Tag Archives: Jesus

My Christmas Card to You

Sometimes if we have Christmas cards left over I will wait until Dec. 22 and mail them out to our “fringe friends” just to make them feel guilty. This year I thought I would try to get on the good list for once and share what we sent to our friends and family with you. It can’t be all great but even with the weak parts, it is still my favorite time of the year.


This is me. Christmas morning nineteen eighty awesome


Some parts of Christmas make it the best time of the year. Other parts, not so much.


  • The look on tiny faces as they peer up into the attic anxiously awaiting the first box of Christmas decorations.
  • That moment when the tree is finally lit and decorated and the floor is vacuumed and you can sit back and take in one of the first moments of Christmas.
  • Electricity is in the air, presents are being hidden, elves are up to mischief, children are on their best behavior. The anticipation starts to build slowly and if you’re lucky it becomes almost tangible.
  • The best sing along music of the year, even when your wife tells you to let Whitney hit the high notes in O Holy Night by herself.
  • Pausing the hustle and bustle to read aloud about what happened that night in the little town of Bethlehem.



  • Shouldn’t Christmas decorations come with coupons for couples counseling?
  • Sorry honey, I tried to dry my hair without following the steps on the Christmas light electrical flow chart you made and now all the lights in the house are out.
  • Stands of Christmas lights that only light halfway are the reason for the first spiking of eggnog.
  • I think I just found a Frasier Fir needle in my underwear.
  • Do people still use the word tight to mean cool? Because that would make me feel better about how last year’s Christmas sweater fits

I hope you have a safe and wonderful holiday and 2015 brings happiness to you and yours.


I lost a dear family member this year that was one of my favorite people to laugh with. We made this the day we were remembering him. Miss you Uncle Wayne.



Oh, one more thing. I got to be part of a very cool project this year and join with 30 other writers to create The Big Book of Parenting Tweets These writers are insanely funny and I was honored to be included with them. If you are a parent, have a parent, know a parent, or are thinking of becoming a parent, you should buy this book. It is full of short snippets of the raw and honest side of parenthood and it will leave you laughing out loud. Seriously, it is great. Ok, pitch over.


I’m not saying it can teach your kids to read but I think this photo speaks for itself.



A Handful of Spaghetti and Other Toddler Delicacies


Well, At Least She is Eating 

I wonder how much it would cost to get a drain installed in our kitchen floor?  I could probably justify a couple of benefits of having one but the primary reason is that more often than not, our little one needs to be hosed off before leaving the table after a meal.  She is learning to use utensils and it is great to hear her gurgle out an “I got it!” as she bites down on a fork load of food.  Let’s be honest though, she might as well be eating soup with a slotted spoon.  Last night we had spaghetti and we are perfectly content with robbing our second of the cute picture of spaghetti all over her head and face.  We let it happen with our first and there are just some things that you learn from aren’t worth repeating.

She was bibbed up and things started well as she managed to keep some cut up noodles on her spoon.  Flash to 15 seconds later and she is downing sauced up pasta by the handful.  The horror recedes from her mother’s eyes as we both realize that she is in fact eating and we know that utensils and cleanup are only battles but nourishment is the war.  We try to help a bit but accept the mess she is making.  That is, until our united family front begins to crack in weakness.  Our well-behaved 5-year-old makes the mistake of laughing at the little one and one little chuckle is all the encouragement our little ham needs before she attempts her best spaghetti juggling routine and delights in the laughter of her sibling.  Before long she has her parents laughing as well and she is relishing her role as the star of the show.  We manage to get a few more bites down her hatch between giggles and then flip a coin to see who gets bath duty and who gets to clean up the dinner massacre.

I got kitchen cleanup and asked myself what  CSI’s David Caruso would do?  After taking my sunglasses on and off a few times and squinting my eyes to survey the damage I went to work.  A roll of paper towels later we were finished and our freshly bathed kids still had a case of the giggles.  It may have been an epic mess but at least she was eating and even if you have to navigate nostril peas and hair dipped in yogurt, knowing your kid is fed is sweet.


