Why is everything on Thursday nights?

So, tonight, there are four things I'd like to do (besides go home and fall asleep in a chair.)

• HIPE Fitness Level One class at 6:00 . . . 
• Springfield Tactical Shooters USPSA anytime from 5:00 to 8:00 . . . 
• Illinois State Museum is hosting a reception for area teachers at 6:00 . . .
• Hoogland Center for the Arts is putting on a Casablanca movie night . . . eating Moroccan food and watching Casablanca in one of their theaters.

These are all things I'd like to do, but I'm only one man. I didn't find out about the Casablanca night until this morning, so it was obviously far too late. Married people with children do not go out to movie nights on weekdays on one day's notice. So, that's out.

The museum event happens every year, and every year I talk about how I really should go this year. My wife attended it last year and said it was a lot of fun, but apparently it's one of those wine-and-door-prizes events. Essentially, somebody thinks all school teachers are women (or, possibly, that only the women show up for these reception events . . . might have something there) so they put together an event that caters to a certain stereotype of mature ladies having a wild night on the town. Wine and door prizes.

That leaves the STS USPSA night and HIPE Fitness. This is as much as I can manage in one night, probably. If I'm lucky, I can probably get to the range and get signed up to shoot by 4:30-5:00, especially if I help with setup. Then I can shoot it a couple of times before the biggest crowds come in and be out the door by 5:30. That leaves me enough time to get to the gym and get changed for the 6:00 class if everything works. My wife is going to the museum event, and she arranged babysitting for Number Three Son, so I don't have to rush home.

On Signaling and Subtext in Married-People Texting

"En route to get Sean. The expensive pistol class is full, but I'm first in line if someone cancels. We got this Cub Scout thing. Hope you're resting!" 

"Don't forget to take food coloring to the meeting with you." 

"Thanks! :D"

Now let's look at that in detail, shall we?

"En route to get Sean." 

Translation:   Don't worry, I remembered that I'm supposed to pick up our son. (This time.) As long as I continue to remember it all the way home, I will probably get him before the babysitter closes, as far as you know.

"The expensive pistol class is full, but I'm first in line if someone cancels." 

Translation:   Remember yesterday, when I brought up an Ernest Langdon pistol class in October, and I really wanted to go, and I suggested that maybe I'd take your van and sleep in the back, and you asked why not just get a motel? And I allowed as how the class is a little expensive, and you got me to admit how expensive, and then you sort of grudgingly accepted it, but you were fully on board with the van-camping concept, even though I'd started to think maybe a motel was more reasonable?
Well, by the time I contacted the class host, they were waiting on someone to confirm the last spot, and he did. So now there's no slot for me, which means you don't have to worry about how expensive it is! It's a clear win. However, I'm the first one on the alternate list and it would be unusual if no one canceled in the next two months, so . . . it's probably still going to happen. I'm considering stopping by the plasma donation place on the way home to see what the fund-raising potential really is.

"We got this Cub Scout thing." 

Translation:   I'm on such a roll, I also remembered to cancel gym night and will take the little Wolf to his cub scout meeting. Have you ever wanted me more feverishly than you do right now?

"Hope you're resting!" 

Translation:  I'm also sensitive and caring, so I remember that you didn't feel good this morning. I just hope you feel better and you're getting some rest before your work obligation tonight. Seriously, I am maxing this husband thing out today.

"Don't forget to take food coloring to the meeting with you."

Translation:  That's all very impressive and all, honey, but we both know you completely forgot about this. You should probably thank whatever is out there that you have me to remind you.

"Thanks! :D"

Translation:  Shit. I did completely forget about that. It's not a great feeling, but I'm buoyed by the certain knowledge that in five minutes I won't remember feeling bad about not remembering food coloring. I'll just wonder why I have "SEAN FOOD COLORING" written on my hand.

Yup, that sucked. (Thing One's first hour of independence, Version 1.1)

Before I give you this update, I want to give a more important one. This past weekend, Thing One called and asked to talk. He said that he'd been doing a lot of drinking over the weekend in the hope that he could forget his problems, but it hadn't worked, and he was sober and worried that night. We talked for awhile. He says he's applying for jobs and has a lead on a fast-food job that would allow him to pay his tickets and get insurance and licensing sorted out. He says he's resolved not to drive again until he has a valid license and insurance. And he says he's going to take things one thing at a time and not panic at the prospect of being sued for money he doesn't have. I waited for the pitch, the appeal for money, or the excuses to start, but they didn't come. He seemed to be very serious, and I want to give him credit. I'm sure there will be setbacks again, probably soon, but to me, this young man who wants to help people but has some growing up to do first is the real Thing One. This is why I'm on his side, even when I have to try to find the humor in his actions to keep from despair. Keep this in mind as you read Version 1.1 of his story of events--later on, he will begin to take genuine responsibility. It's just going to take a couple of weeks first.

