Archive | May, 2011

What can I do differently, buddy?

11 May

I spend a lot of time just hanging out with Hank and trying to communicate with the dear. I think I’ve finally figured out how to read him (see slideshow below). Unfortunately, there is a common thread in his expressions that has me questioning his confidence in my parenting. See if you can find it.

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A Rockin’ Mother’s Day

8 May

This post really should have been written earlier and auto-posted today, but I’m pretty sure I learned procrastination from my mother, so it’s all in keeping with the theme of the day.

I really want to call her and ask her to scan some really cool pictures  from our childhood but since she and Dad have been home sick all day I’ll be a considerate daughter and leave her alone.  That’s pretty rare (the part where I am considerate, not the part where I call and tell ask her to do things for me.)

This is a picture from when she was the cutest thing on the face of the earth.  I have lots of those. It doesn’t really matter when the picture was taken because our mother is cute, cute, cute all the time.  Have you seen her?  If not, just look for the blondest head bobbing around in the crowd.  That’s her.  Cute eh?

The hair trick has always been helpful.  Her hair is now white, not blonde, but don’t tell her, we don’t think she knows.  And it probably doesn’t matter since it’s always been exactly the same color.  Her coiffure earned her the nickname “Grandma” at age nine.

Our mother did about a trillion wonderful things for us over the last thirty-odd years, but since it’s getting late and I’m up against the Mother’s Day clock I’m just going to tell you about the most important:

She and Dad brought us to the font to be baptized in the name of the Triune God.  They then reared us in this faith, prayed for us, and cared for us in their vocations as parents.  Luther says that if you don’t have parents you should set up some stones and call them Mom and Dad.  I’m happy to say that Mom is a rock, and that she rocks, but gladly she’s not a rock.

Thank you, Mom.

May the Fourth Be With You

4 May

Check your calendars.  Don your Jedi cloaks.  Light Sabers to the ready.  This is a day to celebrate.

The Padawans began their training by proving  patience and endurance in a nearly two hour trip to the craft stores.  Their efforts were rewarded with new Star Wars Coloring Books.

At the craft stores we purchased a pelt of Wookie Fur.  They argued the available fur more closely resembled that of the Ewoks.  Neither species was harmed in the pelt acquisition.

The young Jedi Apprentices then abandoned their Master in the making of the Bean Bag Chewbaccas . . .

but showed up in time to cuddle the finished Wookie . . .

who taught them how to make Cookies.

Since the force was so strong with us we decided to share it with our friends in the Rebel Alliance.

We hope the Wookie Cookies weren’t Chewie.

Angry Iowa Art – Part II

4 May

I appreciate my sister’s take on the interstate art display. I, too, feel as if I must bludgeon someone while driving by Council Bluff’s new welcome art, but it is for a very different reason. Here – let me reveal to you the dialogue heard in our family carriage EVERY time we pass the display:

ME: Oh, look, boys. What does that art make you think of?

A.J.: Look, boys, it’s a pirate ship.

ME: No, it makes Dad THINK of a pirate ship, what does it make you think of?

A.J.: No, it IS a pirate ship. Owen, that’s a pirate ship, right?

OWEN: Yep, Dad.

ME: Eh…

A.J. (interrupting): Hey, Joe. That’s a pirate ship, isn’t it?

ME: Joe, you don’t have to think it looks like a pirate ship if you think it looks like something else. What do you think it looks like?

A.J.: It doesn’t LOOK like a pirate ship. It IS a pirate ship. Isn’t it, Joe?

JOE: It’s a pirate ship!

ME: Um….

A.J. (interrupting): Chuck! Is that a pirate ship?


A.J.: See? It’s obviously a pirate ship.


It’s a good thing my sweet husband has never pulled over. I may just let my sister’s artistic interpretation take over.

Ahoy, Matey.....

Iowa-ldn’t Go There

3 May

On our recent trip to Nebraska I had my camera prepped to take pictures of the “Nebraska . . . the Good Life” sign as we crossed the Missouri River.  The sign always gives me warm-fuzzy feelings, and I’ve probably taken fifteen pictures of it, although I can’t seem to find any on my hard drive right now.

To my great dismay the sign was not there.  But before I experienced that let down, I was presented with an even more disturbing departure from Iowa.

Really, Council Bluffs?  Loads of people find art threatening enough without making its public displays so violent.

Then again, maybe these were a neighborly gift from the Nebraska Tourism Department.