Certain Things Should NOT Be Tolerated

January is about to come to a close, so it is time to wrap up the month with a variety of leftovers, some ranting and who know what else. As always, your feedback is welcome!

Adult Partners

Julie had the following response to my hint that the Cub Scout term "adult partner" (used in place of "parent") irritated me in some unspecified way.

I have two students in my class who are foster children. If they were to attend a scout meeting and you referred to their partner as a parent, they probably would explain, "Oh, he's not my dad". Wow! How would it feel to have to say that in front of a group of boys lucky enough to have their biological fathers with them? If acknowledged as an adult partner, no explanation needed, this child is now like everyone else at the meeting and not singled out.

I will now explain the reason for my irritation with things rather than express that they irritate me and leave the reason unclear. Because I agree completely with Julie's observation regarding the importance of being sensitive to the specific
boys in scouts. If I didn't know all the boys in my den, I would use the generic "partners" until I knew if I could use "parents", which is my preference.

The policy per se was not my beef: rather, I am upset at the need to have such a policy. When did we become a culture where boys are considered "lucky" (to use Julie's word) to have their fathers involved with their extra-curricular lives?

Steve and I recently argued about who should receive the benefits of a legally recognized marriage, and my primary argument is that the nuclear (or nu-cu-lar, if you prefer) family is the building block of a stable society: Dad, Mom and child(ren). A government can and should afford extra benefits to its citizens who form themselves into these families, because those families benefit the government (society).

Since I believe we risk destabilizing the entire culture by de-valuing the traditional family, I also believe we are well on our way to you-know-where in the proverbial handbasket. So much so that it is unlikely that boys in a scout group will have a parent involved with them. So we need a policy to address that appalling reality.

God help us.


If You Are Still Reading...

Sponge Bob is not gay. Neither is Buster from the Arthur book series. Of course, nobody said they were, so everyone should just knock if off already.

The problem? Social conservatives view every attempt to discuss "tolerance" in public schools as a Trojan Horse for unleashing an attack on traditional values. Social liberals mock them for being hypersensitive, homophobic, ignorant and - this is the most offensive of all -- exclusive.

Both sides are wrong. Liberals promote "diversity" of every type EXCEPT for diversity of thought: being conservative and traditional are intolerable, for example. Conservatives let their belief in "right" and "wrong" spill over from fundamental matters of faith to areas where tolerance is to be preferred, becoming self-righteous and judgmental instead of humble and loving.

I personally think that "tolerance" is overrated: certain things should not be tolerated.

(That sounds like a terrific slogan for a t-shirt. Maybe I'll have some printed up and sell them online!)


Speaking of Selling Online

It was suggested this week that I should point a link to my fastest rising affiliate, since I was willing to link to my current best selling affiliate and have tolerated Blair's links to his own site.

Agreed. Let the world know their name: TV Products A2Z


The Other Foot's Shoe

Let's imagine for a moment, shall we?

The President selected a woman who is black to be Secretary of State, the first black woman who would serve in that role in the country's history. Her appointment was approved in the Senate, but 13 white senators, lead by a former member of the Ku Klux Klan (Robert Byrd, W.Va.), voted to oppose her.

What if the President had been a Democrat, and the white Senators Republicans?

Hmmm, let's imagine. Every race-baiting, hate-mongering civil liberties spokesperson in the country would be demanding impeachment, if not criminal charges, for the Senators. Major papers across the fruited plain would have front page headlines outraged over the unmistakable discrimination.

But the President is a Republican, and the Senators Democrats, so there was not a peep in all the land.


Strunk and White - My Heroes!

For my 41st birthday I received the book "Elements of Style" by William Strunk, Jr. and E.B. White, (yes - THAT E.B. White).

Technically speaking, it is an English language textbook that contains elementary rules of usage, principles of composition and commonly misused words and expressions. Others might scoff at such an offering, but I am thrilled. How could you not love the following advice from "Chapter V: An Approach to Style"?

Put yourself in the background.
Do not affect a breezy manner.
Avoid fancy words.
Prefer the standard to the offbeat.
Be clear.

It may not do anything for you, dear reader, but I love it!