My Greatest Fear Has Become the Rogue Sippy Cup 

Is there anything worse?  You find a sippy-cup under the couch or behind the toy-box and your prayer begins.  Dear Heavenly Father, please show me your grace and mercy and let this cup be full of water, and if it has to be full of milk, please give me a sign so I can throw it away when my wife isn’t looking so I don’t have to wash a white festering clump of rot out of this thing.  In Jesus name, amen.  You may start and end your prayer differently or address it to someone or something else but there is no mistake that in that moment we all hope for some kind of divine intervention.  You try to remember the last time you saw the cup in the active rotation and what was in it but it is no use, the princesses and the Dora’s and Minnie Mouse’s all run together you don’t have a clue.  You walk to the sink and play a version of parenthood roulette as you twist open the lid and pray for the best.

I used to think that finding a forgotten sippy-cup was the worst thing possible, until last week when our little one upped the ante of horror and disgust.  She walked into the living room holding a sippy-cup that neither of us had just given to her.  My wife and I exchanged glances and like a scene from a movie both lunged as the word NOOOOOOOOOOOO bellowed out of each of us.  Diving to save our little one, I batted the cup from her hand but it was too late.  The sip of septic gross combined with the scare of having her dad punch a cup millimeters away from her face may very well result in a hefty therapy bill one day.  Not sure if this one had juice of milk in it but the sour odor was already escaping the nozzle and the fruit flies swarming around it made the decision to throw it away an easy one.  Contrary to any opinions that may be forming, we are not unfit parents and go through lots of wipes and elbow grease  trying to maintain a suitable living environment for our little mess machines.  Cleaning a house with little kids in it is like tossing buckets of water over the side of a sinking boat.  No matter how fast you go or how much headway you make, you are still taking on water.  Most messes are all in a day’s work and just part of the gig but the rogue sippy-cup is totally weak.

Jesus May be the Reason for the Season, but This is a Solid Contributor.


Keep the “Chewy” in Christmas 

If you were to take Christmas trees, baby Jesus, giant inflatable Santas, It’s a Wonderful Life, Stockings hung by  the chimney with care, wrapping paper, yuletide cheer, and Mariah Carey’s Christmas album and melt them all together in the Wonkamatic, you would be left with Brach’s Christmas Nougat.  For me, this is the King of Christmas candy.

It is easy to overlook this gem because much like the babe lying in a manger wrapped in swaddling clothes, the Christmas Nougat is often out-shined by those treats that found room in the inn (or in this case, the end-cap of the candy aisle.) I am not suggesting that a simple piece of candy can save us from our sins but I am reminding you that just like the Son of God, great things can often be very unassuming.

So when you are out in the hustle and bustle of Christmas shopping dropping $8 on Chocolate oranges or Toblerones (has anyone ever had a Toblerone outside of December or an airport?), remember to take joy in the simple things.   The humble Christmas Nougat wrapped in cellophane and lying in the bottom of a candy dish is totally sweet.


I have a Secret (and it has nothing to do with Santa) 

Today I am wearing socks that don’t match.  Now settle down, it isn’t as if I am sporting a brown and a blue or a striped and an argyle.  I simply have on two black socks with a very subtle thread pattern that happens to be slightly different on each foot.  Maybe I am the only one with this problem but I would suspect that out there among the masses there are other households with secret bags or baskets full of misfit socks that have lost their way.  It is often an intricate recipe of sock eating spin cycles, rogue socks separating into different loads of laundry, and a dash of “I folded all of these clothes, no way I am spending the next 5 minutes matching this sock soup at the bottom of the basket” that result in the odd sock stash.

I don’t understand that when I buy 3 pairs of navy blue socks they all have to differ just slightly enough that I am shoehorned into 3 combinations instead of the much larger number of options if any of the six socks could be paired together (I have a friend that will tell me what that number is on the off-chance he reads this thing, but I am too busy comparing candy to the Prince of Peace to be bothered with mathematics.)  Fortunately for me, my pants are long enough to hide this slight wardrobe malfunction and I will remember  that whichever leg I decide to cross, will be locked in for the rest of the day in social settings.  I have been toying with the idea of just throwing away the whole odd sock bag and starting fresh this year with socks that are the same and have colored toes or something to make them easier to identify and match.

I mean, seriously, I have a degree.  I have an important job in a professional setting, other people don’t do this right?  Standing in the laundry room barefoot clutching 3 different socks in my hand and rummaging through a basket playing my own little version of Where’s Waldo is totally weak.

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