Yes My Young Padawan

Over the past couple of months we have noticed that Jack has developed a fascination with the tags on his toys; you know the tags soft tags that give wash and care instructions.  For some reason he absolutely loves to chew on these things.  To the point where he often ignores the toy itself, rather devoting his entire attention to the tag.  Coincidentally, for his birthday this year, we are asking that friends and family not get him any toys; rather we ask that you simply cut the tags off of your mattress and give those to him instead.

Yes my young padawan, channel your anger, feel the power of the dark side.

Yes my young padawan, channel your anger, feel the power of the dark side.

I discovered this week that when I get old and decrepit I do not want Leslie to be my primary care provider… please.  The entire week Jack has been struggling with a very runny nose (and drool in the quantities that probably rival Niagara Falls in a gallons per minute comparison, but that is beside the point), largely due to the dust that was kicked up by the high winds through the weekend.  I came home early on Monday because high winds prevented any work on site.  I arrived at home just as Jack was waking up from his nap.  As I pulled him from the crib I noticed that he had dried boogers slathered all over one side of his face.  I put some water on a wash cloth and wiped him down; afterwards I placed the wash cloth over the side of the crib so that it would dry.  Later that evening, after dinner, Leslie was looking for a rag to wipe off his face.  When she spied the still-damp washcloth she made a move for it.  “Don’t use that one,” I told her, “it has dried boogers all over it.”  “I don’t care, he will be fine,” she replied as she promptly began wiping it all over his face and around his mouth.  So again I ask, whenever I get old and I am unable to care for myself, do not let Leslie be my care provider; send me to a home or push me off a cliff or something!

What is thy bidding my master?

What is thy bidding my master?

For those of you interested in the next stage of my child-rearing saga, Jack has finally cut his first two teeth.  I’m certain this was quite a large contributing factor to the Victoria Falls-rivaling fountain steadily trickling (to be completely fair, trickling really isn’t the right word here but people won’t believe me if I say gushing) from his mouth.

Thursday morning I went through the drive thru at McDonald’s and got some breakfast.  My total ended up being $4.54; I only had three pennies so I gave the woman a $5 bill, two quarters, and a nickel.  When the lady handed me my change back she gave me a $1 bill and my receipt.  I was a little miffed because she didn’t give me the penny she owed me; at the same time I didn’t want to look cheap by asking for my penny.  As I drove away I started thinking about the next time I go through the drive thru for breakfast, my total will be $4.54 again and I still won’t have four pennies because the lady shorted me this time and I didn’t say anything about it.  And here’s the thing, I don’t even like pennies, in fact, whenever someone gives me change in a store that includes pennies, I leave them sitting on the counter.  The only time I ever keep them are when I am going through a drive thru.  So here I am a day later still bothered by the fact that I got shorted one cent…  A single penny…  I might need counseling.

This week I ended up getting very side tracked on a task, in fact I may have won this year’s “Longest Rabbit Trail Award.”  I started by looking online for some fancy paper to print something on, I wound up doing somewhat intensive research into my genealogy, discovering along the way that I am related to someone named Only Patience Outlaw.  Her husband just so happened to be the first comptroller of the United States Treasury.  That’s right folks, as it turns out Outlaw is a family name, I think Leslie and I may have just figured out our next boy’s name.  Perhaps Josey Wales will be his middle name(s).


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