife may have taken a pregnancy test or had her pregnancy confirmed by a doctor it just doesn't hit you until you see that tiny little guy and hear that beautiful breath taking heart beat. I will never forget that feeling... instant chills and an instant rush of the happiest tears to my eyes... true love.<br />
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Okay... I'll stop.<br />
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I can feel you tearing up on me.<br />
<i>(or maybe it's just me.)</i><br />
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What I'm trying to say is that it's one of life's mind blowing moments. I'd be lying if I said it was the same feeling I felt when I saw my first stereogram. That would be silly. It's similar but it's different. I already told you that I have an elementary mind. Don't get me wrong, I'm a smart enough guy but I guess I just really appreciate things that are "super cool" to me. A stereogram and a sonogram are both "super cool" in their own special way. Even though you have to look "deeper" into a stereogram to see what it has to offer, the super cool pay off moment is much deeper with the sonogram. When comparing the two, it's kind of funny when you think about it that way. But why would anyone bother to think about it that way? What would possess anyone to even bother comparing the two?<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lLnWo1vJra8/VOQgYOX11EI/AAAAAAAARuc/mu7pfu03lOI/s1600/IMG_317589910812081.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lLnWo1vJra8/VOQgYOX11EI/AAAAAAAARuc/mu7pfu03lOI/s1600/IMG_317589910812081.jpeg" height="238" width="320" /></a></div>
(Fletcher @ 19 weeks presumably still all by himself in the womb<br />
don't worry, he doesn't have a twin.)<br />
<span id="goog_1405506025"></span><span id="goog_1405506026"></span><br />
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Am I right? Are you asking yourself why I even bothered to make this comparison?<br />
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Well, the answer is: I don't know.<br />
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Just kidding. I actually have an answer this time but before I tell you, let me ask you a few questions that may seem like they are coming out of left field.<br />
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You've seen Toy Story right?<br />
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If you have kids they probably love the movies. You may even love them yourself.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a8TO1b1T0Oc/VOOgYuN8SvI/AAAAAAAARuE/UifyDnkd6d8/s1600/c3c2b4a3323c4a71929cd5fc76bcda4df7157175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a8TO1b1T0Oc/VOOgYuN8SvI/AAAAAAAARuE/UifyDnkd6d8/s1600/c3c2b4a3323c4a71929cd5fc76bcda4df7157175.jpg" height="100" width="320" /></a><br />
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Are you familiar with Woody, Buzz and the gang?<br />
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My oldest son, Cooper, <b><i>LOVES</i></b> Toy Story. At the time of our 19 week appointment with Fletcher it is safe to say that we were watching parts of Toy Story on an every day basis. It is also safe to say that my wife and I were seeing the Toy Story characters in our sleep. They had basically become part of the family.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eGXPRGdgseU/VOQmLBITcUI/AAAAAAAARus/I27giQ9xg0U/s1600/Screenshot_2015-02-18-00-39-57-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eGXPRGdgseU/VOQmLBITcUI/AAAAAAAARus/I27giQ9xg0U/s1600/Screenshot_2015-02-18-00-39-57-1.png" height="242" width="320" /></a></div>
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This was the scene at our house on Christmas morning that year.<br />
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Back to the question at hand.<br />
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Why would I bother to compare a stereogram and a sonogram?<br />
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This is why:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pNxebrcLAQA/VOLB_U27B8I/AAAAAAAARto/OOAnv60X6co/s1600/IMG_298854519969055.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pNxebrcLAQA/VOLB_U27B8I/AAAAAAAARto/OOAnv60X6co/s1600/IMG_298854519969055.jpeg" height="226" width="320" /></a><br />
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When I first saw him while sitting in that chair at the doctor's office I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I thought I had watched so much Toy Story that I was just seeing things. When i mentioned it to my wife she rolled her eyes. When she saw him for herself she couldn't <i>believe</i> her eyes. In case you haven't seen him yet, I will help you out.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N1t6TZZY4gE/VOQo8QTRACI/AAAAAAAARu4/ej7msLFzmWc/s1600/2015-02-18%2B00.52.43.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N1t6TZZY4gE/VOQo8QTRACI/AAAAAAAARu4/ej7msLFzmWc/s1600/2015-02-18%2B00.52.43.png" height="226" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>WOODY!!!</b><br />
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Cowboy hat, vest and all.<br />
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Inside my wife.<br />
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Propped up against my unborn son's face.<br />
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<b>"There's a snake in my boot!"</b><br />
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Once you see him you can't unsee him. We showed the receptionist. She cracked up laughing. She started showing Woody to everyone in the doctor's office. We were all laughing. The doctor even heard the laughter and came around the corner to see what was causing such a commotion. When he saw Woody he laughed heartily and explained to me how the babies right hand, jaw and nasal cavity lined up perfectly to make it look like Woody was hanging out in there. He even made a joke about there being<b><i> "a Woody"</i></b> inside my wife.<br />
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Gee. Thanks Doc.<br />
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As if Woody and the gang weren't already a big enough part of our family, now we're bonded forever and I'll never believe that those toys don't really come to life when no one is watching.<br />
