Stroke of Genius

Before I get to Day 2,  I was asked to post this on my blog.  If you are a FB or Google+ friend, you already know what happened and this is just the whole version.

So, I was taking the kids to one of those very rare trips to see the grandparents.  I feel bad that I don't take them there enough considering my parents live less than 30 minutes away.  (I know.  Bad son, right?)  But we were on the way over the river and through the woods when, from the back seat, my 6YO starts doing her normal thing...

"Daddy, Go SUPER fast! I want to see 3 numbers!  I want to see 100!" (I have a digital speedometer and she wanted to see it go to 3 numbers.)

I have explained to her on several occasions that going "super fast" can get me put in "super jail".  She doesn't care.  Apparently, she has an insatiable need for speed (at 6) and can't be bothered by such details as her father going to the BIG house.  To her, that's just dad taking one for the team.

Today was different, however.  SHE WOULDN'T STOP!!!  If you have children, or work with children, you know this day.  It happens every now and then.  (More now and less then.) If you are over 35, it's much like a record skipping on a song you really didn't want to hear to begin with.  If you are under 30, I probably just sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher, "WAH, WAH, WAH, WAH!".  What?   I lost you at Charlie Brown, too??? Good Grief!!!  Well... trust me...  it's not fun.  It goes a little something like this...

"Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!" "Go faster, Daddy!" "Daddy!" "Daddy, go faster!"

(That was the short version. This can literally go on for hours if you let it.  Their mind goes into some sort of cruise control and it takes their mouth along for the ride.)  Notice, you don't hear any of my dialog in that.  That's because when they are in this mode, there's really not reason to respond.  You just let them do their thing.  Any response, at this point, just leads to a series of "WHY?" questions.  You will be able to answer some of the WHYs but most you won't.  And that leads to more WHYs.  It's all lose/lose (like politics) from here.

This is also the moment where you realize that this form of Kiddie Verbal Viral Warfare is working!  You know you won't be able to take much more.  You are merely mortal.  Humans were only designed to take so much.  Male humans were designed to take even less.  I was about to push that little Civic to the limit and I didn't care if I got caught or not.  I was fully prepared to make an O.J. convoy 20 police cars long directly to the jailhouse just for some quiet when I was hit with a stroke of genius.

I decided to give my little one what she wanted.  My daughter wanted 3 numbers and she was going to get 3 numbers!  That's the kind of father I am!  So, I jammed my foot onto the accelerator.  I leaned back in my seat as if I was taking off in a space shuttle.  I even made a loud VROOOMMMM noise.  (That part was absolutely necessary since I drive a Civic.  No matter how hard I push the engine there's not enough power to make the engine roar.  So, sound effects are needed.)  Then, to complete the request... I pressed the "turbo" button!  Sadly, my turbo button doesn't actually make the car go any faster.  All it does is change the digital speedometer reading from Miles Per Hour to Kilometers Per Hour.  So, instantly, I was going 110! (At least that's what my display says.)

My little one was EXTREMELY excited that her father went over 100!  She could hardly contain herself.  It was great!  I managed to make her happy and not get a ticket... which made ME happy.  All of this was at the push of one button.  And that's what fatherhood comes down to.  Sometimes you are charged with making sure everyone is happy.  And all it takes is a little creativity and deception.  (You know... that point sounded a WHOLE lot better in my head.  But you get what I'm saying!)

**********

Since I originally thought about putting this story to print, the "genius" plan has backfired on me.  Now, BOTH of my little ones loudly object when I change the speed back to mph.  So, now, I will eventually get the ticket anyway because I have NO idea how fast I'm going.  I wonder if the officer will understand.  If he's the father of young girls... he will.

Diary of a Father of a Teenage Girl - Day 1 - The Move

I knew this day would come.  I fought and fought and fought this for years.  But, alas, it was fruitless.  I didn't even get the lousy T-Shirt to prove it.  And, it's not like the wife's birthday or our wedding anniversary that sneaks up on me each year.  This was something real and had to planned for or it would have blown up in my face (kinda like the wife's birthday or our wedding anniversary.  All of my planning and preparation got me ready for the inevitable.  I am now the father of a teenage girl. Operation Protection by Destruction has commenced!  But each operation must start with a plan.  And this plan starts with The Move.

