So much Ice

"When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen."

-Robert Frost, from "Birches"

A few weeks ago we had so much ice outside that power went out across the city and police were giving tickets to people desperate enough to drive on the roads. It started out as snow on Monday and Tuesday and I shoveled the walks. Then, Wednesday night the ice came. A half inch of it, coating the trees, the roads, and walks--the worst storm in years, apparently. The roads became impassable almost everywhere and power rolled on and off around the city the entire day. That afternoon, after hours in a dark house with our two stir-crazy boys we decided to chip the ice off the car and go see if we could find a store open. We needed batteries, a propane canister for our lantern, some food that didn't require cooking, and a treat of some kind to hold us over.

Our entire neighborhood was without power but on the other side of the freeway the lights were hit and miss. Applebee's and CVS had power, but the community center and the car dealerships did not. Neither did Donato's Pizza, Little Caesar's, or Walmart. We saw that Kroger had emergency power so we stopped there and bought some granola bars and instant oatmeal and some propane and a bag of mint cream Oreos. Just as we were leaving the power came back on in Kroger. The entire store let out a spontaneous sigh of relief.

Across the street Big Lots had full power so we stopped and bought some batteries. Before we pulled out of the parking lot, the power went out there and the store windows went black. On our way home Applebee's and CVS still had power, and so did our neighborhood.

Thanks to the snow and ice Mr. Baseball missed more than a half-a-month of school since returning after the winter break (because he only goes half-day he stays at home for good even if there's just a two-hour delay) and even OU had a snow day on Wednesday--their first since 1999.

The day before the storm, a friends barn burned down, and they had to clean up in heavy snow. Funny that after a weeks of relatively warm weather I'm already forgetting how miserably cold it was. Ground hog's shadow or no, we are definitely ready for spring.

Mr. Baseball and I tried to play baseball after a full day of warm weather and rain that melted the last of the ice off the parking lot. It was cold, but not bitterly cold, and it was dark, but not completely dark so we played catch in the seldom used corner of the parking lot. He likes to catch grounders and he likes to try to catch pop flies and he likes to pitch to me and throw me grounders. The monkey came out to, but he doesn't really have a feel for the game like Mr. Baseball does. he puts on his glove, but then puts the ball into it and tries to throw it from his gloved hand, and he hasn't really figured out batting yet (which is funny because at his age Mr. Baseball was already swinging at pitches in the tatami room of our house in Japan)

The Monkey's real love is basketball, or maybe football, or maybe his doggy, or maybe raisins or drawing tiny circles on pieces of scratch paper. I think because Mr. Baseball latched on to baseball so quickly (without any real urging from us) I keep waiting for the Monkey to get passionate about something, but unless you count his passion for candy or the dump tuck movie or wrestling with me, he seems to enjoy everything equally. Which is just fine with me. He is, after all, only two years old. No rush to get a passion for anything but life in general burning in his chest.

"Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
is also great."
--Robert Frost, "Fire and Ice"

Hmmm...passion...lately the Monkey has been passionate about one thing--saying prayer. We have been on a rotating prayer schedule, starting with the Monkey (the youngest) and working our way up to me. That way in the morning, or at meals, or before bed, we just figure out who prayed last and then we know whose next. The QB and I thought this would eliminate occasional grumbles from Mr. Baseball about thinking it wasn't "his turn" to pray. It worked, for him. The monkey however has it in his mind that its always "his turn" and we have to convince him that he prayed last time, or the time before, or that he'll pray next time. He bows his head, and I swear I could almost here him grumbling to himself. I guess there are worse things than wanting to pray.

"You've got to Pray
just to make it today."
--MC Hammer

Liar liar pants on fire...