Valentine's Day Placemats

I came home from work the other day to find the Valentine's Day decorations had been retrieved from the attic and placed throughout the house. Coming into the kitchen through the garage door, the first thing I noticed was the pink and red, heart- and cupid-covered placemats on the kitchen table. Because of the way my mind works, I was reminded of something we learned at Brite Divinity School in a class on worship.

The different seasons of the church are identified by their association with specific colors and symbols: white at Easter, evergreens at Christmas, etc. Our professor suggested the presence of these colors and symbols in the church was a powerful and important reminder of the current season. The seasons, he argued, were cyclical and reassuring reminders of the continuity of the church and the orderliness of God's creation. "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1 The colors and symbols remind you where you are in the world.

Our boys grow up in a house where the year is broken up into seasons, too, each one represented by its designated colors and symbols. Each season is a period of anticipation for something wonderful which marks the end of that season, but the beginning of a new season. For example, the current Valentine's Day decorations will go up to the attic the same day the Easter decorations come down.

If I may extrapolate from my seminary lesson, then Austin and Braden experience the world as somewhat more secure, more joyful, more predictable because of the colors and symbols Shelley uses to decorate our home. Each time the Valentine's placemats come out, the boys know a breakfast party for the school kids in our neighborhood is approaching, as well as chocolates and goodies from their grandparents. Easter decorations foretell church, extended family and baskets of more goodies. And the Christmas decorations - well, forget about it!

How lucky (there's that word again!) they are to have a Mom who marks their lives with symbols and colors of the seasons. To grow up knowing where you are in the world, to look forward constantly to a celebration, to experience life as reassuring and predictable: these are all good things for our boys, and a great blessing to witness.

Happy February!

4 is the Loneliest Number

Pinewood derby was yesterday, and Austin's entry "The Flying A" was the best car we have ever entered. He consistently finished 1st or 2nd in the eight qualifying heats they had for the Webelo 1 division, which featured 13 cars of various designs and speeds. By finishing in 3rd place overall in the heats, he was able to advance to the final round, featuring four cars from the Webelo 1 Division.

In the finals, four races are run, with each of the cars running once on each of the four lanes, (in case one or two of the lanes are running quicker than the others).

"The Flying A" finished in 3rd during the 1st heat, and in last the other 3 heats, making him the 4th place car in the Webelo 1 division.

1st - 3rd place get trophies. Last place gets a "Scenic Driver" trophy. So the most heart-breaking position in which a scout can finish has got to be 4th place, knowing you were so close to the trophies and yet going home with a pocket full of squat!

Thus, when Austin got home, he proceeded to place his car in the trash can, in perhaps the most dramatic scene I've witnessed since Jodie Foster's on-screen depiction of a "tay in the win" in the movie 'Nell'.

Once we got his post-melodramatic-stress-disorder under control, we went to the store for a pint of Blue Bell's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, and it was good to be Austin again.

"The Flying A"

An Eclectic Visual Bouquet? Of What?!

Anecdote #1

Shelley: "Braden - what's your name?"
Braden: "Baden."
S: "How old are you?"
B: "Two." (Holds up several fingers.)
S: "Did you know your whole name is Braden James Horst?"
B: Silence.
S: "Can you say Braden James Horst?"
B: (Storm passing across his face.) "Dub duh uh Ma-ee duh ub truh-bull."
S: "What?"
B: "Dub duh uh dub Ma-ee duh ub dub uh truh-bull."
S: "Oh no baby - just because Mommy uses your full name doesn't mean you're in trouble!"

Anecdote #2

Not one, but two #2's today from our (dare I say it) potty-trained [past tense] 2 year old. [Note to self: buy lottery ticket with as many 2's as possible.] Sheila has stepped out on faith and boxed up all his diapers to give to charity. Austin continues to use the potty exclusively, except for campouts and the occasional urgent circumstance on the golf course. That makes 2 potty trained children, though I don't mean to 2-t our own horn (not 2 much)!

Anecdote #3

Austin completed assembly on his pinewood derby car today. I took all the parts to work this morning to weigh on our postal scales. "The Flying A" weighs in at a trim 4.8 ounces, below the 5 ounce limit but not too far below. (Remember, the car is shaped like the letter "A" when looking down at it.) He and Shelley voted for the name "The Flying A" over my preferences "The A Bomb" and "Kicking A", which was never even really given a chance. I hope to post a picture (my first) of his car -- ideally beside a trophy of some sort -- this weekend.