I have to move.  I'm too close to the assignment.  Being in the same house with a teenager mean ZERO planning would get done.  ZERO planning means sloppy execution.  And I only have one chance to get this right.  (That's not necessarily true since I have 2 other girls.  I could consider this a trial run.  That will be my Plan B.  If this doesn't work out I will learn, grow and buy MUCH more ammo for the next mission.  Failure is not an option... twice.)  So, moving out is the best option.

Keep in mind, this wasn't part of the original plans.  I had told myself long ago that I was not having any little girls.  I made a promise to myself and the world that I would only have 2 (maybe 3) boys and that was it.  But somewhere between promise and procreation I forgot a Y-chromosome... 3 times!  So, most of my life I was planning on raising the problem causers in the world and now I have to deal with the problem solvers.  But life goes on and plans are adjusted.  Luckily, the moving out plan was in place whether I had a boy OR a girl.  It didn't matter.  Teens are teens.

Some of you might be thinking, "But, won't your wife object?"  Well, she can't. I had this clause added to our nuptials.  Fellas!!!  You NEED to add this into the nuptials or you just end up looking like a jerk when you move out and leave the wife and kids at home.  But if it becomes part of the vows then you are just being the perfect father and husband by making sure you are man of your word.  And it's really simple too.  If you get to write your own vows then it's GOLDEN.  Just put it in the middle of golf and football.  She'll zone out at golf and come back after stop talking about football.  This is the Holy Grail of vows.  So use it wisely or you will be paying for it for the rest of your life.

If you don't get to write your own vows then you need to take this as a chance to learn stealth.  It will pay dividends later in life.  Know this going in... You are going to lose most arguments most of the time (whether you are right or wrong).  So take this chance to learn a new skill in sneakiness. (This is not deceipt or lying.  I don't condone that behavior.  But being sly is fine.)  When they get to the part that says LOVE, HONOR and (whatever new word they put in place of OBEY) you need to sneak in (under your breath), "but not necessarily in the same house."  See, this one is a little tougher because she's right there and listening.  You don't have the freedom of the Holy Grail.  You have say it low enough so she doesn't hear but loud enough for one of your boys (homies) to get it on video... as evidence during the eventual fallout of the teenage years.  Any real friend will help you accomplish this because they will expect the same at their wedding.

But, you have to lay the groundwork for this.  This will not plan itself.  And all good plans start with a good foundation.  Thus... The Move.  I have kept my family at DEFCOM  5 for a long time. But with the new development we will officially never drop below a 4 until there are no teenagers in the house.  And for those who think I will have more trouble protecting my teenage girl from the evil teenage boys, I just have 2 words for you... sniper scope.

But that's for another day.  THIS day is day 1 of the move.  I must admit, though, that I probably should have amended this rule.  It's kinda cold outside right now.  Unfortunately, when I thought this through, I didn't think about the fact that my daughter would reach her teens at winter time.  Slight oversight on my part.  Oh, well.  I won't miss anything else.  Tent - CHECK.  Canteen - CHECK.  Nearest stream - (the water bill has been paid, so...) CHECK (for now).  Bathroom - (Treeline is only a few yards behind me, so) CHECK.  Food source... well, I moved out but I'm just in the field across the street. (I have to be able to see the house for this to work.  I said I was moving out not moving away.) So, food won't be a problem.  I added that in the nuptials too. :-)

And now that I am alone and it is quiet, I have extra time to think and to write my general thoughts on the subject.

Thought #1...

The world would be a perfect place for teenage girls if there was no such thing and boys.

I guess we will see how this move thing works out.

A Tale of Two Kiddies (Part 2)

After the first game, NO ONE will forget my daughter!  I would love to say they will remember her because she left a lasting impression of greatness and wonder like Niagra Falls, the Grand Canyon or Fruity Pebbles.  I would love to say they will remember her because her performance inspired others to achieve like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Tom Hanks or the “Miss Congeniality” Sandra Bullock.  It would even have been nice if she were remembered as the beautiful little girl whose smile lit up the field and warmed the hearts of all who gazed upon her.  I assure you, that was so far from the truth Momma L. and Daddy Que wondered if that girl still existed.

As established in my previous post A Tale of Two Kiddies (Part 1) there was “another” team on the field.  So, our 5YO was going to learn her first lesson in competition.  She didn’t like that lesson.  She didn’t like the fact that if she had the ball someone from the other team would keep trying to taking it.  She expressed her disgust when I told her that’s how the game is played.  I’m sure if she had it her way they would all part like the Red Sea and she could walk right down the middle in her own little personal Homecoming parade (with her as the queen of course).  Having all of those other kids trying to take the ball from her was just “too hard!”

