McKenzie (9) : “Hey RileyGrace, I bet you don’t know the capital of Japan.”
RileyGrace (6) : “Yes I do!”
McKenzie: “OK, smartie pants. What is it?”
RileyGrace: “J.”
For more profound statements from RileyGrace, read this and this. For those of you who are too embarassed to ask, the capital of Japan is in fact Tokyo. (Yes, I had to look it up. What’s your point?)
RileyGrace has seen her mother work from home since the day she was born. They say imitation is purest form of flattery. So tonight, I walk into the kitchen to see this . . . (notice the cell phone next to the kiddie scissors.)
[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qv8FWVN7bQ4]
I called home yesterday to wish my grandparents a happy Valentines day. My grandfather, who I’ve known my entire life as “Papaw,” is known much more for his ability to fix things than his reliability at remembering special occasions such as Feb. 14. So, I called him up, just to make sure he hadn’t forgotten. After all, there have been more than fifty Valentines Day’s since he and Mamaw were married.
“Paw,” I said, (that’s short for Papaw in Alabama), “did you remember what today was?”
“Yea, I remembered.” He was less than enthusiastic.
“Well, did you get Mamaw anything?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, did you at least tell her you loved her?” I willed him to answer yes.
“Son, I told her at least two or three times today.” Whew! That was a relief. Long pause, then he continued.
“But I don’t think she believed me.” Uh oh. Sounds like trouble.
“Well,” I offered, “you better let me talk to her then.” I heard some rumbling of the receiver and a faint “Hilda!” A few slow moments later, I heard her voice.
“Hello?”
“Hey Maw.” (Again, short for – well I guess you got that now). “Happy Valentines day.”
“Thank you sweetie!” I was apparently still in good graces. So I decided to cash in some of this equity to help out the old man.
“Papaw said he told you he loved you two or three times today.”
“Uh huh.” She retorted.
“But he said you didn’t believe him.” I waited for a moment. Then came her response.
“Well,” she pondered aloud, “he lies a lot.”
Oh well. Sounds like my poor Papaw is in a pickle. Next time, I may just have to help him out and send something on his behalf. If you’re new to this blog, you can learn more about Papaw here.
Twelve years ago, on February 10th, I began the first day of the rest of my life. I couldn’t have imagined how my life would change. But I’m reminded of a promise God made to me a long, long time ago . . .
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Happy anniversary, Darlene. Thanks for being a part of God’s plan for my life. I love you.
As my family and I were discussing whether or not we should move to the Sunday PM Worship service at our church, my nine-year-old daughter asked if she would be required to wear a dress? (Currently, Sunday mornings are for dresses, while choir on Sunday night calls for more casual attire.)
My daughter’s delima (as it turns out) was rooted in her belief that the Bible explicitly commands us to dress our best when we go to church. So I posed the following question to my wife . . .
Why are we to dress our best when we go to church?
Her reply . . .
“Our bodies are God’s temple. We should treat them accordingly. This also means dressing our best and being holy before God.”
To which I offered . . .
“But John the Baptist was holy, and he looked like crap.”
Her [final] response:
“Yes. But I’m not John the Baptist’s mother.”
Next Sunday, I guess we’re all wearing a dress to church.
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| American Girl Takes a Bath |
If you happened upon this blog because you were searching for bad things on Google, sorry. Nothing to see here other than a few fun shots of my daughter and her birthday present, an American Girl bath set, compliments of Gigi. (click the picture for a few more pix, including Logan facing the reality that he can’t fit in that tub.)
When I was younger, I dreamed of many things. I wanted to fly, for example. I wanted to own a hardware store, play major league baseball, and be an architect. When I was a teenager, I dreamed of other things. I wanted to be cool. (Yes, just a dream). I wanted to own a record company. And (perhaps in one of my more testosterone-driven moments) I dreamed of the day when I would see a girl taking a bubble bath in my living room.
Not exactly what I had in mind . . . but much more wholesome. Isn’t it funny how things work out.