Our little Mr. Baseball has been experimenting with the truth lately--trying out different versions, seeing which he can get away with--and the QB and I aren't exactly sure what to do. He hasn't said or done anything really horrible, but he has on a number of occasions chosen to tell flat-out lies (as in "Yes Dad I put my clothes away and flushed the toilet," when he did neither, or "My teacher said I had to bring my gloves to school," when she never actually did or "I didn't do anything to Nolan" when, of course, he did. On top of that, he has begun "sneaking" things here and there.

So while I'm not really concerned about the lying turning into anything systemic or problematic in any long-term way, I am groping for a short-term solution the problem that will also serve as a reminder for him down the road. Tonight he lied about putting his clothes away presumably because he wanted to stay downstairs and start playing Legos rather than running all the way back upstairs to take care of his clothes. So it seemed like a fair consequence for lying about something in order to play with a particular toy would be to make that toy off limits for a while. But at the same time it seems like that ytpe of privilege withholding does not work very effectively with him. He just gets angry and then convinces himself he didn't want whatever we took away ("Fine!" he shouts. "I don't ever want to play Legos again anyway").

So the question is, how do you help a five-year-old learn that lying is not an appropriate way of communicating, even if it might help you avoid work, or avoid getting into trouble or avoid doing something you don't want to do?

Tonight, I tried reaching him through the medium he most appreciates--bed time stories. He almost always asks for some kind of super hero story (usually Batman or Spiderman) so I told him a Spiderman story straight out of the real Spider man story about Peter Parker lying to his uncle about going to the library and how his uncle was shot during a carjacking all because Peter Parker lied. It was a little morbid, but his eyes got really big and I wanted him to say something like "All that just because Spiderman lied?" but instead he just looked at me funny and I'm not sure he got the moral of the story at all.

That is another problem with trying to teach moral lessons to concrete thinking five-year-olds who just don't get metaphor, symbolism, or the nuances of allegory. How do you help a kid grasp a concept like honesty and truth when to them, the truth includes, among other things, the reality of Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and the deep and abiding friendship of a ratty stuffed animal named Doggy?

hmmmm...

So, where did we go for so long?

From Athens...to Columbus...to Chicago (layover).... to Salt Lake City....to Mapleton...back to Salt Lake City...back to Mapleton... to Las Vegas...back to Salt Lake City...back to Mapleton...back to Salt Lake City...back to Mapleton...back to Salt Lake City...back to Las Vegas (Layover)...back to Columbus...and finally, after 36+ family members, twenty days, four time zones, two near car accidents, and one set of keys locked in the car during a snow storm infront of a Subway restaurant in middle-of-nowhere Utah, we made it home to lovely, quiet, collegiate Athens, Ohio--this tiny dot of brick buildings and leafy trees that has begun to really feel like home.

By splitting our three-week westward Odyssey between our two families we were able to capture the Yin-Yang essence of our collective heritage. Time on the Franklin side of the world was fast-paced, noisy, kinetic, and occasionally explosive. We played loud games and ate loud food and told loud jokes. We hugged lots--fought some--and slept little. Mr. Baseball played with his cousin T. nonstop for three days straight, twirling with him through Jason's house in a blur of Legos, Hot Wheels, and video games, occasionally pausing for meals or to use the bathroom. More than once they stayed in their pajamas until dinner.

The Monkey however proved himself mostly in the way of the older boys and spent much of his time hanging out with the grown-ups. Aunt Misha and uncle Chad and Uncle Jason and Grandma Franklin were all a big help in that department, listening to his garbled talk, playing games with him, and in Chad's case, playing a guitar/harmonica duet with him for nearly five minutes (we've got video that we'll get up on here soon).


Time on the Fitzgerald side of the Universe was just as memorable, if not as crazy. We played Password and ate cranberry chicken, played in the snow and fed the horses, watched movies and made ginger bread houses, attended church and visited the neighbors with the new puppy.


Multiple times a day Mr. Baseball and the Monkey used Nana's couch pillows to build "secret hideouts" and when the two of them weren't playing with toys or banging on the piano or bouncing up and down the stairs, they were following Riley (Nana and Papa's dog) around, running their fingers through his fur, talking to him, bravely reaching a finger out to touch a casually protruding tooth, or limp paw. A few times we had to remind the boys to give the big dog some space.