Finally

I am preparing my longest post ever: an end-of-the-month roundup of your reactions to previous posts, short rants and other tidbits which did not make the cut for a prior post. It should be up by Monday night, so please mark your date books for Tuesday morning! Current topics include Secretary of State Condi Rice, Sponge Bob and Patrick Star, an ode to Mssrs. Strunk and White, and Valentine's day place mats.

In other words, an eclectic visual bouquet of miscellany and whatnot. Woo-hoo!

Life Offline

Okay, so I'm sure everyone who sets out to create a blog as their new year's resolution runs out of steam about January 20th: things get a little busy, work starts gearing up, the usual stuff.

Then there are emails and calls reminding you that you need to write again, "we miss your stories", etc. It's late, but I think I promised someone today or yesterday that I would write tonight. So...

Business has really picked up online, and I have found myself preoccupied with web page "work" instead of "play". Steve has emerged as my fasting rising affiliate, with sales this month coming nearly every day, and often more than once a day. Sadly, they are mostly of the "Richard Simmons Disco Sweat - DVD" variety, (a payday of $1.73 fyi), but there are bigger sales, too. Not bad, considering the advertising budget for his site is $0, to my knowledge. He still remains second banana behind Mom and Dad, whose site Grand 8 Marketplace continues to generate "pennies from heaven" (as Mom calls their commission checks).

The potty training has had mixed results, though the pee-pee is nearly 100% in the potty at this point. Poo-poo is still a bit dicey, but Braden messing his pull-ups is truly an "accident" now, as the norm is going to the potty. Vocabulary this week has focused a great deal on "boke" and "fick it". Example: "Oh no Da-ee, Bay-un boke dub uh toy. Da-ee fick it?"

Austin had a very successful sleepover with a friend from school Friday night. I emphasize successful because he has tended to get antsy around bedtime in the past and call the whole thing off. But he enjoyed himself a great deal, and he and the boy he stayed with worked on some props for their "Destination Imagination" team. Too late and too tired to go into an explanation of DI - some other time. Like when I catch everyone up on the story about the anniversary cruise Austin "gave" us.

His pinewood derby car is wickedly cool, though I'm sure that is a "stupid" way to describe it. I listen to him incorporating slang and [teenage?] jargon into his daily vocabulary and it makes me want to sit in the rocking chair. Current 'fingernails on a chalkboard' expressions include "gay" meaning "anything stupid" and "dude" meaning literally anything. He says "dude" like I say "uh" when I preach - that is to say, about every 10th word or so. He is still a sweet, goofy kid though, and I cherish that sweetness because I know it has a short shelf life until the expiration date sometime around his 13th birthday.

Had an interesting meeting with the "double-secret sermon inspiration task force" at church Monday afternoon. Several members of the staff meet every Monday to give the Senior Minister ideas/stories/scriptures to use in his sermon. They met with me Monday to help me get ready for February 13th. [New working sermon title: goodandfaithfulservant.com!] Several helpful ideas, but the thing which sticks out the most was the curmudgeon of the group telling us all his theory that the Internet is the Anti-Christ.

I'm going to take a moment so you can let that sink in.



I had neither the time nor the patience to explore this theory, and the rest of the group gave him the "it's a tool, and like all tools it can be used for bad OR for good" speech, and then changed the subject. Sadly, the subject was my comparing building a successful Internet website with being a good and faithful servant of Christ, so the Internet kept coming up. [Key moment for the message: "Millions of people are searching every day - what, as Christians, can we offer to help them find what they need?]

Okay, it seems goofy reading it, but when I preach it with my finely-tuned "10% Billy Graham, 90% Gomer Pyle" delivery, there won't be a dry eye in the house!

I See Your Raise Blair, and Call

Because my little brother Blair was so tacky as to post a comment on my blog for the unspeakably self-serving reason of creating additional inbound links to his most popular product pages, I have been forced to respond.