If you missed the last installment, Thing One has turned 18 years of age (along with Thing Two.) Being 18 years old and thus a mature adult, he has moved out to seek his fortune. Unfortunately, not having prepared to take that step by holding jobs, saving money or securing his own transportation, he didn't have the means to go out on his own . . . so he arranged to have his biological mom, BM, pick him up and take him to her home in Wisconsin. If you want this post to make any sense at all, you're going to want to read "Yup, that sucked (Thing One's first hour of independence)" first.

Life with Thing One has taught us that, when he's in trouble, there's always another version of the story in the works. Don't like the version he told you? Ask someone else; he told them something different. Don't like either one? Tell him so and give him a day; there'll be a new version. Basically, if he were a fiction writer, mid-level management would love him; he's very responsive to notes and suggestions. When he was telling these versions to us, My Bride and I were in different states and I was hard to reach; the temptation to give us at least two different versions must have been too much to resist.

So what changed in Version 1.1?

• He told his mom (My Bride) that the occupants of the other car actually jumped out and switched places immediately after the accident, rather than staying put to be examined by him as he told me. This is a key detail because it allows him to continue to claim that the other driver must have been drunk. If you recall, the police tested the other driver at 0.04 BAC, but Thing One claimed that the passengers were more intoxicated. Note that I'm not claiming to know that the other drivers didn't pull a switch; I'm just pointing out that it's the second version of the story, not the first.
• He further explained to her, the next day after the accident, that he was greatly relieved to find that he would not be held responsible for the "totaled" vehicles . . . because the other party wasn't insured, either. His "theory of the case" holds that only insurance companies can sue drivers for damages, so he's in the clear. When I got the chance to talk to him, I explained that liability doesn't work that way, but Version 1.1 wasn't ready to hear that yet.
• Perhaps most intriguingly, Version 1.1 included a teaser/trailer for Version 1.2: Thing One told My Bride that "everything is going to be ok" because "SugarDaddy signed the truck over to me, so it's in my name now." When she asked what had been done and why, he refused to spoil the surprise, saying only that he was now the proud owner of the (totaled) truck and that this was somehow better for "SugarDaddy and his wife." Pressed for details, he blurted out, "I'm not going to do anything to mess up Bio-Mom's relationship with SugarDaddy!" and left it at that. How he came to believe that it would be his fault if Bio-Mom and SugarDaddy somehow failed to make their extra-marital affair work out was not clear, but personally, my guess is that someone in the household explained it to him.

Yup, that sucked. (Thing One's first hour of independence)

Not my circus . . . not my monkeys . . . not my circus . . . not my monkeys . . .

It's been over two weeks since Thing One left home.

Thing Two is doing better for the moment; he's spending his time doing a job search and just asked about purchasing auto insurance this morning. He's still quiet and withdrawn, still obviously working things out slowly, but he's trying.

#3 Son is making the most of summer, playing outside, going to the zoo, baseball games, museums, classes, and camp-outs.

My Bride is beginning to enjoy the peace of the household.

Thing One . . . well, he's having some trouble. It took them six days to make an eight-hour drive back to Bio-Mom's house, so they left at noon on Thursday and arrived in the early hours of the following Wednesday. It took him about another hour or so after arriving in his new home to crash a borrowed truck into an SUV with four occupants.

Luckily, no serious injuries. He's lying about "the drunk," but what else is Facebook for?

I know this because he called me at 3:00 AM to tell me that he really needed my help, and I rolled out of bed and left a cabin of snoring campers to go stand out by the bathrooms in the woods and listen to this story for half an hour.

