• Life is a classroom.

    Beth, with her faux medical bag in hand, explains “this will just take a minute daddy.” She opens her bag and produces a stethoscope. She puts the ear pieces up to her ears, pulls up my shirt and reassures me, in her best bed-side manner: “this won’t hurt daddy, this won’t hurt, this will just take a minute daddy. . . .There, you feel better now daddy?”

    Where does she come up with this stuff?

  • A Nice Story.

    On the day your first child is born you are at once overwhelmed and at peace.

    When he or she first learns to walk you are enveloped by a sense of wonder; things you typically took for granted seem like tiny miracles.

    When he or she first learns to talk its like their personality is finally breaking through the shell of infancy.

    When he or she first defies you, you question wether you patience will hold out for 20 odd years (or longer).

    When he or she first brings punishment upon his or her self, you fear that you have been too harsh.

    When the punishment is over, you really want to apologize.

    When he or she first falls asleep on a long car trip they are at once the picture of innocence.

    When he or she first climbs up on the roof, you wonder how the hell they got up there.

    When you read this, relax, I made that last one up.

  • When the alarm doesn’t sound.

    About two years ago, my department gave everyone a personality test. This test gave everyone a score based on how strongly each of four defined personality types appeared in a person. One of these defined types, labeled “gold”, was for those who valued rules, structure, organization, well defined plans, thinking things out ahead of time, and being well prepared. Since taking this test, I’ve held the notion that Cheryl had more gold than a goldfish.

    Well, a certain “gold” individual had their worst nightmare come true this morning. I woke up on my own this morning and immediately determined that it was much too bright outside for 5:45 am. I went through a hopeful, half awake “is it the weekend or am I late for work” self examination before succumbing to the awful truth; I was indeed late for work (or soon would be). Depending on the type of person you are, this realization speeds the waking process significantly. As you can probably guess by now, the alarm did not go off. Without naming any names, it appears. . .aw hell. . .CHERYL did not remember to set the alarm. Being a sworn non-gold person**, this awoke a healthy dose of anxiety even in me. Cheryl on the other hand was having tremors that likely registered on seismographs out west. Since she had more responsibilities, and would get into more trouble for being late, I volunteered to diaper, dress and deliver the young one on my own.

    Now Beth is accustomed to getting up with us at 5:45. The normal routine is to get her up, give her food, turn on the TV, and let her do her thing while we get ready for work. After we are ready, and she has had a chance to eat (or smear half chewed, formerly dry cereal in her hair like mousse – one of the two), we get her ready and head out the door. I followed this same formula this morning. It was apparent that Beth knew something was amiss (and I found it amusing) when she walked into the bathroom while I was shaving and said, “daddy, something is wrong. The clock doesn’t say five this morning!” What could I possibly say to that?

    **Slowly but surely, I feel I am being pushed to the dark side by an unstoppable, determined force; Cheryl.