Behold my greatest page ever! The Ab Scissor - Body By Jake

As Sean Connery's character said in "The Untouchables",

"They stab one of yours, you shoot one of theirs. They put one of yours in the hospital, you put one of theirs in the morgue. It's the Chicago way!

Of course, I have stayed up until 3am to finish de-bugging my code, so who knows what price I will pay for my escalation of the on-line rivalry!

Good to Great

I got a CD recording of the contemporary worship service from December 26th, when I preached at our church, Cypress Creek Christian Church and Community Center. The minister gave it to me in his office after worship, and asked me to preach on February 13th. I am going to find a way to incorporate some of what I have learned about the Internet and marketing into my message - the working title for my sermon is "Viral Christianity". More details to follow, but you are all invited...

My ego being what it is, I had a listen to the sermon in my car on the way to work this morning. If I had the time and inclination, I would count every "uh" I said during that sermon and smack myself in the head once for each time. Everyone in that church has been very kind with their feedback regarding the two times I have preached, but listening to that sermon reminded me that I should be grateful I don't have to make a living preaching.

My favorite part of the message was an explanation of the Stockdale Paradox, as written by Jim Collins in the book "Good to Great". The Stockdale Paradox describes the way Admiral Jim Stockdale survived eight years as a prisoner of war in Hanoi. He said, “Retain faith that you will prevail in the end, regardless of your current difficulties; AND AT THE SAME TIME have the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current situation, whatever they might be.” (My emphasis - not in the original.)

Admiral Stockdale said that the prisoners who did not make it were "the optimists" - the one's who would say "we'll be home by Christmas", and then when Christmas passed they would say "we'll be home by Easter". Failing to deal with the brutal facts of their situation literally cost them everything.

Denial is a powerful and terrible thing, and part of my new year's resolutions is facing situations head on, being brutally honest about what is really going on in my life. I'll try to spare everyone the gory details: these posts are not some pseudo-therapeutic exercise. Just bits of this and that.

Though I have definitely received the feedback that more stories about the boys and less promotion of the TV products would be appreciated! I'll see what I can do...

Most Unusual

This was one of those weekends when I feel like it is over before I got any down time at all.

Two things contributed to my missed days off: a Cub Scout field trip to the Houston Museum of Natural Science on Saturday afternoon, and potty training. Where to begin...

Austin and six other scouts, plus four adult partners, additional siblings and one spouse made the trip to the museum, intending to satisfy several requirements for our Geology Activity Badge. I use the term "adult partners" in lieu of "parents" because the BSA guidelines strongly encourage the use of that term to prevent potential psychological harm to scouts with non-traditional "partners" (grandparents, aunts/uncles, nannies, CPS case workers, deadbeat boyfriends, anyone). I have promised myself not to rant on this site, so I will leave you to imagine my thoughts and feelings about this recommendation. The boys in our den are all fortunate, I guess, in that each of their "adult partners" is also a biological parent.

The museum was interesting, with an impressive collection of minerals and other rocks, all of which held virtually no appeal for any of our boys, but which captivated the father in our den who is a geologist by trade. (His wife - also a geologist - was the lone spouse to join us.) The boys were patient though, and walked through the entire exhibit without complaining constantly about wanting to go see the dinosaurs. Okay, they complained some of the time about wanting to go see the dinosaurs. Hey - I wanted to get out of there and see the dinosaurs.

When we did get to the bones, I am sorry to report, the exhibit unleashed whatever impulse it is which resides in devout "creationists" and devout "darwinists". We weren't halfway through the exhibit when someone brought up an article they read recently about human remains found with dinosaurs bones in the digestive tract, throwing the current system of understanding the age and sequence of the earth and its creatures into severe doubt. The geologist - who I happened to like very much - proceded to put on an impromptu clinic about scientific method versus faith and belief. I was unable to participate in this debate as the boy I was assigned to as my "museum buddy", (neither of his "adult partners" made the trip), had me pinned down with a mind-boggling description of his dream home, including snake shaped topiaries, velaciraptor alarm clocks and an animatronic T-Rex which was programmed to scare the life out of all visitors. The thing I like least about being the den leader for this group is having to split my time among all the boys, instead of giving all my attention to Austin. He had one of his best friends as his "museum buddy" though, so I don't think he missed me too much.