Thing One's Version (1.0):

They "had car trouble," which was what obliged them to spend nearly a week about an hour from home before heading up to Wisconsin. When they finally went, they arrived in the middle of the night, and after they'd unloaded, somebody had to go for food. It is implied that Thing One is the only driver sober enough to go out, and it "just doesn't make sense to go to a restaurant." Everyone at the house knows he doesn't have insurance, but they all figure it's OK, because it's only a few miles. BM's (Bio-Mom's) married sugar-daddy, "SD," has foolishly left his truck at her home, so for some reason they send Thing One and his 13-year-old half-sister, HS13, in his truck instead of BM's vehicle. He gets about a mile down the street and comes to an intersection with a red light, but it turns green before he reaches it, so he heads on through. There's a "drunk driver" coming from the other way, though, and that dastardly character turns right into Thing One. Thing One sees that he's about to hit the drunk driver's car, so he lets go of the wheel and grabs HS13 so she won't hit the windshield. 

"JESUS, TAKE THE WHEEEEEEEEEEEL!"

After the crash, Thing One jumps out and checks on everyone. No one is badly hurt, though he and HS 13 have bumps and bruises. Neither was wearing a seat belt. There are four people in the other car, all drunk, all underage, none injured. But when the police arrive, they insist that the other driver doesn't count as a "drunk driver" just because she blew a 0.04 BAC on a breathalyzer. Apparently, you're not considered DUI unless you meet the legal standard of intoxication. Thing One is not drunk, either, but his mind is somewhat blown at this news. The police officers also ticket him for failure to carry insurance and for failing to stop for a red light. For reasons he does not specify, the police on the scene don't seem to buy version 1.0 of his story. They also have a conversation about the value of the other party's vehicle, the value of the vehicle he crashed (since it's not his) and his potential liability. At this point, Thing One does not seem to be aware that he is "judgment proof" because he doesn't own anything, and I keep that to myself for two reasons: first, because it's not an absolute guarantee that he won't be sued, and second, because I have a feeling that the next step is going to be to throw everyone as far as possible off the scent of SD's assets (and Bio-Mom's, if she has any.) Seems to me the obvious strategy would be to put as much liability as they can on Thing One as fast as they can. This is about to happen anyway, but why should I be the one to suggest the idea to him? The only regret I do have about keeping that to myself is that I could have warned him . . . but I didn't know specifically what they were going to pull, and they can do no wrong in his eyes anyway.

Version 1.0 of his story ends with him talking things over with Bio-Mom. She has a lawyer, you see, and she's going to sic him on that drunk driver and those cops, and they'll fight and win! Well, they'll challenge the red-light ticket, anyway, but apparently nothing else, because it's pretty hard to dispute that he canceled his auto insurance the day before he left home. In this version of the story, it's not a coincidence that Bio-Mom has a lawyer; he's been fighting to get her driver's license back ever since she lost it after her last DUI. That was news to me, too, especially after she drove here to pick him up.

He's out there learning on his own. Learning hurts sometimes, but it could have been a lot worse if someone had been badly hurt or killed.

In our next installment, we'll hear Thing One's Version (1.1) complete with retcons! As Heraclitus taught us in antiquity, "there is nothing constant in a bullshit story except change."

Overheard in the kitchen

Seven-year-old boy spinning in circles, chanting, "Two-is-one! One is None! Two is one! One is none!"

SUMMER CAMP! Camp Quest Kansas City 2.0 is GO!

I am not here. I am at Camp Quest Kansas City at Knob Noster State Park in Missouri, helping run a summer camp. This particular summer camp is the one you go to if you don't want to pray over every meal or learn how your body is like an unwrapped candy bar, but you also don't want to pledge that you are a social justice atheist-humanist warrior for truth.

We're just gonna swim in the pool, do science in the woods, talk about big ideas, play soccer in the field and sing songs around the fire. It's not entirely my usual idea of camping, but there's no internet or air conditioning.

I'll be back at the end of June. Try not to let any of my friends throttle any of my other friends while I'm gone. I promise I'll write stuff about whatever the internet is upset about when I get back.

BTW, for those of you following Thing One and Thing Two, Thing One did get moved out this week and made it to his biological mom's house. His Facebook status this morning was:

"theres nothing like a shit to sober you up in da morning lolol"

So that's apparently going well so far.

Thing Two got his driver's license and registered as an organ donor and a voter, and he seems like he's doing pretty well at the moment.

This is going to hurt.

The twins, Thing One and Thing Two, turned 18 today.

