Last Christmas Stacy and I made a strategic family decision. We decided that 2007 would be the last year we would fly out to Portland to celebrate a December Christmas with my family. Flying halfway across the country in December with a toddler was a bit of a circus. We always envisioned a quiet and more nuclear celebration as our kid(s) get older, so something had to give.

Add in the fact that Kansas City, Denver and Chicago (our most likely connecting cities) have precarious weather conditions in December, and a change needed to be made. So last July we traveled out to Portland for our first Christmas in July. It was great. My mom busted out the Christmas decorations. We had our traditional celebrations. The week was very relaxing.

Little did we know the new tradition would pay fast dividends. This year we would have attempted to make it to Portland this past weekend. Funny thing, they were in the middle of cataclysmic winter weather during that very time. It has been 10 days of snow, cold and ice in PDX. Kinda like it's been in Kansas City. And Chicago. And New York. And Boston. Man, it's like everything north of Texas is experiencing weather conditions inverse to those in hell.

I'm convinced we never would have made it to Portland this year. It would be faster to walk across the Rockies. So good call us. It is a far merrier Christmas having not wasted a bunch of money and feeling sad that I was missing out on my annual pilgrimage. That would have been really sad.

Renew and Restore

Last night at dinner Elli was in a very talkative mood. She told us about her whole day. She reminded us that if the power goes out, the tv will be broken and we will have to light a candle. She provided a running commentary on the contents of her stew.

In between conversations with each other, Stacy and I would ask Elli questions to spur her thinking. At one point, the subject of Christmas came up and Elli mentioned baby Jesus. She has been really interested in our Nativity this year, probably because it is at her eye-level and very attractive. Whenever she is over at the window seat playing with it, we talk about who the different characters are just to increase her awareness of what is going on in the story.

As Elli starts talking about Christmas and Jesus last night, Stacy asked her who Jesus' mommy was. For the first time that evening, Elli is silent. Just blinking her eyes and racking her brain for the right answer. There comes a point where it's obvious she isn't going to get the answer to this one without phoning a friend, so Stacy bails her out and reminds her that Jesus' mommy is none other than Mary.

Now, what you need to understand about the brain of a three year old is that everything is connected. You say one word and it triggers this mechanism where they search for any possible bit of knowledge that relates to what they have just heard. So after Stacy sheds that bit of enlightenment on Elli, she young lady breaks out in song.

"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb..."

My first instinct was to jump in and straighten the kid's theology out right away. You gotta nip these things in the bud before the kid starts thinking that Jesus drives a sleigh, you know? But just as I was about to say something, I was the beneficiary of a moment of enlightenment.

The lamb and perfection images are actually in the Bible in reference to Jesus.

So maybe the kid was brushing up on her theology when daddy wasn't looking.

Renew and Restore

We found out a couple of weeks ago that we are having a little boy.

I know you aren't supposed to say stuff like this out loud, but we were both hoping for a boy.

Before everyone goes nuts, hear me out. There are a lot of guys out there who want a boy because they feel like they "need" that little boy experience. Not so much with me. Quite frankly, the numerous hours I put in with the 13 middle school boys at work each week enough boy time for an army of men.

Elli has actually been a nice juxtaposition to my work day. I have loved having a little girl. It's been fun to do her hair and pick out her outfits and generally spend time with the little lady. I wouldn't have traded it for the world.

But in the end, I think she will be better off with a brother. I'm sure there will be days during her high school years where she will beg to differ. But as annoying as younger brothers can be, in this case it will provide a lot less anxiety for her.

One of the trying aspects of adoption is that people tend to say really stupid stuff. We've been spared a lot of that, because as a mixed ethnicity family there is enough racial ambiguity going on when people see us that it's not completely obvious that Elli is adopted.

What is not ambiguous is the fact that Elli is small for her age. She always has been. When we got to Vietnam to pick her up, she was a 10-pound 9 month old. Part of this was due to her prematurity and 1kg birth weight, but ethnicity played a large role as well. We didn't see too many women in Vietnam who were over 100 lbs. So Elli isn't going to be a large person, and that's fine.