We spent an hour or so tonight working on his pinewood derby car: a classic wedge design (think doorstop) that looks like the letter "A" (for Austin) from above. Got the basic shape cut out, and tried to make sure Austin was doing the majority of the work. We enjoy making the cars, and have really been impressed with the designs of our two previous entries. But the only trophy he has won for all his efforts was a "Most Unusual" trophy last year. Shelley and I were somewhat embarassed, because Austin was really proud of his design and we hoped the car would actually be fast, or win a "design most likely to indicate brilliance and unlimited future potential" trophy. But Austin smiled from ear to ear over that silly trophy. (Note to self: to a 9 year old, ANY trophy is still just that: a trophy!) It is up front with all his other trophies, and is only slightly less cool than the raingutter regatta trophy he won three years ago.

As for the potty training, let me say this. Braden is the child who zigs when you expect a zag. We dreaded potty training, knowing it was going to be very difficult. He is so strong willed, we anticipate a fight just about every time we tell him to do anything, nevermind something he hasn't done before.

So it should go without saying that potty training went off without one #2 accident and only one #1 accident - all weekend. This means it has been Friday since anyone has changed a poopy diaper at our house! (Actually, that deserves a double exclamation!!) He was very proud each time he went, and we danced and sang and paraded him through the house every time he went, too. All weekend we would ask him, "Braden - are you still dry?". To which he would respond, "Yes". (Not sure when he switched to "yes" from "shuh", but he has. Sounds almost like "yeth", but the "th" sound is very light. Still, the "s" sound isn't that clear either.)

Having had 5 years of a potty trained child before Braden was born, I have a fresh, fond memory of life without diapers. With that happy thought in mind, I think I'll go to bed.

Of Pills, Mess and Tonters

Recent conversation at my house during a diaper change.

Braden, lying on his bed - diaper removed - passes gas.
Braden: "Ma-ee, hey-dat?"
Shelley: "Yes Braden, I heard that."
Braden: "Uh tonter Ma-ee. Get you!" (Begins growling like a monster.)

No matter what the parenting books say to do in that situation, I don't know how you keep from cracking up. The child tried to convince his Mom that his gas was a monster. You can't make this stuff up.

Braden's vocabulary continues to grow, frequently with his own modifications and often to our amusement. Current favorites include "pills", which means "play dough"; "mess", which means "medicine"; and "vi-see", which means "vitamin c". His new word of choice is "shuh", which rhymes with "duh", is spoken in a quick exhale, and which we believe means "sure". "Shuh" has replaced "kay" ("okay") as his preferred affirmative response to our questions. Example: "Pay pills, Da-ee?" "Will you keep the play dough on the table this time Braden?" "Shuh."

Austin is well, though he has become the frequent target of biting by our innovative family linguist. He always screams, (to get our attention), then yells, "Don't bite me Braden!" We think the dramatic response is actually encouraging the nibbling behavior, and have instructed Austin to drop the screaming and hollering, and come to tell one of us instead.

We don't know if this will work, but it just seems wrong not to do anything!

Body by Jake - Cardio Cruiser

Body by Jake - Cardio Cruiser

The hot new exercise equipment we have been waiting for at my As Seen on TV website "eShop Til You Drop" is finally here. Rushed to get the product page built tonight so I could bid on search terms at Overture before the rest of the partners and affiliates of Permission Interactive got after it. Once the big boys get in, it will be too expensive for me to bid into the top three spots, (which is where all the action is), so I had to get in early.

Besides speed, my other big "strategery" is bidding on mis-spellings. Last spring the big product was Cortislim, and I sold a ton of it on the search term "cortaslim". As many people were searching for "cortaslim" as for "cortislim", but the price of the first spot in the search engines for "cortaslim" was a fraction of the cost for the correct spelling. When I kept hearing ads for it on the radio, I knew people would be searching for it phonetically, and voila!

I feel like I have learned quite a bit about the workings of search engines, and optimizing websites for search engine placement. Two years ago I never dreamed I would be able to program even a simple site, never mind learn the ins and outs of optimizing a website for higher rankings. It is rather incredible that three search engines control almost all of the Internet search results, (Google, Yahoo, MSN), so a business that only exists on someone's computer can make a million bucks by building their site to be attractive to those three sites.