This was turning into a long post in which I tried to explain what we've been through during these boys' adolescence. It's a long list of reasons I have to be angry, to be heartbroken. There's really no way to explain it all in one blog post, but more importantly, there's no way to write about it without putting it all out into public, even if it is on a small blog nobody reads, and I just can't quite bring myself to do that to them. I don't know what they'll be like in ten years, but I assume the things I write about them on the internet will still exist at that time. Suffice it to say that I know everybody talks about how trying their teenagers are, but I'm not talking about normal teenage rebellion.

What matters today is what they've decided to do going forward.

Thing One has decided to move out and live with his biological mother a state away. She continues to blame all the abuse and neglect he suffered before he was removed from her home by Illinois DCFS (47 counts of child endangerment, if I recall correctly) on an unnamed male babysitter she left the babies and toddlers with one day while she was looking for work. He doesn't have a car or insurance, doesn't have a job, and graduated from high school by the skin of his teeth. He has a few hundred dollars saved and a few boxes of stuff to take with him. There's not much we can do about this except keep making it clear to him that he can come back to us if he changes his mind or needs help (as long as he's willing to live by our house rules--no violence, no threats, no drugs, and full cooperation with medical professionals.) This means that I'm going to have to have biological mom at my house today at noon. I honestly don't know how that's going to go. It'll probably be anti-climactic, but My Bride is taking our youngest son elsewhere pretty soon anyway, just in case. She can pull up out front, load up, and go. Anything else is going to be considered trespassing and will be dealt with by some poor schmuck who's getting paid to deal with it. I don't expect violence from her, to be clear, just drama, lies and emotional manipulation. It's a personal strength she has learned to rely on over the years.

Thing Two has made a better choice, under the circumstances. He never bothered to get a driver's license or a job, but he has saved almost twice as much money as Thing One. He, too, graduated high school by narrow margins. Both boys have expressed an interest in joining the military; neither was accepted. But six months ago, Thing Two was unpredictably volcanic. He told us and his psychiatrist over and over that he would not take his medications, and he told us he would never speak to a therapist again, nor would he talk to us about anything that was bothering him. About three months ago, he relented and began visiting a great therapist, then softened a bit on his other treatment, but he still maintained that he was moving out of our house when today came; he had nowhere to go, no car, no license, no job or prospects, but he insisted over and over that he would simply leave and be homeless so that he would no longer have to follow rules or deal with his mental health. We were scared, if I'm honest.

Only a week ago, Thing Two relented again. He now plans to stay here with us and make a step-by-step plan to work toward independence. He and I will go to the DMV today so that he can get a driver's license. He's been applying for jobs, and he will sign up with a temp agency in the meantime so that he can save up some money while he lives here. While he lives here, at least, he will continue to take his prescribed medication and to see his therapist regularly. We will help him any way we can. We'll help them both in any way we can, actually, but I don't think it's been clear to Thing One that he may be putting himself outside our capacity to help, and that scares me to death. But the day had to come eventually, and I guess I knew that.

So, if you don't mind, wish us luck, or pray for us, or whatever you do when you can't do something, because there's not so much for any of us to do for Thing One for the next little while except try to be ready for whatever happens next.

14 Years

Today is the 14th time this day has come around since I married My Bride.

We did a lot of things wrong, but we did some important things right. We jumped into marriage, not by marrying too soon, but by deciding to engage too soon and then refusing to consider whether we should re-think marriage. But we got away with it.

We bought a tumbledown money-pit of a house that is now our only debt, and proceeded to demolish a bunch of it and then bog down when we tried to get it renovated. But we got away with it.

Instead of paying back our school loans immediately, we went into debt to buy that house and a car and some appliances. It took us years to pay all that off, but we got away with it.

Then we adopted twins with severe learning and emotional disabilities brought on by years of abuse and neglect followed by years of sliding out of one foster home and into the next--twins whose abusive biological mother is a member of our family and thus could never be completely escaped. We knew we were accepting that there would be a strain on our marriage, but I don't think we had any way to conceive of how bad it would get. I know I didn't. But those twins are turning 18 in a couple of days, and although there are still big problems, there's reason to believe we may have gotten away with it, even though, in a stunning display of hubris, we added a third child seven years ago, because why not?

We've gotten away with all those things so far because we did a few big things right. We reached a decision point a few years ago, and we recognized it for what it was. We knew that we either had to be willing to change or to accept that the marriage was over. We chose to change. We consulted with professionals. We learned to talk to each other in new ways. We learned to share with each other the way Seneca told Lucilius to behave with a real friend, holding nothing back:

“Why should I keep back anything when I’m with a friend? Why shouldn’t I imagine I’m alone when I’m in his company?”