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It was a fun moment. One I'll never forget. Right there in that chair in the doctor's office I actually had a stereogram moment for the first time since the nineties.<br />
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<b>BOOM!!!</b><br />
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My mind was officially blown.<br />
How in the world did they do that?<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nBpNEt1qucg/VOSmwfOSnYI/AAAAAAAARvo/sac-K0SBNhY/s1600/2015-02-18%2B08.50.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nBpNEt1qucg/VOSmwfOSnYI/AAAAAAAARvo/sac-K0SBNhY/s1600/2015-02-18%2B08.50.48.jpg" height="320" width="173" /></a></div>
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(Fletcher and Woody today. Two years later.)</div>
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<a href="http://honestmum.com/category/brilliant-blog-posts/"><img alt="Brilliant blog posts on HonestMum.com" src="http://i.imgur.com/fJzNWoE.jpg" height="189" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="301" /></a>
<div align="center"><a href="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk" title="The Dad Network"><img src="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/image-e1423257811431.png" alt="The Dad Network" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-68143101647715397752015-02-11T00:12:00.000-05:002015-02-14T00:13:43.582-05:00OUT OF CONTROL: Playground Bullies<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xZvFV0lzUu8/VNlu_huYlmI/AAAAAAAARgc/kmhnPKGHDO8/s1600/img_Little-Bullies-Boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xZvFV0lzUu8/VNlu_huYlmI/AAAAAAAARgc/kmhnPKGHDO8/s1600/img_Little-Bullies-Boy.jpg" height="162" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif; text-align: start;">Allow me, if you will, to tell you a short story of a poor boy who became a victim of a ruthless bully on the Chick-fil-a playground.</span></div>
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The following events took place in late January of the year 2014. </div>
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This is an unbiased witness account.</div>
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I preface this story by telling you that the capacity for empathy forms at age 3, meaning preschoolers are capable of caring for others as well as intentionally hurting others. In my opinion, this means that parents need to be alert and aware of the potential for bullying from the time our children start communicating with one another. Although I never had any significant first hand experience with bullying as a child, I've seen enough second hand bullying to understand the severity of the issue. I never want my child to become the victim of a bully and even more so, I never want my child to become a bully.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pjARXhiSkjc/VNri1qYg8cI/AAAAAAAARkI/940tXeFGnmM/s1600/nobullies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pjARXhiSkjc/VNri1qYg8cI/AAAAAAAARkI/940tXeFGnmM/s1600/nobullies.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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My focus needs to be on constant communication with my boys about their behavior and the behavior of their peers as they grow. Prevention and protection are key. I just need to focus on THEM. I'm safe. I made it through my adolescence without any major issues. High five! At 33 years old I NEVER have to worry about being bullied again in my entire lifetime...<br />
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It was a typical Saturday lunch with friends. We filled our tummies on greasy fried nuggets, waffle fries and a fruit bowl. Yes, a fruit bowl... because a well rounded meal is very important to us.<br />
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Fried chicken... Waffle fries... Fruit bowl... Three course meal.</div>
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That's my story and I'm sticking to it.</div>
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So, we shared a few stories and laughs with our friends and then I took the boys into the play area to let them burn off some post meal energy. Cooper (3 months shy of 3 years old at the time) immediately took off up the stairs to the slide while I stayed below with Fletcher (9 months old) to let him explore.<br />
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I observed two boys (approximately 5 and 6 years old) rough housing nearby with no parental supervision. <span style="font-family: sans-serif;">For a second I thought they might be conjoined twins. They kind of reminded me of two squirrels mating. You know what I mean? They chase each other up and down a tree (a playground in this case) at break neck speeds no further than one inch apart at all times squeaking and squawking all the while.</span><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"> </span>They were all over each other and really going at it. They played like brothers who either hated each other or really loved each other and had a funny way of showing it. They kept to themselves though and didn't seem to bother anyone else. I figured I'd let them work through their brotherly aggression on their own terms as long as they didn't try to get my boys involved in their mating ritual. After all, I wasn't the one who was going to be paying for the doctor's bill if someone broke an arm.</div>
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We did our best to ignore them while we played for about 10 minutes. The two boys calmed down significantly and just before we called it a day I overheard one of the boys begin to talk in that "school kid bully tone." You know the one. We've all heard it before. He started to draw out his words and accompany them with some "Oooh's" and bratty laughter. I decided it was my duty as a responsible parent to eavesdrop on the boy. What if I needed to protect my cubs? We were the only other people on the playground. Who else could he possibly be picking on besides my innocent little boys? I'll admit it, Papa Bear's ears perked up and he got on his hind legs. If you are a parent, I'm sure you can relate to this feeling.<br />
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Here's what the boy had to say:</div>
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"Oooh, he goes for the Gators...haha. Oooh, and he has a yellow beard...Oooh, AND HE'S BALD HAHA!!!"</div>