Last year I sold $500,000 worth of "As Seen on TV" products through my websites, and I just barely know anything about html programming and have taught myself only basic search engine optimization. It just boggles the mind.

With any ambition at all, I would collaborate with Blair and write a "Sell a half a million dollars worth of stuff with my proven techniques" eBook and profit from the knowledge I have learned during this venture. The only problem is, anybody with half a brain could put me out of business entirely. Maybe I'll just keep my "proven techniques" to myself!

Then again, Entrepreneur Magazine lists "Search Engine Optimization" as one of the hot business ideas for 2005, (December 2004 issue). Maybe I should create a website devoted to selling myself as a "proven" expert in SEO and wait for customers to beat a path to my door.

In the meantime, I think I'll keep my day job...

Taco Bueno? Muy Bueno!

Immediately after dropping off the boys with Shelley's mom in Buffalo, TX my loving wife leans over to me in the car and purrs, "Would you like to know what I am giving you for our anniversary?" My heart racing, I practically screamed "Yes - yes!"

"I am going to let you stop at the first Taco Bueno you see so we can have lunch there."

I would almost certainly fail - no matter what efforts I undertook - to explain adequately how deeply I was moved by this gesture. So I won't bother. Suffice it to say, those were real tears of joy I wiped away as we got back on I-45 headed north to fine, fast mexican food.

But in a rather "Gift of the Magi" twist of fate, I gave back to her my Bueno lunch rights for a wonderful, albeit late, lunch at P.F. Changs in downtown Fort Worth. You know you are in for a charmed weekend when the waitress brings your entrees, and one of them is Honey Seared Chicken - which neither of you ordered - so they bring out the correct entree and leave you the chicken, too! The Szechuan Noodles were tasty, the Mongolian Beef divine, but the Honey Seared Chicken was our favorite of the three. And not just because it was compliments of the Chang family!

We stuffed ourselves so thoroughly that, for the first time I can remember, we did not get even a small popcorn at the movies. We saw "Meet the Fockers", and it was a funny movie, but immediately forgettable. We laughed out loud many times though, which is what we wanted.

Saturday we went to see "The Aviator", and it was so long that it made the movie literally painful to sit through. [Note to self: in the future, don't drink a large Coke at the beginning of a 3-hour movie.] Wait to rent this DVD, then plan on watching it over two nights: as two 90-minute movies, I think it would be very enjoyable. The Katherine Hepburn story line was my favorite part of the movie, and the actress who played her stole the movie.

Driving out of Fort Worth today, we stopped at a Taco Bueno and had a chicken-chilada, a beef burrito, a taco, and two muy grande Cokes, before getting gas.

But then, when you eat at the Bueno, I guess that last part goes without saying...

How Else?

What more appropriate way could our anniversary begin than by having Braden crawl into our bed @ 5:00am, "blanky", stuffed cat, stuffed dog and spill-proof cup in tow? He was wide awake, and our efforts to deprive him of any sensory stimulation as he snuggled in beside us failed to coax him back asleep. After wallowing on us for about 40 minutes, he finally grew tired of our boring attempts at slumber and crawled out of bed. Snoopy was lying on the floor on the comforter and pillows we peel off the bed before getting into it. (How else should a princess sleep?) Braden crawled into the middle of Snoopy's "bed" and said "Hey girl, dub duh dub a treat?" With the dog now allied with Braden in the wide-awake camp, both left the bedroom, Braden closing the door behind them.

As we listened for what these two might get into, it was not long before we heard Snoopy scratching at the door, aware she has been lured from her bed under false pretenses (a treat). Meanwhile, Braden found the Christmas toy with the loudest, most obnoxious noise-making capability and began to torture us from the living room with it's cruel melody. (Think "It's a Small World After All" - once you hear it two or three times it is in your brain, forever.)

Something tells me our first order of business in Fort Worth this afternoon will be a nap. And not a nap in the sense I mean it when I tell Austin on Saturday mornings he is to watch cartoons with his brother while Shelley and I go take "a nap". I'm talking about trying to get back the extra two hours sleep we missed this morning.