The problem is that people are always pointing it out. It's like a big race to win the award of "Capitan Obvious". The practice was fine when she was little, but she's 3 now. And even though she isn't all that outgoing in public, she has well developed language skills. She is also very self-aware. And my fear is that she's going to develop a complex someday because everyone is always telling her how little she is.

I think having a little brother softens the issue. American babies are big. Really big. I was a fat baby with a huge noggin'. Triple thigh rolls fat. My guess is that it will be way more socially acceptable to have a little brother who is bigger than you are. It would have been really tough for Elli to have a younger sister way bigger than her, and everyone making comparisons all the time. But it would have also been difficult for the younger sister, as everyone would be labelling her de facto fat. In a teenager's mind there isn't a huge difference between "You're so much bigger than your older sister", and "You're such a fat cow".

As parents we will undoubtedly have to deal with a myriad of body image issues throughout the years. When all the cool kids show up airbrushed on the cover of Seventeen and Jennifer Anniston proves her youthful vitality by posing nude on the cover of GQ to celebrate her 40th birthday, we are setting ourselves up for a lot of conversations about what it means to look like an actual real person. Welcome to America, kids. But God did make our job a little bit easier by diversifying our gender portfolio and sparing both kids from damaging comparisons flying unfiltered from the mouths of fools.

So even though I'm not supposed to say it, I will. I'm glad we are having a boy.

Renew and Restore

Names, names, what is in a name? If our second child is a girl, we have a name picked out. If it is a boy, we are struggling. We have a shortlist, but we aren't in love with any of the choices yet.

The problem is that we have too many stipulations. It can't be too popular. It can't be too "out there". It can't start with D (because the DD initials would be a bit too busty), it can't start with E (we're not trying to have a whole gaggle of E kids), and it can't rhyme with any dirty words that would be highlighted on the grade school playground. We will have no Junior. All Wookie names have been ruled out per Stacy's request.

And the name must mean something good.

I'm not sure what my theology of spirituality consists of in terms of naming. It's tough to pin down. We want our kids to have meaningful names. Not that the meanings will necessarily hold some mystical and prophetically inerrant power. But meaning is important to us as a reminder of what we want our kids to value and who we want them to become.

What we've learned is that girl names tend to have better meanings than boy names. It's almost to the point where we are looking for a meaning-neutral boy name because we can't find enough that meet all of our criteria. But we'll see.

It's hard because Elli's name is perfect. We choose "Elliana" as her first name because it means "God has Heard" or "God has Answered". We felt like it was such a great statement about God hearing us before we even really know what we need or can specifically express it. Our adoption experience was by no means easy, but looking back we see that some (though not all) of the delays we experienced allowed for a timing where Elli could join our family. God closed and opened doors as necessary in a way that was really providential. God was hearing Elli, God was hearing us and God was acting on those cries.

We did not "pick" Elli's middle name, per se. Her given middle name of "Thanh" means "elegant". We thought it was pretty and fine and we wanted to keep it so that she could have a connection to her heritage. But now, on her 3rd birthday, it's so amazing how well it describes her. He is elegance personified. She carries herself with a joy and peace that is elegant in it's resilience. Her tiny stature is elegant in it's beauty. She's an amazing kid.

It's hard to believe she is only 3. It's harder to believe she has only been in our home for 2.25 of those 3 years. But it's been a good ride, and she's been elegantly wonderful and we love her a lot.

Renew and Restore

I just read on a video game blog I subscribe to (not winning a lot of suave points with this post, clearly) that new downloadable content will soon be dropping for Guitar Hero World Tour. Yessssssssss. Included in the content are a trio of songs by the Eagles. Perhaps you have heard of them.

Thinking about playing more Eagles songs made me chuckle as I thought back to one of our family Guitar Hero mornings a couple of weeks back. That morning, I was reminded of how sometimes my competitive nature keeps me from maximizing my fun.