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It didn't take long for me to realize that this bully wasn't picking on my boys. To my knowledge, there was only one bald guy with a beard wearing a Florida Gators shirt on the playground. He was making fun of ME!!<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dXI7zX0CHRM/VNltw6UbZFI/AAAAAAAARgM/4b1x17BAF6s/s1600/download_20150209_213215.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dXI7zX0CHRM/VNltw6UbZFI/AAAAAAAARgM/4b1x17BAF6s/s1600/download_20150209_213215.jpeg" height="320" width="304" /></a></div>
Are you kidding me? Such blatant disrespect! What's wrong with kids these days? I couldn't believe my ears.</div>
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Fortunately for me, his little buddy didn't appreciate his mean spirited comments as much as he did. When their dad came to get them off the playground he told on him. I really appreciated that even though it didn't really help with the self esteem issues I've been having as a result of this incident. As if it wasn't hard enough to deal with going bald in my mid to late twenties, now I've got this miniature Biff Tannen busting my chops on the playground while I'm trying to spend some quality time with my little McFly's. Thanks a lot Biff. As a result of this incident I've really been doing some soul searching in an attempt to find out who I really am as a man deep down:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-67oUn1O7koA/VNl02peDvjI/AAAAAAAARhc/uKxdG0pN7vU/s1600/IMG_20140117_233555_260~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-67oUn1O7koA/VNl02peDvjI/AAAAAAAARhc/uKxdG0pN7vU/s1600/IMG_20140117_233555_260~2.jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a></div>
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I tried the 1920's train conductor look. My kids love trains. I figured they would love this look. I was wrong.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5C_Vsj_LZmo/VNl0prDaTVI/AAAAAAAARhU/i_rOlCrnQAg/s1600/IMG_20140125_153323_113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5C_Vsj_LZmo/VNl0prDaTVI/AAAAAAAARhU/i_rOlCrnQAg/s1600/IMG_20140125_153323_113.jpg" height="320" width="252" /></a></div>
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I tried the daredevil autopilot by day/ 1950's bare knuckle boxer by night look.</div>
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It just led to more confusion.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Whw3YRCeaKc/VNl1r2-aPlI/AAAAAAAARhk/Z5LcdLqDvIU/s1600/IMG_20140126_082044_725%2B(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Whw3YRCeaKc/VNl1r2-aPlI/AAAAAAAARhk/Z5LcdLqDvIU/s1600/IMG_20140126_082044_725%2B(1).jpg" height="320" width="265" /></a></div>
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I even went through a Walter White look a like phase. When I walked into CVS to buy cough medicine they refused my sale. Also, my wife threatened to change the locks on the house.</div>
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You know what Biff? I'm glad your little buddy tattled on you. Serves you right you little punk. By the way, my beard isn't yellow. It's RED. I would have let you slide if you went with dark orange, but YELLOW?!?! Come on! My two year old knows better. Novel idea: Why don't you go home and practice learning your colors instead of picking on adults at Chick-fil-a there smart guy?!?! </div>
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The unmitigated gall!!!</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"> I eventually regained my composure and confidence. I did it for the kids. I couldn't set that kind of example for them. I can't believe my wife and I have brought two children into this cruel bully riddled world. I'm also somewhat shocked and in a state of disbelief that my bald head with a bushy RED beard look doesn't seem to be working for me, even with the younger demographic. I actually thought it made me look tough. Wrong again.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Like I said before, prevention and protection are key. I just need to focus on ME. The boys are safe. They're young and resilient. I'm old and fragile. Now I'm 34 years old and I'm just glad papa bear has these two cubs to protect him when the going gets tough... and yes, I shaved the beard. My wife is probably grateful for little Biff. Now that I think about it, she may have actually hired him.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PcjpLziWdc4/VNriiucawSI/AAAAAAAARkA/tR5TkxCP3pE/s1600/IMG_20150126_202425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PcjpLziWdc4/VNriiucawSI/AAAAAAAARkA/tR5TkxCP3pE/s1600/IMG_20150126_202425.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk" title="The Dad Network"><img src="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/image-e1423257811431.png" alt="The Dad Network" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-6275275314377800552015-02-05T02:05:00.000-05:002015-02-12T14:40:36.494-05:00Don't You EVER!!!<a href="http://honestmum.com/category/brilliant-blog-posts/"></a><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are some things in life you should just never ever do. I guess you would call them general rules of thumb. You've probably had most of these lessons drilled into your head by your parents throughout the years but lets touch on a few examples just to be sure we've covered all of our bases: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>a.) Never say never.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>b.) Never go to bed angry.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c.) NEVER dishonor your father or your mother!</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>d.) NEVER hit a woman!!!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>e.) Most Importantly... NEVER EVER get a dinosaur!!!!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Wait! What?</i></b></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7TUwwWYGef4/VNLfEwEzldI/AAAAAAAARUw/N1WwtMyLI-c/s1600/jurassic-park-cast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7TUwwWYGef4/VNLfEwEzldI/AAAAAAAARUw/N1WwtMyLI-c/s1600/jurassic-park-cast.