DEVELOPING STORY: Austin just pulled us into the living room for the delivery of his anniversary present. Two months ago he apparently began coordinating a fund-raising campaign among our parents to sponsor a cruise this summer. I'm sure there is much more to this story, but I am dangerously close to being in trouble with my wife for being on the *%&#@! computer this morning. And trouble with Shelley on our anniversary just won't do.

The First Decade

Tomorrow is our 10-year anniversary. We’re going to Fort Worth for a 3 day weekend, with big plans for seeing a couple of movies, watching TV, eating croissants and browsing through the Barnes and Noble bookstore downtown and taking our sweet time doing it.

Of course, I will forever associate this Barnes and Noble with my strangest brush with celebrity to date. Immediately following his keynote address to the Southwest Society for Human Resources Management conference, James Carville apparently had free time on his hands. He killed it by walking around this bookstore, and I passed him on my way to the Starbucks in the back. There was the Ragin’ Cajun himself, looking at books on Texas Hold ‘em Poker, and here was me, carrying the flagship newspaper of conservatism and capitalism (the Wall Street Journal) on my way to a hot cup and a precious hour featuring zero interruptions. It was all I could do not to roll up my newspaper and swat that shiny, bald head of his. “Bad liberal. Baaad liberal!”

While ordering my inexcusably over-priced coffee, I remarked to the young female behind the counter, “Well, I bet it’s not every day you see James Carville just looking around the bookstore”. Her jaw slackened as she asked, “Who?” But her body language said, “Who cares, old man? I’m just trying to get through my shift without jabbing one of these long, metal coffee spoons past my multiple piercings and into my ears to keep from hearing any more exhausting chatter from all the middle-aged doughboys coming through here every day trying to be young and hip, even though they carry the Wall Street Journal under their arm and use words like ‘body language’ and ‘flagship’.” “Nothing,” I mumbled, taking the receipt so I could submit it on my expense report and retreating to a table by the window.

Did you ever get a little buzz from being close to someone famous? Even though he is an obnoxious, Cajun freak who gave a crummy keynote and is so puny-looking in person you know he got picked last for dodge ball, he is still famous. And it was definitely cool just strolling by him not three feet away, looking disinterested and unaffected. The whiplash from having that cool vibe slapped away by some bitter coffee barista barely old enough to vote was unpleasant, and strange.

But Fort Worth is not a town I associate with liberal media darlings, it is the town I associate with MY darling. Our first date was to an Ian Moore concert at the (now closed) Caravan of Dreams in Sundance Square. Subsequent dates involved dining out, making out and just hanging out downtown. We were married there in the First Christian Church, spent our first night together as husband and wife at the Worthington Hotel, and will forever get the feeling of falling in love again whenever we are there together.

It was during those dates, with Shelley, in downtown Fort Worth, 10 years ago that I began to heal. Rehabilitation of my fractured heart began the first time she and I talked on the phone, and I have been cured for quite some time now. There is still some pain there from time to time, but there has not been one minute of one day since I married her that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with Shelley. Being loved by her has made the thought of life without her unimaginable.

I’m going to try to find a way to tell her that this weekend.

Home Alone America

I got an email from a friend and former co-worker today. She is quitting her full time job to stay home with her baby boy and 9 year old daughter. Since her son was born, she has been juggling job, marriage, parenting, homeownership and trying to have a life, too. Over the last month, she has decided that the daily requirements are just too much. As she put it in her email, "Quite simply, I hate it - and this is no way to live."

I emailed back to tell her how happy I am for her, and her kids, and her husband, and (reluctantly) for her cats, as well.

One of the least romantic Christmas gifts I have ever given Shelley was a book given this year entitled "Home Alone America - The Hidden Toll of Day Care, Behavioral Drugs and Other Parent Substitutes". It was intended to celebrate and reinforce her sacrifice in staying home with the boys.

This last year has been very difficult financially for us, with no relief in sight. But we have decided to continue struggling, as nothing could be more important than her being home with the boys, full time. "Being there" is, more or less, what this book says matters most as a parent. We don't have to be masters of child psychology or early development experts. We don't have to be patient 100% of the time, brilliant 100% of the time, or giving our children 100% of our attention. As Woody Allen said, "Eighty percent of success is showing up." Shelley is here every day for the boys, and I am home every night around 6:00. Everything else is gravy...