Papa is a Bishop. Can you tell? And Nana, Thanks for all the stories.

When the Monkey saw Nana and Papa in September it took just a few seconds to decide they were pretty neat. This time around he couldn't wait to see them.


Some highlights from the entire trip:

Mini getaway for me and the QB: The Friday after we arrived in Utah, Nana and Papa took the boys so we could get away to SLC for a night. We stayed at the Raddison, visited an exotic ethnic restaurant (The Ikea Cafeteria) and shopped at exclusive retailers (this huge kitchen store called Gygi's that sold things like $165 stainless steel rolling pins--we bought...nothing). The view from the 14th floor was fantastic, and the quiet was long overdue. The snow storm in the morning forced us back to reality, and to Mapleton sooner than we were planning, but the trip was worth it.

An Unlikely Mormon DVD: Nana borrowed this DVD from a friend and we watched it together. Glenn Beck is a CNN commentator who joined the LDS church a few years ago. His is an inspiring story.

Spanish Fork Christmas Lights: The boys got to ride together with Nana and Papa on a long drive through a Christmas light show put on by Spanish Fork City.

Quiet time at Grandpa Franklin's: In addition to seeing Grandma Milly (86 years old) and lots of the Franklin extendeds that we rarely see, it was incredibly nice to simply BE at my parents condo in Las Vegas. The boys played well, and we did a lot of talking over cooking food in the kitchen. One night Mr. Baseball sat next to Grandpa Franklin on the couch for nearly half an hour and listened to him talk about being a crew member in the Naval Air Force.



Grandpa Franklin spent several years in the Navy riding in the glass nose of a P2V-7 Neptune like this one, and Mr. Baseball wanted to know all about it. "Finally," said Grandpa, "I've found an audience that appreciates my Navy stories."

Savior of the World production: On December 23rd we ate at One World Cafe in Salt Lake City with Nana, Papa, the QB's middle sister, Amy, and her new husband, Caleb, and QB's little sister. Then we went to the Savior of the World production on Temple Square at the Conference Center Little Theater. Besides being a top rate depiction of the Nativity Story, the two hour production touched me with its way of personalizing the stories of Joseph and Mary--what the social realities of the story would have been, and the burden they both must have felt. One touching scene involved a small shepherd boy whose come to see the new born Jesus. He's just heard the Angels proclaim "Unto you this day is born in the City of David, a Savior..." and looking at Mary he realizes that She is the "YOU" in the angelic proclamation and he repeats it to her, with added emphasis on the you. I've often thought about what the Shepherds would have felt that night, but never what Mary must have felt. I know what it feels like to hold a newborn in my arms, but The Newborn of all newborns? I can't imagine what that must have been like for her.

Christmas Morning: Happened in stages this year. At Jason's, the adults who could get up with our boys did and we passed around gifts and ate cinnamon rolls and little smokies. Then round two happened a few hours later when the rest of the house woke up and Jason's kids got in from their Mom's house. Rounds three happened at Nana and Papa's house Christmas evening. Rounds four and five happened in Portland and Las Vegas a few days later when parting folks brought gifts back home with them to members of the family couldn't make it. Round Six will happen as soon I get the package to my sister Sherri off my desk and in the mail (It's coming Sherri--We love you).

Christmas Night: We drove to Nana and Papa's in Mapleton for Christmas dinner and intended to return to SLC that night, but a storm kicked up and we only made it three exits northward before we turned around and decided to stay the night in Mapleton. Mr. Baseball was sad about the change of plans (he doesn't handle sudden change very well), but we watched Home Alone with the QBs little sister and he did okay (in fact, out of the four of us watching, he's the only one who managed to stay awake.