She DID have an answer for that though.  An amazing plan went through her head!  I wish should would have told me her plan so I could explain to her that it wouldn’t work.  But, I guess you have to learn some things on your own.  So, the next time the ball was in her area she did the smart thing and just bent down and grabbed it.  Just like America, my daughter ignored the fact that the game was cleverly called “Football” for a reason.  (At least she didn’t just completely change the name to Soccer or something like that.  That would be absurd!)

This whole “no-hands” thing in soccer really confused her.  And while they were explaining it to her, you could see the frustration on her face.  She just didn’t understand why she couldn’t use her hands.  I know the game is called Football and I really wanted to explain to her the fun of just using your feet.  But to be completely honest... I have the same reservations with the sport.  Just pick up the ball and throw it!  You have 2 good hands and arms... use them!  Just my opinion.  So, I really couldn’t argue against her logic because I’m in the same boat.  But our problem with the rules didn't change the rules. So they let the other team kick a penalty kick and the game started again.  This time was different, though, because now my daughter knew if the ball comes near her she must use her feet (no matter how effective her hands would be) to stop it or kick it.

She picked up on that rule much better than I expected!  The next time the ball was near her she went through the mental check list.  One... They are trying to take the ball from me so I must try to take the ball from them. (CHECK!) Two... I am not supposed to use the these absolutely... ummm... “handy” hands to move the ball. (CHECK!)  And Three... (She picked up on this one all by herself) If I kick the ball into the net people will cheer really loudly for me!  I was really proud of the logical progression her brain made and how that translated into play on the field.

She applied all that she knew, came up with a plan and it led to her first goal of the season!  The other team had the ball.  She ran up to them and took that ball right from their feet.  (Flawlessly, I might add.) She snatched the ball and proceeded to beautifully give THEM a lesson on how the game was supposed to be played.  She dribbled left.  She dribbled right.  She avoided defender after defender.  It was a work of art!  The goal keeper didn’t have a clue what was going on.  The dazzling display had everyone mesmerized.  My daughter saw the goalie standing between her and the cheering she knew she would receive for kicking this ball into the goal.  She stared the goalie down.  She brought her leg back and kicked!  The goal keeper went right.  The ball went left.  GOOOOOOAAAALLLLL!!!!!  

The crowd went wild!!!  This was an exciting moment to say the least.  And normally, this would have been one of the proudest moments of my parenthood.  I wanted to get up and scream like half of the people in the crowd.  But, it’s a weird moment when you daughter scores her first goal in her first game.... and it’s for the OTHER team! So my wife and I were not on the side that was cheering.  But I can’t fault my daughter for her thoughts.  It’s the old “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!” philosophy.  (Really, it was just that when my daughter got the ball, her own goal was the closest goal to her... just like in practice.)

This is where things got sad.  When they explained to her what just happened.  She just started crying.  She broke down right there on the field.  She was so upset and she was crying so much that they had to call for a substitution.  She didn’t want to do anything but come back over to mommy and daddy.  So she did.  They resumed play while my daughter sat in our laps crying. :-(  It literally broke my heart.  I have seen her kick, scream, yell and cry for not getting her way.  That doesn't bother me. But I very seldom see her crying due to pain or something I truly feel is tear worthy.  If you are a parent, you know how bad that hurts.  If you are a father, you know I COULDN’T let me wife and kids see that one bothered me.  But it stung.

Also, if you are a father, you know that sting generally goes away much quicker than it does with mothers.  So after a few hours (which really was just a few minutes of real-time but an eternity of  “father-time” (pun might have been intended... I’m not sure)) it was time to rub some dirt on it and get back out there and play.  I told her in my nicest fatherly voice that it was time to suck up those tears and get back in the game.  She told me, “NO!”  My wife tried her caring motherly tone and asked her in the way that only mothers can.  She told her, “NO!”  She kept saying she wanted to be the goalie because it was “easy!”  She was crying saying that the game was too hard.  She wanted to play goalie because she could use her hands.  

My wife and I didn’t truly understand what she was meaning by all of this easy and hard stuff.  But to me, this was starting to be more than a little annoying.  (I know.  Bad father, right?  I just can’t take all of the whining. And that’s all it was at this point.)  So I told her she basically had 2 choices.  She could go out there, have some fun and keep playing OR she could go out there and stand in the middle of the field and cry.  Either way she wasn’t sitting on the sidelines with us and crying.  I gave her the... *ahem*... fatherly nudge and pointed her toward the rest of her team standing at the goal.