Anyway, I am very happy for our friend, who has no clue how her family is going to make ends meet without her income, but will have a happy, messy, busy, wonderful time figuring it out!

Blue over the Orange Bowl

There is 12:47 left in the Orange Bowl, but I can't take any more. OU has just turned the ball over to USC again - OU may be close to having as many fumbles and interceptions AS THEY DO POINTS. First OSU gets waxed in the Alamo Bowl, now this. It's almost enough to make me rip the "lucky" OU shirt off my back and bury it in a dark corner of the closet until March Madness rolls around. (Hmmm - happy thought: March Madness!)

Austin had an appointment with an Ear, Nose and Throat Doctor today after school. His nighttime nose bleeds, horrid breath and increased hearing loss in his right ear concerned us enough to have him checked out. Nothing serious came from the evaluation. Enough wax to fashion a birthday candle was removed from his right ear. No tumors or cysts or other unwelcome things were found, nor infections. He may have acid reflux, (who knew that could cause bad breath?), so we got some samples of Prevacid to give him for a few weeks. Don't get me started on "acid reflux disease". What did our ancestors do without a $90 bottle of pills to take for every sniffle or belch? Sucked it up, that's what. Good grief.

Austin's greeting when I got home from work tonight? "Hey Dad - the inside of my nose was on TV today!" The doctor scoped his nose, which he would have thought was much cooler if not for the discomfort of having a tube-shaped camera up his nose. Plus the novocaine she sprayed in his nostrils tasted bad.

He is very excited that his teachers moved him today to a work table where his best friend Gibby will be sitting beside him. Prediction: the teacher will grow weary of asking the two of them to stop being silly/talking/laughing before my birthday.

Braden was "on one" today, as his mother likes to say. Two hours spent in a doctor's office this afternoon was not helpful in managing him, and he was still wild tonight. We spent the first 15 minutes or so of the Orange Bowl wrestling on the floor of the living room. He loves to bounce on his dad's stomach, tackle/hit/pinch me, ride the horsey - he's so much more physical than his brother was. I wonder if we were too scared of 'breaking' Austin when he was a baby, being new parents. Is that why, when Braden came along, we were much more comfortable being physical with him? Or was he just a 10 pound bruiser who came out looking for a good tussle?

We're certain of this: when he says "Da-ee peas" it's pretty safe that "Da-ee" is about to do whatever he's asking. (After all, "peas" is the magic word!) "Peas" makes me receptive to just about anything, including the popular "pay toys", "come on", "ow-sigh" or "Bob-Pants" (his beloved DVD).

But his favorite word right now is definitely "hep!", (meaning "help" we believe). It is a word he always speaks loudly as if he were in danger, therefore the exclamation point. Examples: Braden, lying on his back on the ottoman, "Ma-ee hep! Hep! Braden fall down, dub dub dub boo-boo." Or Braden, being carried to his nursery for a diaper change, "Ma-ee hep! HEP! Da-ee, dub uh dub duh chain diaper." Shelley worries that Braden might have a stutter, based on these staccato "dub" words he uses so frequently. I think he is just filling up sentences with noises in place of words he doesn't know yet, in-between words he does know how to use. Like "hep!" or "knee-cack-uh". (As in this common exchange from Christmas, 2004. Q. "What does a nutcracker say, Braden?" A. "Huh-woe huh-woe -- knee-cack-uh!")

Well, it's about time to surf over to ESPN.com and read all about the most unbelievable comeback in Orange Bowl history. Is that asking too much?

What if I said "peas"?

Who am I and why am I here?

break.fast - The most important meal of the day.

e.piph.a.ny - Understanding the essential meaning of something by sudden realization.

break.fast e.piph.a.nies 1. An obvious word play on the title of the classic movie Breakfast at Tiffany's 2. Writing about life intended to inform, update, challenge, inspire, re-frame or amuse.

Posts on this blog will feature our observations about life, our children, our Internet business and who knows what else. New Year's resolutions include creative writing on a regular basis and doing a better job of communicating with my extended family about our lives. We hope to accomplish both with this blog.