Monday, December 27, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Today is the Best Holiday of All The Happy Holidays
I'll be expecting your Happy Half-Birthday wishes sometime in the next 14 hours.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
So Instead of President A. Talmage Howe, Look for President Asher D. Howe Circa 2070.
Talmage has just picked up a swearing habit. He says "Oh my gosh," ONLY HE DOESN'T SAY GOSH. I'm not sure where this comes from, as neither Tyler nor I swear. I'm blaming society.
Asher, on the other hand, can accurately identify Jesus in any painting of the Savior. Even if it's a picture of Christ with the twelve apostles, he'll appropriately point to the right figure and say "Jeezzz!" I also have no idea where he learned this. But I'm pretty sure I'm going to take credit for it.
Asher, on the other hand, can accurately identify Jesus in any painting of the Savior. Even if it's a picture of Christ with the twelve apostles, he'll appropriately point to the right figure and say "Jeezzz!" I also have no idea where he learned this. But I'm pretty sure I'm going to take credit for it.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Because I'm Asher's Favorite
Asher's cutest quality is that he absolutely worships his dad. I have no bias in saying that. When I walk through the door, he shrieks "Dad!" with as much gusto as you would expect the average person to shout "Fire!" given the right set of circumstances.
Being Asher's favorite has it's good points and it's bad points. On the good side, Asher will always start the day happily if I get him out of his crib instead of Laura, he reaches for me to snuggle when he is hurt or sad, and he does that joyous shriek thing every time I enter the room. On the bad side, he would like to make sure all things that belong to Daddy are taken to Daddy.
This is rather cute when Asher wants to bring me my wallet and keys. My watch, glasses, and shoes are alright with me as well. But lately, Asher has started to bring me things I would probably prefer he didn't. And so, on that note, here are the top three worst Asher-to-Daddy deliveries of the month:
3. As I was walking up the stairs, I heard a big thump on the hardwood floor. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Asher greeted me clutching my Mac laptop to his cheek and saying, "Dad!"
2. A few weeks ago I was completely drugged up on Nyquil and asleep in bed. I believe I was awoken by a similar loud bang on the hardwood floor, but I'm certain I was awake to hear Asher's footsteps and the dragging of a heavy object. Asher entered the bedroom saying, "Dad!" and lugging behind him my $3,000+ camera.
1. Just this morning I was in charge of the two boys alone, and I decided to slip into the shower. I was only in there a few moments before I rinsed the soap from my eyes to see Asher sticking my iPad through the shower curtain, smiling, and repeating, "Dad!"
So, I have the unconditional adoration of a 21-month old and a soaking-wet iPad.
But, the iPad still works . . . God bless those Mac people.
Being Asher's favorite has it's good points and it's bad points. On the good side, Asher will always start the day happily if I get him out of his crib instead of Laura, he reaches for me to snuggle when he is hurt or sad, and he does that joyous shriek thing every time I enter the room. On the bad side, he would like to make sure all things that belong to Daddy are taken to Daddy.
This is rather cute when Asher wants to bring me my wallet and keys. My watch, glasses, and shoes are alright with me as well. But lately, Asher has started to bring me things I would probably prefer he didn't. And so, on that note, here are the top three worst Asher-to-Daddy deliveries of the month:
3. As I was walking up the stairs, I heard a big thump on the hardwood floor. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Asher greeted me clutching my Mac laptop to his cheek and saying, "Dad!"
2. A few weeks ago I was completely drugged up on Nyquil and asleep in bed. I believe I was awoken by a similar loud bang on the hardwood floor, but I'm certain I was awake to hear Asher's footsteps and the dragging of a heavy object. Asher entered the bedroom saying, "Dad!" and lugging behind him my $3,000+ camera.
1. Just this morning I was in charge of the two boys alone, and I decided to slip into the shower. I was only in there a few moments before I rinsed the soap from my eyes to see Asher sticking my iPad through the shower curtain, smiling, and repeating, "Dad!"
So, I have the unconditional adoration of a 21-month old and a soaking-wet iPad.
But, the iPad still works . . . God bless those Mac people.
This Is For Those Of You Who Find It Funny When Michael Scott Yankee Swaps Phyllis' Handknit Hot Pad
I've done a number of humiliating things in the name of service.
1. I served a mission.
2. I've danced as a Corny Collins' dancer at East Mill Creek park in front of the general public.
3. I've taken swing dancing lessons.
4. I've choreographed dance numbers for many teenagers who have no interest in dancing.
5. I've performed Rindercella at the ward picnic.
6. I've taught a number of gospel doctrine lessons that I learned alienated potential friends from whom I learned later that because of those lessons, they thought I was "snobby."
7. Did I mention I served a mission? Because on that mission while I was training a companion from Marseille, France, I took her bus contacting. I spent the whole ride enthusiastically greeting people and talking to the cute little old ladies who entered. When we got off the bus, my companion turned to me and said, "I want to go home. You looked like you were handicapped."
I've been okay doing all these things. I think people wonder if I enjoy it. Let me go on record and say, no, I don't like singing tone-deaf versions of "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" to large audiences of critical Quebecois. I thought I didn't care what people thought about me enough that I could spout out spoonerisms in the name of building Zion. But the last 24 hours have taught me that I do care, a little.