She had finally calmed down enough to go back out there.  The coaches were picking the positions for the next quarter (4 quarters for children’s soccer).  Little did we know our daughter only agreed to go back out there because she thought she might get a chance to play goalie.  When the coaches took the special RED shirt to signify “goalie” off of one of the children and placed it on another child... that wasn’t my daughter... the waterworks started all over!  This time people were treated to a dramatic encore performance staring... well, you know who.  My daughter put her hands over her face and hit the ground right there in front of the net.

(Side Note:  Thank you to the coaching staff as well as the officials of that game.  They did all they could to console her and to get her to play the game in the position she was designated to play.  They did a wonderful job.  My daughter looked over the the sidelines like she didn't want to play and my wife and I pointed for her to stay on the field.  So, the coaches and officials had to deal with the fallout. But they did a wonderful job and I commend them.)

My little angel :-) remembered her 2 choices.  And neither of them involved coming back over to the sidelines with us.  So (since she didn’t get to play the “easy” goal keeper position) she chose option #2.  And that’s where her day finished.  She ended the day standing in the middle of the field... just crying.  She wouldn’t run.  She wouldn’t kick.  She wouldn’t move.  She just stood there for the entire 4th quarter... crying. I was slightly (very) upset.

With all of the mistakes that were made, I was fine.  She’s a child.  Several other children made mistakes as well.  (Not as many as mine, though.  I didn’t tell about the other time she grabbed the ball and some other issues as well.)  But that’s all part of the learning process.  I will never be mad about that.  What REALLY upset me was that she gave up and didn’t try at all.  She didn’t get her way and just called it quits.  There are completely reasonable reasons to call it quits: When your ethics will be compromised... When someone else is going to be harmed in the process...  When you run out of money and can’t afford to pay your gambling debts and the Australian Mob (who, BTW, are the nicest Mob in the world) threaten to fly around the world to “come pay you a friendly visit” and you sell your entire Brittany Spears Collection just so you can bet it ALL on double-zeroes... again....

All of those (and many more) are good reasons to quit something.  But not getting you way is NOT one of them. (I love a well placed double negative!)  We told her that she was eventually going to get to play goalie.   Everyone gets a chance to play all of the positions.  She just needed to be patient and trust in her parents and coaches words.  And, no matter what, keep trying!  That was now going to be her new focus and getting her to understand this was mine.

To recap:  The first game... She played. She made a couple of mistakes. She cried... and cried... and did I mention... CRIED! Soccer is too hard. Playing goalie is “easy” because she gets to use her hands.  And that’s where we will end because it’s leads into the next post about the following Saturday... A Tale of Two Kiddies (Part 3)

A Tale of Two Kiddies (Part 1)

She was the best at times, and was the worst at times, she’s at the age before wisdom, she’s at the age of foolishness, blah, blah, blah.  You get the point.  She’s a 5YO.  So, what exactly am I yapping about? After much blood, sweat and debate, my wife and I decided to sign our daughter up for America’s 17th favorite past-time (just below Cow Tipping and Water Ballet... SOCCER. (That would be FOOTBALL for everyone else outside of the US of A.)


This past weekend, my middle child (5YO) played in her very first soccer (football) game.  We couldn’t have imagined how this day was going to turn out.  (Really, we could... if we had just remembered most of the days of her young 5 years of life.  As parents we sometimes forget history when we are excited for our kids.  It gives us the wonderful experience of learning the same lesson more than once.)  We glossed over ALL of the warning signs designed to give parents a heads up on how to predict the behaviors of our offspring.  

It’s kinda like those parents who insist on taking their crying, whining or otherwise LOUD children to a movie or a dinner at a nice restaurant.  You know your kids.  You know they are going to be bothersome.  Being a parent you give up the right to have any kind of fun whatsoever until the kids are old enough to take care of themselves... stay home.  (My wife and I dodn't have a problem with this because we didn't go anywhere.  We don’t and didn't have any money. So we never took the kids out in public... until now.)  But this was one time we just acted like new parents and threw her into soccer (football). So the blame is really on us.
 

Everything started fine.  And by everything, I mean the walk from the car to the field was fine.  When she got out to the field she noticed there were people like her (with the green shirts on) and people not like her (with the purple color shirts on).  Something wasn’t right here.  So I told her the purple shirts were the OTHER team.  It was the team she was to play against.