We paid off our debt (except that mortgage that keeps hanging in there) and decided not to take any more on. We've stuck by that for years now. We're slowly starting the process of finishing the renovation of our money pit, with much-simplified, much-less-ambitious versions of our original plans. We'll be renovating with an eye toward simple livability in order to sell the house for a profit in a few years and move. And the twins are . . . . well, the jury's still out on that one, but we're entering a new phase. One is looking for a job today; he's put himself in a tough position, but he graduated from high school and he's decided not to run away and be homeless when he turns 18, and that's something. The other will be moving out on his birthday to live with his biological mother. That's terrifying to us, but . . . it's his decision in the truest sense. We can't stop him and we can't take the consequences for him. And that's really it. We've put in the work and time to create spaces in our life that are for the two of us alone. They aren't much, but they've kept us together. They've been enough to remind us, when we need it, that we love each other and neither of us is willing to let this experience end.

So, for today, I'm not going to worry about it. Today I'm going to celebrate this woman who loves me so much. We're going to enjoy each other. We're going to enjoy our children today. We're going to have fun together. I'm going to make her laugh! And she will know that she is loved and safe and appreciated.

It's Monday . . . Here, Have a Turtle.

I'm working on something about how my holster habits are changing, but I want to go to the gym this morning and also help my son build a fortress, so . . . lotta deadlines. 

Yesterday was Father's Day, so we hit the state park and came back with pictures of turtles and snakes. Enjoy!

This little lady was digging in the gravel at the edge of the pick-a-nick spot when we arrived. I hope she wasn't trying to lay eggs, because we disturbed her. Unless she's male and he was just digging out a worm . . . also likely.

Look how smug! And hey, if you've ever wanted to retire by working way too hard in a beautiful place, that little restaurant/boat shop across the way is looking for new management.

"Look out, Indy!"

"Bro, do you even bro?"

So many snakes . . . not sure what these were, to be honest, but I wasn't totally sure they weren't moccasins, so we left them alone. They wanted no part of us, either, so it worked out.

Artsy.

We caught one living thing that day.

Aw Yiss . . . We Goin' to the Bike Shop, Girl

This is shaping up to be a great afternoon.

• The last day of student attendance is over.
• Paperwork is done.
• Grading and finals are nearly done.
• My Bride is coming over in half an hour, and she's going to take me to R&M Cyclery to look for her new bike. You wanna go ride bikes? We are going to ride bikes!
• After bike shopping comes Thai food, followed by a stop at Floyd's Thirst Parlor for an end-of-year celebration with her colleagues.

Catch-22: Life Insurance Edition

In which Yossarian discovers that you can't buy your life insurance cheap if you're Morbidly Obese, because people who are Morbidly Obese are at risk of dying of their obesity (that's what the "morbid" part is about, it turns out.)  And yet, if you decide that you do not want to be Morbidly Obese anymore because sunsets are beautiful and your children are adorable, you also cannot buy your life insurance cheap if you have lost too much weight in the previous six months.

One could suppose that Morbid Obesity is a sign of insanity, while movement toward Mere Obesity is a sign of sanity . . . the very thing Catch 22 is designed to punish.  However, it's probably a simpler mathematical explanation at work:  Morbid Obesity is one sign of impending (sweaty, wheezing) death.   However, rapid weight loss is another sign of impending death, possibly from (whispering) The Cancer or very possibly (again whispering) The AIDS.

Sigh.  It is to wait.

Wish Me Luck, Unless You're Uncomfortable Helping Me Pee . . .

By the time you read this (if anyone does) I'll be peeing and bleeding for half-million-dollar stakes.  Sounds kind of exciting, doesn't it?  And also gross?

Well, it's not very exciting by normal standards; I'm just taking a physical so I can buy term life insurance, because I am a wild thing.  Exciting for me, though, 'cause a year ago I was too fat to buy term life insurance.  That might seem like I'm exaggerating, but I applied through a broker and was told that because of my high BMI measurement, no company they contacted was interested in offering me life insurance.  I knew I was in a bad way, of course (my BMI would have been 47.5 at that time, if that means anything to you.)  But I had hoped that being alcohol-free, tobacco-free, with no personal history of diabetes, heart trouble, or other disease would count in my favor.  It probably did, but it didn't erase the marker with "180 pounds over healthy BMI range" written on it.  