Banana Fritters at Jason's house: Continuing a long, sweet, greasy tradition at the Franklin's, we made Banana Fritters on December 26th. In preparation for the event Jason bought close to 4 dozen bananas. When uncle Chad saw them piled on the fridge like cases of beer on the porch of a frat house, he said something like "We'll never use all of those bananas." That morning, when the last fritter was fried there were no bananas left. Banana fritters, in case you are wondering, are the reason vegetable oil and powdered sugar were invented.

Papa's old Dump Truck: (As seen in header photo). Papa took me and the boys to see the dump truck he used to drive. It was a big truck and the boys got to sit in the cab and pull the air horn. AWOOOGA!

Games at the Cousins': The Sunday after Christmas we went to Nana's sister's house to see the extendeds on that side of the family and we played and ate and talked. Good times.


A few more pictures...not in any particular order:

Mr. Baseball and I built a miniature snow fort one morning. It was big enough for him at least.






No lines for Santa at the Provo Town Center, and no fee if we took our own photographs. The Monkey wasn't even scared of him.




Our poor little snowman had to be sculpted from a big pile of dry Utah snow because we couldn't get the snow to ball up.



Grandma Franklin put together a family dinner at Grandma Millie's condo and the Monkey stole the show.


The Monkey only crashed like this once during the entire trip. This was after he'd woken up from a late nap that he decided wasn't long enough.


Thanks Grandma for all the hugs.

Thanksgiving Update

It’s late. The house is dark, and quiet. Well, not quite. Mr. Baseball just opened his door and is now in the bathroom, which means the door is wide open, the fan is running, and the light is on. But it was dark and quiet, and it’ still late. I'm sitting up in bed next to a sleeping QB and I'm beginning to sweat because this laptop computer puts out entirely too much heat. The sinus cavity above my right cheekbone is throbbing--the last hurrah of a late-fall cold that opened up shop in my respiratory system about three weeks ago--and I really should be in bed. I mean asleep. I am in bed. I really should be asleep. Callan just came in wearing an "I'm up now and I'm not really interested in going back to sleep even though I can barely keep my eyes open" look. I gave him a hug and sent him off to his room. I think I heard an exaggerated sigh as he went back into his room.

I'm so mean.

Since the last post (two weeks ago?) I have finished my final assignments of the quarter (20 pages worth of writing), I've graded my students' final papers (some of them quite good), and I've turned in grades (some of them quite bad). We've been to Utah for Amy' and Caleb's wedding, we've baked five desserts for a Thanksgiving dinner at our Branch President's house, we've watched several movies, including Kung Fu Panda, Wall-e, Christmas with the Kranks, and about thirty seconds of Lord of the Rings before the fighting got bad enough that the QB asked me to change the channel. I've made significant progress toward finishing five PhD applications (necessary evils), and we attended one baptism (a necessary good).

Today was a normal lazy Sunday (not to be confused with this Lazy Sunday) the QB was playing the organ for sacrament meeting, so she was a little nervous (and so was I , because that means I sit alone with the two boys in the pew and try to keep them entertained for the hour-long meeting). She spent most of last night going between her primary music time lesson and the keyboard, worrying about whether she was going to play well in Church. She played four Christmas songs today--which means they're not hymns that she plays very often, which means she rarely practices them, which means she made a few mistakes that I know she feels ten times worse about than she should. Her primary lesson went well by all acounts (I didn't see what she did exactly, but I know she was teaching a song called "I'm Thankful to be Me" from the Children's song book and the first line reads:

At night, when I'm alone in bed,

I close my eyes and see,

The many things I'm thankful for,

That God has given me.

She brought a pillow and blanket today and had the kids take turns lying down and pretending to be asleep, thinking of everything they're thankful for.

