Winter Sunshine





Kick Rocks.

Oh HI! First picture aside, I need you to know this is NOT a feel-good blog.

In fact some audiences (particularly the 2 and under crowd) may find this story of injustice quite disturbing. I know I do.

It all started innocently enough. I mean there I was, just out for a brisk walk under the cloudy Portland skies.  I had my fancy pants on and my dashing yellow slicker.  .

And then, to my delight, I found a delicious looking rock.

I had a little nibble, and I mean to tell you: it was one tasty rock!

And then my mean old mom said in a mean old voice, "NO! You may NOT EAT THAT ROCK."

I was like, "WHAAAAAAAAAAT!?"

"You CANNOT even be serious Mom!"

Then I didn't even have words to convey my overwhelming, nay debilitating, sense of loss and grief.

And I couldn't even bear to look at my mean old mom for depriving me of a rock I found of my own accord.

And that's the end. No fairy tale ending where I'm reunited with my special rock.  Nope.  As I said, a troubling story of injustice.  Sorry if I ruined your day.


Home Movies

Some days I have to clean poo out of the foot of footsie pajamas.  Some days I find fruit smoothie splatter on the ceiling.  Some days I have to put 2 of 3 children to bed 2 or more times.

But joy always wins out.


Mad Scientists

Jo last year:

Baylor this year:


One and Fun.

Ohhh hai.

Guess WHAT!?


And I can hardly contain my excitement, though Jo & Bay are showing exemplary restraint.

Which is sort of the same way they acted when I first met them.

I was a little skeptical myself.

Then I realized how much fun they were.

Until they weren't.

Then I got big enough to defend myself.  But not big enough to grow hair.

Then I got a rabbit for protection.

Then I declared myself the golden child, above reproach.  But still no hair.

Now that I'm one I am officially old enough to be the boss of this house.

And I rule with a (chubby) iron fist. Hee hee.



A few thoughts on this picture...

1. As shown here, my personal mantra is "If it swims in the sea it's not for me."
2. I'm wearing my FATHER'S shirt in this picture.  It fits me, and I was 4 years old.  So I can only imagine how it looked on him.
3. My mother was apparently in the midst of a goose-with-neck-ribbon decor phase.


Happy Birthday Dad!

Today is my Dad's birthday.

He is 58 years young.

I remember when he turned 30 and got a skateboard for his birthday.

And then did a handstand to prove he still could.

And then fell and dislocated his shoulder.

What can I say about my Dad? What would I say to him if I had only minutes to share some parting thoughts? Well, funny you ask! It just so happens that last time I flew I was pretty sure I was going to die.  There was a moderate amount of turbulence and the woman in my aisle was crying. Since I am a sympathetic panicker, I naturally assumed an emotionally fatalistic state and penned what I was certain would be my goodbye letter.  I am fully aware this is ridiculous.  But while I was quite nauseous from all the bumping and tossing I managed to eek out a few coherent thoughts, including this part to my dad.  Now if it sounds a bit over the top and dramatic, well just remember that I thought I was dying.  And if THAT sounds a bit over the top and dramatic, well welcome to Luke's exhausting life :)

Dad, you are one of the best relationships I have.

I have always, always wanted to make you proud.

And I have always, always known I have.

I know the depth of your love for me even if you think I cannot possibly understand.

I do- because it is the same way I feel for my own children.

I love you Dad!