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No one ever taught you this lesson? Well, you're just going to have to trust me on this one. Don't do it! I just wouldn't advise it. As tempting as it may sound to bring home a cute little baby Triceratops, Tyrannosaurus or perhaps even a <b><i>"Pterrible-dactyl,"</i></b> as my three year old son calls them, don't give in to the urge. Of course they're cute when they're babies! <i>Haven't you seen</i> Jurassic Park? That place is a nightmare waiting to happen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iSTVMIxhZ1o/VNLhqjFGDiI/AAAAAAAARU8/7sD8FNbxJ44/s1600/2015-02-04%2B22.20.10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iSTVMIxhZ1o/VNLhqjFGDiI/AAAAAAAARU8/7sD8FNbxJ44/s1600/2015-02-04%2B22.20.10.jpg" height="302" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe I should back up and start from the beginning before I really lose you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do you remember any family traditions you had with your parents when you were a child? Perhaps an inside joke, a funny little saying or a bed time routine that you shared throughout your childhood?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I remember one right off hand. It was called, "The Special Kiss." Actually, It consisted of five kisses and I don't recall when or why it started but every night at bed time I would give Mom and Dad a "special kiss." I would give them a kiss on the lips followed by a kiss on each cheek and then we would trade forehead kisses before I crawled into bed. I know it started when I was very young and if I recall correctly, it actually lasted all the way until high school when I finally decided I was too old and way too cool to be giving my parents a silly special kiss at bed time. I'm sure that was a sad day for them but I guess you have to let your baby grow up at some point. Let's just say I was 15 when the special kiss became extinct. If that's accurate then that means it has been approximately 19 years since I've given my parents a special kiss. I think I owe them one next time I see them. They've earned it. No doubt.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a father, creating family traditions is something that is very important to me. When I first became a dad I decided it would be a good family bedtime tradition to tell my first born son Cooper, <b><i>"Daddy loves you SOOOO much...and don't you EVER forget it," </i></b>before he fell asleep. I would tell him every night. I would make sure he knew how much his daddy loved him and his mommy would make sure he knew how much she loved him too. We would always be sure to remind him not to forget it. We told him before he was old enough to even understand what it meant. We didn't care. We wanted him to learn what it meant and we wanted him to understand from a very young age that he was loved immensely. We continued to tell him as he grew; as he learned to crawl, walk and talk. Once he started talking I would say,<b><i> "Daddy loves you SOOOO much...and don't you EVER..."</i></b> and I would wait for him to fill in the blanks. At this point in his life he had heard this so much that he knew exactly what came next. He would always say, <b><i>"forget it!"</i></b> without fail. We had created a perfect little family tradition that would last for years and years to come... or so we thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cooper had other plans though. At two years old he had a rather large vocabulary and an even larger imagination. He was full of imaginative stories and Ideas. Some of these ideas showed that he had a capacity to understand more than your average two year old while many of his other ideas made absolutely no sense at all. One night while going through our typical bedtime routine I told Cooper, <i style="font-weight: bold;">"Daddy loves you so much... and don't you EVER..." </i>Instead of his usual response, he replied, <i style="font-weight: bold;">"GET A DINOSAUR!"</i><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>I just laughed and said,<i style="font-weight: bold;"> "No silly, don't you ever forget it!" </i>I just assumed he was being silly and this would be a one time thing. I figured the next night we would be right back to our normal tradition, but I was wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two nights later Cooper still found it necessary to assure me that he would never get a dinosaur. I thought about explaining extinction to him and informing him that he would never have the chance to get a dinosaur unless he somehow lucked into some type of paleontology internship with Dr. Alan Grant where they uncover dinosaur DNA taken from dinosaur blood that was preserved inside insects encased in amber and turn that DNA into genetically modified dinosaur embryo's to be grown and developed inside a high tech dino incubator... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just couldn't do it. I couldn't crush his little two year old dreams. Dinosaurs are as real to him as the millions of other things he's seen on television but not in real life. Instead, his mother and I just decided to go with it. Why not? If the little guy wanted to tell us that he'd never get a dinosaur every night at bedtime so be it. It was actually a very reassuring thought. What a responsible young man. It's hard enough to take care of a dog. I appreciate the fact that he's not going to over extend himself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Almost two years later we still say it every night. </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">"Daddy loves you so much and don't you ever..." ..."GET A DINOSAUR!" </i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's become so much more than it was before Cooper made his addition. Sometimes my wife and I will just text one another and simply say </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">"Don't you ever get a dinosaur!" </i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Translation: </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love you so much</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. As parents we don't always choose our traditions. We might want to, but we really just need to be able to recognize them when they come along and embrace them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our 1 and a half year old, Fletcher, has caught on too. He's part of the routine every night now as well. He picked up on it before we even tried to teach him. His cute little roars just add to the fun family tradition. I wonder how long it will last? I wonder how old the boys will be when they finally ask us why on earth we say that to each other at bedtime and what on earth it means? I wonder what they will think of the explanation? I wonder if they boys will let, <b><i>"don't you ever get a dinosaur"</i></b> be our secret code to tell them that we love them whenever they are too old and way too cool to say, <b><i>"I love you"</i></b> in front of their friends? I sure hope so. Thankfully, that day is many years down the road though I'm sure it won't seem like it. I just hope this family tradition doesn't go the way of the special kiss... or the way of the dinosaur for that matter. Until next time, good night and don't you EVER...