I hate loosing. I don't like to loose to my friends. I don't like to loose to the computer. I don't like to loose to middle school boys. It's going to be terribly hard for me to not unleash the beast tonight when we take the boys to lazer tag and go karts.

Due to my competitive dysfunction, Stacy and I have learned that it's not a good idea for us to engage in competitive activities when we are together. She doesn't appreciate how I use Jedi mindtricks and incessant trash talk in an attempt to get my opponents to succomb to my strategic desires. And I don't appreciate her ability to enjoy an activity by just participating in it, without regard for complete domination.

So back to GH World Hero. We're playing as a family. I'm on lead guitar. Stacy is on vocals. Elli is bouncing between backup guitar, drums and helping Stacy with vocals. The kid has the musical genius of Prince. Now, one of the quirks of the game is that it is of benefit for the guitarists to work the wammy bar regardless of whether or not it is actually appropriate for a particular song. Thus, I'm working that wammy like my dream job.

The problem is we're playing Hotel California by the Eagles. Not exactly a wammy-riffic diddy.

"No wammy bar on the Eagles songs," declares Stacy.

I respond with "I'm trying to get the high score".

Not to be deterred, she deftly counters with "Well, I'm trying to enjoy the music".

What the Eagles aficionado wants, the Eagles aficionado gets. All I'm saying is that we could have gotten a way better score if we would have tried a little harder.

Renew and Restore

On Wed Stacy had to work a stupid OB call shift. Nothing says "suck" like working 24 hours that end at 7am on Thanksgiving morning. The only upsides are that the hospital is cool about letting Elli and I come up to hang for dinner, and that following dinner we could do a little ultrasound action.

Since it was a very quite night on the floor, we ended up doing the ultrasound in one of the labor rooms. It was my first time in one of them, and let me tell you...they are swanky. The hospital is even in the 'hood, but you wouldn't know it by these rooms. Newly remodeled with nice wood laminate flooring. Good furniture. Flat screen TV's. And a jacuzzi tub. That's right. A stinkin' jacuzzi in the room.

As any good husband would, I'm rooting for a labor that is as short as possible without Stacy giving birth in the car on the way to the hospital. But they usually last a little longer than that, so we'll probably have some time in the room.

In order to get an idea for Stacy's preferences, I asked if she would be requiring the services of the Jacuzzi. As of yet, she has not determined any Jacuzzi preference. Something about waiting to see how she feels when she's actually laboring. Fair enough.

I, however, have decided that if she decides to forgo the Jacuzzi, then I get first dibs. I'm totally bringing my swim suit to the hospital in the event that she decides she doesn't want to avail herself to the warmth and comfort of swirling water.

Informed of my intentions, she had a very good question for me. "Are you sure you want to Jacuzzi in a bunch of women's laboring juices?" Good question, and one that I hadn't completely thought through. But the way I see it, it's nothing a few of those Clorox bathroom wipes shouldn't be able to handle. According to the label, they neutralize 99.9% of germs. That's most of them.

So until further notice, we will be packing my swim suit and towel in the hospital overnight bag. If Stacy gives you permission to join us in the laboring room, you may bring yours as well. Just remember. I have first dibs after Stacy.

Renew and Restore.

We've been doing a lot of shopping lately. We already have most things that are needed to take care of a child, but we obviously are missing certain pregnancy related items. Like, all of them.

As Stacy gets more pregnant, she will need different clothes. Maternity things. She's been doing quite a bit of shopping online at Old Navy and Gap, and we have hit up a maternity store or two on our jaunts out and about. Not a ton of surprises in the experience. It's the same type of shopping we always do, just with more adjustable waistbands.

Granted, there are some items on the market I am just now becoming aware of. Case in point: The Bella Band.

For those as ignorant as I, they make these bands that pregnant women can wear around their bellies. When the bellies are at their most ample, the bands provide a little insurance in the event that a shirt comes up short on coverage. It's a nice little invention, especially for ladies like Stacy who aren't into flashing their belly cleavage all over town.