Recently, though, I met with some financial advisors to get my retirement accounts squared away.*  I mentioned that I'd like to start looking for term life insurance, too, and they were eager to sell me some. Both were shocked to hear that I'd been turned away over weight, but then, neither has seen the photos from before I made my magical transformation from Morbidly Obese to Merely Obese (I've lost over 100 pounds, but my BMI is still about 35.  I have to bring that down to 29.5, losing another 55 pounds or so, before I can claim the coveted title of "Overweight."  They've basically made their offer; I think at this point I'm down to checking for undetected dry rot and termite damage before they place their bet on my survival.  

Anyway, long story short, when I realized that I'd allowed myself to get so fat that nobody was willing to make a bet that I wouldn't die in the next twenty years, it was one of those sobering moments you hear people whine about.  I didn't like it.  This is boring, white-bread, First-World stuff, but it's a whole lot better feeling.  If you can't leave a pretty corpse, leave a rich widow, I always say.

---

*No, I don't trust the Illinois Teacher Retirement System.  Didja know they have two of those?  Yeah, the Chicago teachers have their own separate system.  Whatever your feelings about public pensions, the hard fact is that Illinois government does not pay its share and hasn't for years, so while we continue to pay into the pension fund, each new generation of teachers has less and less reason to expect to be paid a pension from it.  I intend to plan retirement such that I can do it from my own investments; if we get pensions, it'll be like somebody's rich aunt died and we'll perform the indicated response.  What do you think a boat will cost in 2053?

The Willing Suspension of Disbelief.

I don't know whether anyone will ever read this, given the way I've abandoned this blog, but today I feel moved to write.  I'm going to try to balance discretion against the kind of vagueness that makes me hate Facebook sometimes. In short, I'll leave out some details, but I'll try to make some sense on the topic I've chosen: the willing suspension of disbelief.

You see, my beloved son, Thing 1, recently had a whirlwind romance with a young lady.  As is apparently the custom in the present day, they did not "go out" or "date"; they simply decided that they would be "boyfriend and girlfriend," exclusively monogamous and suitably jealous. Since his new young lady is a religious sort, Thing 1 decided that it would be best to blend in; he declared his love for Jesus and his devotion to the churchgoing life. I was tenuously supportive until I realized that he'd put out two versions of his newfound devotion:

• Parent Version:  "I've been thinking, and I think I want to try going to church with Young Lady. I think it might be good for me. Plus she says it's a lot of fun."
• Young Lady Version (paraphrased): "Who, me? Oh, hell, yes, I'm washed in the blood!  I've got the Son shining on me, baby! I have a close, personal relationship with Jesus; hell, He built my hot rod! I certainly know all about your particular brand of Christianity and endorse its tenets in full.  What are the odds, huh?"

It didn't take long for that to wear thin; without ever actually visiting a church, he decided about a week later that he would have to come clean. I don't know exactly what he said to the Young Lady, but he told me that he'd made it clear to her that "I'm an atheist so I don't go to church." 

Huh.

Now, I'm a fairly outspoken atheist myself, but that was news to me. He used to make noise about going to church whenever he wanted to rile me, and I'd simply suggest that he keep an open mind during the services and tell us all about it when he got home.  Somehow, it never reached the point of action, but I figured there were some vague notions of a vaguely Christian God and Heaven and Hell bouncing around in there. We talked about it a bit on a long drive, though, and he does seem to have come to the conclusion that he doesn't buy the Christian narrative.  Whether he sees the difference between that and atheism, an actual lack of any belief in anything that could be described as a god, I don't know yet.

And then . . . . well, last night he showed me that he's still capable of the willing suspension of disbelief.

He was explaining to me that an unidentified (to you, anyway) woman of our mutual acquaintance is actually, despite her decades of lies, abuse and neglect of children, quite trustworthy. I had just finished explaining that he should not take her words at face value because she had, and I think I'm quoting myself accurately here, "been lying both to and about everyone involved in this question since before you were born."  

This wounded him right in his most deeply compassionate feels, and he explained my error.  I had failed to take into account, you see, that she has now changed.  She's told him the truth about everything and made it clear how I, his mother, his grandparents and everyone else who loves him has deceived him.  Actually, when you think about it, she is clearly the victim, here. Unfortunately for him, he tried to prove it with a handy example of her honesty.  See if you can spot the flaw:

"She's been telling me the absolute truth about everything, dad. You don't know. She tells me everything, even when it makes her look really bad. She even told me about her DUI! She told me all about how it really happened, how she was riding in a car with someone else driving and she'd been drinking, and they crashed, and she passed out, and when they found her, she was in the driver's seat and the other guy was gone and she never found out who it was! Why would she tell me about all that unless she's trying to tell me the truth now?"