</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk/" title="The Dad Network"><img alt="The Dad Network" src="http://www.thedadnetwork.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/image-e1423257811431.png" style="border: none;" /></a></div>
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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 <i><b>NFL films</b></i> videos.</div>
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<i><b>"In days of old when men were bold and face masks weren't invented, </b></i></div>
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<b><i>they ran like hell knowing all too well that sometimes they'd get dented." </i></b></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">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.</span></div>
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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.<br />
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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.</div>
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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.<br />
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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:<br />
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<b><i>"Blue 42. Red 98. 3 on the green. Omaha Omaha. Easy Easy. Eleven Eleven. Hut Hut Hike!" </i></b><br />
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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...</div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">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, <b><i>"I'm going to strip you!"</i></b> 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, "<b><i>FUMBLE</i></b>" 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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">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.</span><br />
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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:</div>
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<b><i>Can you say Packers?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Can you say Seahawks?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Can you say Lions?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Can you say Redskins?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Can you say Rams?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Can you say Bengals, Browns and Chiefs? </i></b></div>
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<b><i>Those are my 3 favorite teams. What are your favorite teams?</i></b></div>
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<b><i> The Packers, Eagles and Panthers? How about the Falcons? </i></b></div>
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<b><i>You can have 4 favorite teams Fletcher.</i></b></div>
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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 tradition...like father like son. Actually, like grandfather, like father, like son, like little brother. </div>
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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. <br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">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!</span></div>
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<a href="http://honestmum.com/category/brilliant-blog-posts/"><img style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; display: block;" src="http://i.imgur.com/fJzNWoE.jpg" alt="Brilliant blog posts on HonestMum.com" width="301" height="189" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17817589476920029008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141739573223974387.post-80231982168475607712015-01-19T22:50:00.001-05:002015-01-20T21:51:13.554-05:00When I Grow Up<div style="text-align: center;">
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What do you want to be when you grow up?</div>
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Do you remember what your answer was?</div>
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What if you had actually become that?</div>
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How different would your life be?</div>
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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, <b><i>"Why on earth does that make this so memorable?"</i></b> 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 <i>cute</i> it was to hear me say<b> "Mawketing Wepwesentative"</b> over and over in front of my class. I guess the definition of <i>cute</i> and <i>embarrassing </i>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.<br />
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Side note: He was also my baseball coach. Nice knee pads Dad.<br />
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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:<br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Look at that face.</div>
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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.<br />
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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.</div>
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Who was that old singer? You know that old song? How did it go?<br />
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"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 style="font-weight: bold;">"I told you that guy was a genius." </i>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.<br />
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