Tyler and I were put in charge of the dancing portion of our ward Christmas party. Last year, cute Russ Ence taught this adorable Christmas line dance which ended with everyone spontaneously breaking out into waltzing around the gym. The organizer of last year's event wanted the same spontaneity. Only he wanted me to plan it. And he wanted me to plan it to occur right as people had just filled their plates and sat down to eat.
I was the ward Christmas party sacrificial lamb.
Tyler was asked to MC the slaughter. He announced that the dancing portion of the evening will begin, and, recognizing that this might be difficult for people, given that they just began eating and had no desire to get up, invited specific people to join us, among them, Jared Johnsen, Mark De St. Aubin, and Russ Ence. Now you should know, I've seen from this collective group of men Zac Ephron impersonations involving dancing and lip-syncing to "Get Your Head in the Game," Joseph Smith speeches to gas station attendants, spontaneous Arnold Schwarzenegger impressions during testimony meeting, and heckling of the stake patriarch.
NO ONE CAME TO SAVE US.
Tyler and I line-danced BY OURSELVES for 4 minutes 28 seconds. People avoided my eyes. Friends pretended they didn't know me. One person booed. Not even the person who organized the event came up to join us.
I missed the Hammers.
And then, AND THEN, we were to lead everyone in a "spontaneous" couples dance. After our previous display, everyone remained glued to their seats. So Tyler and I showed off our pathetic swing dancing skills (skills that I acquired because I was asked to build Zion by choreographing a swing number for the unwilling teenagers) because swing dancing was easier than slow dancing in front of several hundred people. We didn't do it at our wedding. Last night wasn't the time either.
Afterward, in the nursing lounge of the bathroom, I discovered that tears are the instinctual reaction to humiliation. They just come.
This morning I read the blog entry of my dear friend whose 2-year-old daughter has been diagnosed with leukemia. They shaved her head this week and after the last of her thinning but silky locks fell to the pillow, she reached up to her head, touched her newly bald pate and said, "I want my hair back."
Some people give more than me. I can offer my dignity on the altar of the Lord.
1. I served a mission.
2. I've danced as a Corny Collins' dancer at East Mill Creek park in front of the general public.
3. I've taken swing dancing lessons.
4. I've choreographed dance numbers for many teenagers who have no interest in dancing.
5. I've performed Rindercella at the ward picnic.
6. I've taught a number of gospel doctrine lessons that I learned alienated potential friends from whom I learned later that because of those lessons, they thought I was "snobby."
7. Did I mention I served a mission? Because on that mission while I was training a companion from Marseille, France, I took her bus contacting. I spent the whole ride enthusiastically greeting people and talking to the cute little old ladies who entered. When we got off the bus, my companion turned to me and said, "I want to go home. You looked like you were handicapped."
I've been okay doing all these things. I think people wonder if I enjoy it. Let me go on record and say, no, I don't like singing tone-deaf versions of "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" to large audiences of critical Quebecois. I thought I didn't care what people thought about me enough that I could spout out spoonerisms in the name of building Zion. But the last 24 hours have taught me that I do care, a little.
Tyler and I were put in charge of the dancing portion of our ward Christmas party. Last year, cute Russ Ence taught this adorable Christmas line dance which ended with everyone spontaneously breaking out into waltzing around the gym. The organizer of last year's event wanted the same spontaneity. Only he wanted me to plan it. And he wanted me to plan it to occur right as people had just filled their plates and sat down to eat.
I was the ward Christmas party sacrificial lamb.
Tyler was asked to MC the slaughter. He announced that the dancing portion of the evening will begin, and, recognizing that this might be difficult for people, given that they just began eating and had no desire to get up, invited specific people to join us, among them, Jared Johnsen, Mark De St. Aubin, and Russ Ence. Now you should know, I've seen from this collective group of men Zac Ephron impersonations involving dancing and lip-syncing to "Get Your Head in the Game," Joseph Smith speeches to gas station attendants, spontaneous Arnold Schwarzenegger impressions during testimony meeting, and heckling of the stake patriarch.
NO ONE CAME TO SAVE US.
Tyler and I line-danced BY OURSELVES for 4 minutes 28 seconds. People avoided my eyes. Friends pretended they didn't know me. One person booed. Not even the person who organized the event came up to join us.
I missed the Hammers.
And then, AND THEN, we were to lead everyone in a "spontaneous" couples dance. After our previous display, everyone remained glued to their seats. So Tyler and I showed off our pathetic swing dancing skills (skills that I acquired because I was asked to build Zion by choreographing a swing number for the unwilling teenagers) because swing dancing was easier than slow dancing in front of several hundred people. We didn't do it at our wedding. Last night wasn't the time either.
Afterward, in the nursing lounge of the bathroom, I discovered that tears are the instinctual reaction to humiliation. They just come.
This morning I read the blog entry of my dear friend whose 2-year-old daughter has been diagnosed with leukemia. They shaved her head this week and after the last of her thinning but silky locks fell to the pillow, she reached up to her head, touched her newly bald pate and said, "I want my hair back."
Some people give more than me. I can offer my dignity on the altar of the Lord.
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