Up to this point, she had only been at soccer (football) "practice".  Everyone was on the same side. There were no teams.  Only friends sharing a common goal.  So, in her mind, she had to come to grips with this new scenario and it meant she was going to have to play against another team.  But more importantly, It meant she was going to have to SHARE the field with some other kids she didn’t even know.  Well... she HATES sharing (just ask her little sister).  So that was officially the first flag in her mind.  And the game hadn’t even started.  At this point I should have used my fatherhood skills to explain "competition" to her.  I kind of quickly glossed over it.  We have been trying to get her to "cooperate" and now we were having to teach her to be stingy.  And I'm OK with that.  But I knew I was going to have to have the competition talk.  (This is the equivalent of the sex talk the mothers have the have with the daughters.  Just trust me on this one.  Men and competition will be a whole 'nother post.)

When I finally do have "the talk" about competition, I’m not going to use great historical rivalries like: Lakers vs Celtics, Packer vs Bears, Red Sox vs Yankees, University of Tennessee vs Alabama or even (within the sport itself) Liverpool vs Manchester United. No, those don't have the impact.  I need to use something that shows MUCH more of a battle.  I need to use something that epitomizes competition at a child level.  I need to explain what childish competion is and still makes sure it relates to soccer (football) so my 5YO can understand.  

So when I have this conversation, I will give her a live lesson and soccer (football) lesson at the same time.  I will explain soccer (football) using the best child-like competitors in the history of the US: Democrats vs Republicans.  (Yes, it's political but it's not that bad.  I'm talking to a 5YO for goodness sake.) I fugure this is the perfect way to explain the difference in Cooperation (sharing and compromising: basically, what we’ve been trying to teach her) and Competition (me vs you, win, lose, compromise = lose/lose).  So, I imagine my explanation will eventually sound a little like this.


The Democrats vs The Republicans make it to the World Cup.  The Republicans immediately tell the referees (much to the dismay of the Democrats) that they will not be needing their services.  They feel that less of them (referees) trying to control everything would make for a much better game.  The Democrats, of course, don’t agree.  They feel more rules and people watching over everything keeps the teams honest.  

So, the Democrats want to not only KEEP the current referees but to also hire MORE refs.  They just can’t really find the money to pay this new labor force.  (Minor Detail)  The Democrats and Republicans continue to fight over this one little issue... for hours and hours and hours and hours.  The crowd gets restless because they thought they were going to watch soccer (football).  But before the two sides can come to an agreement, compromise or resolution they BOTH decide to start the game anyway (typical).
 

The Republicans get the ball first.  (I’m not sure how that happened but it always does.)  They take the ball and keep it only on their side of the field.  A strange strategy to say the least.  The Democrat think this is a horrible, unfair tactic.  They feel that the best game for the fans would be one where the ball is “spread around” between the two teams.  The Republicans assure the Democrats that through the logical progression of the game itself the ball will eventually “trickle down” to them... on a flat field.  (Hmmm...)  The Democrats feel that’s a flawed logic and the only way for the ball to ever get to their side of the field is to go get it! They decide that that Republican tactic is not only unfair but also does a terrible job showing the true meaning of the game. 


So, the Democrats talk to the rules committee and they create a rule on the spot.  The rule states that it doesn't matter whether they go get the ball or not, the Republicans HAVE to give it up after a certain amount of time.  When the Democrats get the ball they completely enjoy what it means.  And not only that, they enjoy it so much they decide that EVERYONE should have a ball to play with.  This creates a small problem since there are 20+ players on the field and there is only 1 ball.  That doesn’t matter to the Democrats.  As a matter of fact, even after the numbers are presented, they PROMISE that everyone will have a ball to play with whether they want one or not.  The Republicans laugh at this because they see the math... and it doesn’t add up.  They see the 20 players on the field and only 1 ball.  How will the Democrats manage this mathematical impossibility???


The Democrats refuse to be limited by logic and go to the fans to ask for more money.  They explain it’s the right thing to do.  The fans should give more money to purchase more balls.  The fans originally think that’s a great idea because they want a fun game to watch.  And more importantly, they just want the game to start!  They really want to see what their taxes... I mean, ticket prices paid for.  But while they are waiting to hear all of the sides on this issue the Democrats decide to get the money from them whether they want to give it or not.  They do so in the name of the “best interest of the fans” clause.  They really feel this will start the game.  But, for some reason... it still doesn’t.  