That's right; although he doesn't believe in God, and he doesn't believe in Jesus, the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus, he has clung to belief in one more supernatural force personified:  Sumdood, Punisher of the Innocent.  

Actually, I DO know what day it is . . .

It's my little sister's birthday . . . and her husband's birthday was a couple of days ago . . . . and their second daughter will be born soon.

They're kind of springy people.

Happy birthday, kiddo!

Overheard in the kitchen

ME: I should have scraped that paint off years ago. That's like having ten percent more window.
HER: Thanks! Bring me that razor blade?
ME: No problem. Yeah, so that looks . . . really good . . . . especially when you reach up for the top part and your shirt pulls up a little . . . .
HER: STOP THAT!
ME: Why?
HER: STOP IT!
ME: That's not why . . . .
HER: I mean it! I'm in front of the window! It's a window! IT'S TEN PERCENT MORE WINDOW!

Is that the one with the DeLorean?

Overheard in the living room:

Me: "Hey, look what's on that St. Louis channel: Airwolf!"
My Bride: "That a big deal?"
Me: "Airwolf was one of the finest television shows the 1980s had to offer."
My Bride: "I thought it was a movie? With that guy in it?"
Me: "Well . . . . maybe there was a longer pilot, I guess, but it was a series. It had Jan-Michael Vincent flying a futuristic helicopter and Ernest Borgnine as his mechanic."
My Bride: "Ohhhh! I was thinking of Teen Wolf."

This was immediately followed by My Bride leaping out of her seat and across the room to fall into the desk chair at the computer desk. She apparently thought she could prevent the blogging of her pop-culture faux pas . . . . but you can't stop the signal.

"Sniper no sniping, sniper no sniping!"

"Aw, maaaan!"
I think I've been home with the baby too long. He doesn't even bat an eye when I have slips like that . . . . .

Holly is a Browncoat? Neat. Let's hear a song!

Right, so it turns out Holly is a Browncoat. (Link is work safe, follow any of the links out from there and you're on your own!)

And that makes me want to hear a song. A song for Browncoats.

BONUS: You can see the cake that Melissa's birthday cake was based on at the beginning. People around us were puzzled into silence when I lit the giant dinner candles, but we had fun. Mine tasted better than Simon's would have, too.

Actually, this one is my favorite. Like Wash.

Grandpa got . . . .

A semi-auto Thompson in .45. Kane ratted him out this morning.

Dad's wanted a Thompson for as long as I can remember--he's got an Airsoft and a .22, but I guess he couldn't stand not to have the .45.

Now I really have to get the loading bench back together.

Tell me the truth:

. . . . is my font too light?

Would it be better if it were blacker? Or am I just getting too old?

Wait, did I just post a racist font question? I apologize sincerely.
Well, I apologize. Let's leave it at that.

And now, a random story from my youth. The other night, I was telling my parents about taking My Bride and The Boys across the Kampsville Ferry on our trip down to the river to see the replicas of the Nina and the Pinta (short version: it rained. We toured Renaissance caravels in the pouring rain, had a picnic in the pouring rain, went fishing in the pouring rain, drove a hundred miles in the pouring rain . . . then rode the ferry in the sunshine.) My mother assures me that this really happened when I was about ten years old:

"We were going to cross over the Brussels Ferry to go to the game area, not far from where you and the kids were at Grafton today. Grandpa was with us. You wanted no part of that ferry; the more we talked about it, the more you insisted that you wouldn't ride it, no way, no how.
'I'm not getting on any ferry!' you said. 'You can't make me ride a ferry! I just won't get on!'
'It's not scary, buddy,' your dad said. 'It's just like being on the road. It's actually a lot of fun.'
'I'm not riding a ferry! I don't ride ferries!' you said. You were almost yelling. I was afraid you might cry. Then your grandpa said something like, 'You like to go fishing in my boat, right? This one is actually a lot safer than that. You can't get hurt unless you jump over the side.'
You opened your eyes wide and looked at him like he'd just turned on a light in a dark room.
'Ohhhhh!' you said. 'You're talking about a boat!' And then you were happy as could be."