After church we ate turkey sandwiches and left overs and the boys and I took naps while the QB enjoyed some quiet time to herself. After dinner we sat down at the table to make some Christmas crafts and ended up cutting and folding and gluing for more than an hour. Even the monkey sat in his chair the entire time (granted he was buckled in) and tore several sheets of paper up. He even used the scissors a little. the QB made a big snowflake and Mr. Baseball and Imade Santas. Before we knew it, it was 8:30pm and way past bed time. We all got pajamas on and read some books on the bed before saying good night to them both. More than once we had to go back into the room to help the monkey remember that he was supposed to be in bed, including once when I found him half-way up Mr. Baseball's ladder. "Want sleep Callan's bed" he said.

Here are a few photos from the past two weeks...

These dinner rolls were a hit on Thanksgiving. We doubled the recipe and used 1/2 whole wheat flour. Usually rolls are an after thought and we have to cut back on rising time, but we made these well in advance and gave them plenty of time on the counter. The results were grand.

















I had two helpers for the pie crusts. My mom has always hated making pie crusts and at some point along the way (I think I was twelve or thirteen), she delegated holiday pie crust making to me. I've had varied success with shorting recipes, but a few years ago at my in-laws house I discovered a cream cheese pie crust recipe from the Joy of Cooking that is virtually impossible to mess up. The Monkey and Mr. Baseball both did a fine job cutting in the butter and cream cheese, but their real triumph was stealing dough from the rolling surface while I wasn't looking.












(Three ounces of cream cheese cut into six table spoons butter and 1 1/4 cup flour and a dash of salt. Sprinkle with two 2 tbl spns. milk and toss with fork. Form into ball, adding flour if necessary to reach desired consistency).














The apple-cranberry crumb-top pie with the over-sized crust was the biggest hit of the five desserts we made for Thanksgiving (close runners up were the chocolate cream pie and the pumpkin swirl cheesecake). We used this tool to peel, slice, and core 18 granny smith apples for the filling.











The cranberries were an afterthought. We thought about putting raisins in, but changed our minds at the last minute when we found a bag of frozen cranberries in the back of the fridge.



















This is at the airport in Columbus, around 10pm Sunday night after we got in from Utah. The Monkey had done very well the entire trip, and maybe he could tell we were getting close to home, because at baggage claim he just decided to lie down.
























In Utah, Papa Fitz borrowed a neighbor's digger and gave the boys a little ride.












Of course, the monkey was tentative at first, but after a few minutes...























Thanks Pa!


We forgot to bring our camera to most of the Wedding events in Utah, but brought home fantastic memories of one of the more spiritually inspiring temple ordinances I've ever witnessed. That deserves an entire post in itself, but suffice it now to say only this: There is something powerful about witnessing two young people covenant not only with each other, but with God, to walk the disciples path.

For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife;And they twain shall be one flesh: so then they are no more twain, but one flesh.
--Mark 10:7-8

An LDS person's childhood is full of promises to God (often called covenants). We make promises of obedience and discipleship from baptism at age eight and every week after when we take the sacrament (communion). These are personal, individual promises between God and individual. The QB and I were married more than six years ago, but the significance of that ordinance didn't really hit me until I watched Amy and Caleb go through the same ceremony last week. It is the first promise to God that I made in tandem with someone else. The promise of obedience and discipleship was not just to God, but to my wife as well. And the promise of marital fidelity and mutual support was not just to my wife, but to God. If I fail God, then I'm failing my wife, and in turn, if I fail my wife, then I am failing God. Put differently, when I strengthen my relationship with God, I am bettering my marriage, and when I better my marriage, I am improving my life as a disciple.

Marriage then is so much more than a convenient social custom, or a legal distinction, or an old-fashioned remnant of patriarchal oppression. Rather, it is THE institution designed to help men and women become the best that they can possibly be. That doesn't mean that society has always treated it that way, or that individuals have always honored it accordingly, but it does mean that the scripture still stands:

neither is the man without the woman, neither the woman without the man, in the Lord.--1 Corinthians 11:11

I need something from the QB, and the QB needs something from me, and we both need everything from God. I'm grateful this Thanksgiving weekend for the reminder from Amy and Caleb why I am married to my wife, what my responsibilities are towards her, and what opportunities we have to grow together in the Lord.

Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving, and I hope you saved some room for Christmas.

The Monkey's Birthday, a week after the fact

So we know that the Monkey turned two more than a week ago, but we've been busy. So, here are the pictures. The Cake was good.

The QB just can't help herself on Birthdays. This is, as requested, the Monkeys "Dig Dig Cake."












This, also as requested, is an"Elmo present"













The day of his birthday, the Monkey and Mr. Baseball and I went to the Park and the community Garden. A recent wind storm has knocked down 90% of the leaves in town.

















Before the park, we stopped at the community garden to dig in the dirt a little and winterize the plot. We found these peppers that apparently finally appeared sometime after our last trip to the garden (which was back in September). There were six or seven that looked like they would have been good had we come back before the first frost. Too bad. Maybe next year.
















The boys dug and dug and dug.

















I think this is actually a picture taken on Sunday (we've dubbed that day "inbetweener" day because it's the day between my birthday and the Monkey's and almost seems like it deserves to be celebrated right along with everything else). The Monkey really wanted to eat on the counter. Go figure.

’Tis the season

This December we are going to Utah to visit Melissa's family, as well as several branches of the Franklin family tree. This has meant lots of coordination and as it stands now, it looks like we will fly to Utah and stay with the Fitzgeralds for a week or so, then drive to Vegas to see my Mom and Dad and my brother Josh and various members of my Dad's family, then come back to Utah to attend Savior of the World with the Fitzgeralds (including newly Married Amy and Caleb), and then meet my other two brothers (Jason and Tom), plus my sister Misha and her husband Chad and my parents for Christmas in Salt Lake City at Jason's house. And we'll likely round out the trip with a final few days with the Fitzgeralds before coming home at the end of December.

Last Christmas we spent with the missionaries and a single friend of ours in our little campus apartment and we ate Avalanche Pizza. And as much as we love our missionaries, and as much as we love our friends, and as much as we love our neighbor down the street who is responsible for all that award-winning pizza down at Avalanche, we are all looking forward to Christmas with family.

Christmas has always meant crowded malls full of busy shoppers caught between the peace and pressure of the season and a list of seven brother and sisters, plus mom and dad, plus a variety of husbandswivesgirlfriendsboyfriendsinlawsniecesnephewsneighborsfriends who all need gifts, deserve gifts, may not get gifts if I don't get out and get some shopping done, and the three tattered boxes marked "Christmas" pulled from storage and opened to reveal strings of white lights from my oldest sister's wedding, and the old-standard ornaments--the snoopy set, the plaster santas and plush picture frames and clothes-pin-reindeer and broken bulbs and three dozen macaroni angels painted white holding neon pink hymnals, and miles and miles of fake ivy and that old Mr. and Mrs. Claus--heavy cast ceramic wrapped in the same yellowed napkins we repack them in every year, and the nativity scene that looks like some half-hearted family reunion with only Baby Jesus, and Mary and a headless Joseph accompanied by a sheep, a camel, a ram, and just one remaining wise man, ever faithful, returning year after year to our living room to worship the Christ child, and I wonder if he's carrying the gold, the frankincense, or the mir--and all by himself up there he feels like some kind of metaphor. . . and that nativity always sits on the hallway table, overlooking the freshly vacuumed carpet around a newly decorated tree and the soft glow of lights peaking out the window . . . and in the kitchen on the counter--squares of fudge or thumb-print cookies or candy-canes decorated like Rudolph brought on paper plates to the door by friends and neighbors and home teachers (thanks Brother Potter), and a growing basket of Christmas cards from friends and faces from around the corner and across the country, and the whole family breathing the cool air of the front porch while carolers smile and sing with rosy cheeks, and a bag or box or truck-load of canned goods, a few gifts, maybe a tree for a sad stranger, and ginger bread houses leaning leaning leaning from the weight of so many gum drops--and the cross-stitch of the three wise men my mother always hangs in the hallway--the three that always come together-inseparable and ever-present during the season, and the birthday party my in-laws throw for baby Jesus on Christmas Eve (complete with the Birthday song and cake) and long nights of chatting over pumpkin pie and rounds of Boggle, and one long night on Christmas Eve of wrapping and setting out and filling stockings, and (for all parents I'm sure) a night of wondering if they got "enough" for everybody, wondering if this year will be "fair," worried about the paper hearts of their children, so expectant, so hopeful, so innocently greedy for the bounty of Christmas morning--and then its early, or as we've gotten older, not so early, and breakfast is hot and long and carries very much the feeling of the pre-game show on Superbowl Sunday, and then we sit and talk and unwrap and "ooooh" and "ahhh" and "thank you," and "how wonderful" and "uh...." and "I can't wait to try it on," and "I'm definitely borrowing that," and "can you believe all this wrapping paper," and "I think there's one more, way back there behind the tree," and then the post-Christmas calm when for perhaps the only time in the entire year, no one really feels like they NEED to be anywhere but where they're at, when the toys on the floor don't seem to be a mess and the chess boards and decks of cards and old movies come out and outside it's quiet like someone turned off the city, except for the boys across the street trying out their new remote controlled car, except for the sounds of car doors shutting and bodies shuffling up the walk to grandmas house or Mom and Dad's or somewhere else they don't get to often enough, and though it all may seem sentimental, and at times (most-times) overly commercial, I don't think any amount of marketing could ever completely do away with the glorious potential for Happy that comes with the month of December.