Then to insure they are elected to play in the game next season, the Democrats AND the Republicans decide that working together is the only thing to make sure the fans get what they paid for and to get this game started.  They figure they will work together for the benefit of the fans and to insure a better game for all.


The only problem is that no matter how much they say they are working together, they are on different sides of the ball.  No matter the good intent of either side, one side is ALWAYS trying to take the ball from the other side.  Then the Democrats say "we have a right to play here, we are entitled" and the Repubs say "yeah, but we own the park and here are our guns to prove it!" Then it just starts an all out brawl! 
 
And, basically, in the end, you find a whole lot of people kicking the ball around but no one is actually playing soccer (football).  Surely, my 5YO will know what I mean.  Kids can figure out a few things before grownups do sometimes.


I guess I will end this one there.  I got off on a tangent.  Who would have known that explaining soccer (football) would be so tiring?  I did all of that and I didn't even get into the Tale of the first Kiddie.  That will be my next post.  I promise.  Stay tuned for what I was really planning on writing about with my next post.

Greatest Blog Post Ever

This is the greatest blog post in the world...

...tribute. (Thank you Tenacious D)

I was putting together... (Hmmm.... I need something stronger to show the significance.) I was  assembling... (Still not there.) I was designing and constructing from the atomic level up what was going to be the greatest blog post to EVER be displayed in digital format!  (better) It was complete with plot and subplot with an occasional sub-subplot on the side.  It had action!  It had adventure!  It had guns and knives and puppies.  (Don’t ask.  I’m not sure why I grouped those together either.  And if you ask why I did it I will be forced to make up something that sounds pleasing to the both of us even though we would both know it’s a lie.)  

It had mystery and romance.  (Probably had a little more mystery than romance since, one, I know a little bit about and the other I have absolutely NO clue at all about.  I’ll let you figure that one out on your own because I will never tell. (See... pretty good at mystery part.)  It had earth, wind and fire. (The elements were there, not the band.  Although, there were already plans for the band to show up in the made-for-tv movie.)  And then to top it all off, there was a complete section just on naked mole rats!  (I hope your filter didn't block it because I used the word "naked"... twice.)   As you can see, this blog post would easily have been the first blog entry in the history of the world to win a Pulitzer.  Now, why am I not able to bring you this (potentially) award winning post?  I blame my wife.

My wife took my words (which I’m surprised didn’t glow with the power of the ages) and tossed them into the trash.  You have to know something about my wife.  She has this weird thing where she wants our home to be clean.  (I know... the nerve, right?  I mean... who even does that cleaning thing anymore?)  It’s not at an OCD level (except on those really special occasions like when company is coming over) but she likes the place to generally stay clean.  If I had known that BEFORE we got married...

But anyway, she just threw them away.  I had carefully scribbled all of my important words onto the back of an envelope and placed on top of the entertainment center where important papers are supposed to go.  I thought that location would automatically give the paper an inherent level of elevated stature.  I was bold enough to defy the unwritten rule of not putting "paper" on top of the entertainment center.  So that should have let her know right away how truly important those words were.  (Honestly, I think the unwritten rule was actually WRITTEN but my wife was cleaning one day... well, you know the rest.)

Also, the words were on the back of an envelope.  They weren’t on a regular sheet of paper like mere common words.  These were specially designed words written on specially designed paper.  See the connection?  My words were meant to carry a message.  Envelope... message... That’s the level I’m talking about right there.  You would have had to raise your level of consciousness to even get though the first paragraph.  The post would have been life changing.  

And I know some of you are still doubting the idea to scribble such important words on the back of an envelope to begin with.  And to those (who are obviously not writers)...  You never know when or where the inspiration will hit you.  You have to take what is in your environment to make sure the words are immortalized.  I can’t begin to tell you how many of my blog entries breathed first life on a couple of sheets of toilet paper because that’s what was available.  (After reading that last line I realize that sounds kinda disturbing.  But it just goes to further my point that you never know when you will be inspired.  It might be a sound.  It might be a smell.  You just never know what will inspire you.)

I did all of that warn you that the next post will not be as great as it would have been if I had been inspired at a different place or time OR if my wife didn’t like things to be clean and orderly.  The kids and I have been trying for years to change her way of thinking... It’s not working.  So that means you will be stuck with the reheated leftovers of one of the greatest meals of your life.  And if you are ok with that I will see you in a few days.