And we are definitely looking forward to it.

Happy Birthday to me...

So, it's my birthday, its 9:13 AM, and its already been quite a day. I woke up at 5:00 am when the Monkey came into our room, flounced onto the bed and said, over and over again, "downstairs, downstairs," except that when he says it, it sounds like "downchairs, downchairs." Between me rubbing his back and then the QB finally picking him up and rocking him for a minute, he fell back to sleep. And when Mr. Baseball woke up at Six the QB got up with him and let me sleep in until 6:30 (which is a full half-hour longer than we've been getting up the past week, so I appreciated the extra sleep).

I had a few papers to grade this morning, so I did that while the QB did the morning stuff and at 7:15 we had breakfast--a Franklin birthday breakfast, which is a hold over from the QB's family tradition--a box of sugar cereal. Since we usually eat Cheerios, raisin bran, or occasionally Frosted Mini Wheats, sugar cereal is like eating desert for breakfast.

We had Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Mr. Baseball and I had two bowls each. At the table I said to the QB, "Can you imagine if we ate this stuff every morning?" And now, I'm thinking that, as a kid, we did. Not that I ate sugar cereal ever at home (I only got it once or twice a year, usually in my Easter basket) but that I use to put so much sugar in my cheerios that it layered the bottom of the bowl and it filled half my spoon with every bite.

So then I road my bike to school and the weather was pleasant, for November 10th. The sun was coming up behind me, the wind blew gently, the river caught the light of the rising sun, giving off a brilliant, if illusionary sense of nature, and NPR was running a story on Barack Obama's transition to the White House. What could be better?

In class, my students and I workshopped two essays--one about addiction, and one about mixed martial arts fighting like UFC. I've never been a fan of MMA, but the student author was convincing enough that I pulled up a short video of something called a "flying arm bar," which I'd never heard of, and now, after having seen the video, am convinced that it's the most amazing martial arts move I've ever seen.





So, however you feel about mixed martial arts, maybe you can appreciate, as I did the "shock and awe" affect of this move. I think I'll stick to thumb wrestling with Mr.Baseball.

After class, I walked into the office and saw this image on the computer. I laughed for five minutes and then sat down to write this post.




Who knows what the rest of this birthday will have in store for me. If the past three hours are any indication, it should be fun.