But it gets better. Apparently, the Bella Band is also of use for women who aren't ready to move into full-blown maternity gear. For the lady who just needs a little extra space in los pantalones, the Bella Band allows her to hold out a little longer before moving to the full-blown maternity gear. You just unbutton your pants, and then slide the band over your waist. Your pants stay up, and you get the needed room.

Stacy wisely purchased 2 Bella Bands. Which brings me to what I'm not thankful for today.

I'm not thankful that Stacy won't share her Bella Band with me.

I am going to eat today. Let me rephrase that. I am going to eat A LOT today. All day. Not as much as I do on Meat Day. That would just be silly. But still. I'm going to eat a lot.

The thing is, I'm not going to eat a lot at my house. Were that the case, I'd just spend the afternoon schlepping my clothes around the house as my body struggled to digest all of the food. However, we're having Thanksgiving dinner at Stacy's grandparents house. In the interest of in-law harmony, I try to keep all of my clothes on regardless of how much I eat. Use good manners. Don't belch. Keep your pants buttoned. Don't stink up the lavatory. All good things to keep in mind when you eat dinner at the in-laws.

Thus, it would be great if I could borrow the Bella Band. I could unbutton my pants completely unbeknown to any family. My gut would be happy. I would be happy.

But it will never be. Stacy has forbade my wearing of the Bella Band. And that's just selfish. I even offered to let her have first pick, but noooooooooooooo. No Bella Band for me.

So I'm not thankful. Because I'm going to eat my heart out and then I'll be terribly uncomfortable for the remainder of the evening.

There is always next year.

Renew and Restore

There are a lot of reasons to be thankful for Stacy. She's very kind. She laughs at my jokes. She bought me a smoker. On two separate occasions, even.

Currently, the biggest reason to be thankful for her is that she is carrying our child. That's a lot to ask of a person, even if they are joyfully willing (which she is). But this whole pregnancy thing hasn't been all that fun. For the life of her, she can't understand why they call it "morning sickness". Her particular sickness has been no respecter of time. And it hasn't even vacated the premises after the first trimester as is common courtesy. Nope. Just an onslaught of nausea.

At one point she asked me if I wanted to take a turn holding the baby. Man, I would if I could. This pregnancy experience is so much different from adoption. The economy is completely unbalanced, with her doing all of the work. I can be sensitive. I can be nice. I can do as much as I can around the house so that she doesn't have any more on her plate than she needs to have. But it still doesn't measure up to her level of commitment in the process.

I always thought it witty when Ray Ramano demanded more respect for his burden during his wife's...ahem...womanly times. "Hey, it's not unteri. It's uterus." Comedic genius for sure. And while factually correct, the statement misses the mark completely in it's demand for equal sympathy.

When we were adopting Elli, we were far more equally yoked. I was able to do a lot of the paperwork. We were more able to share in the birthing pangs of the process as it drew on longer than we had anticipated. It just felt like we far more in it together. And as a result, I think it drew us a lot closer.

Not that we aren't totally in love right now, because we are. But it's a completely different process from adoption, and one that isn't quite as conducive to a relationship taking that next step due to inequality of the burden. I have to admit. That's been a little bit of a stunner to me.

In my stunned state I still have great admiration for my wife. I am very thankful for her. Thankful that she has kept a good attitude. Thankful that she is a fantastic mother. Thankful that she is perhaps the toughest person I know. And thankful that she has remained remarkably graceful and low-maintenance even as she nurtures a fetus into a fully developed baby within the confines of her (ever growing) uterine incubation chamber.

That's what I'm thankful for.

Renew and Restore

My daughter is so American. She has already been brainwashed by the powers of consumerism and branding, at the ripe age of 2.9 years old.

Even though we don't frequent McDonald's, she proclaims "FRIES!" every time we pass the Golden Arches.

An announcement of "Nuggets" greets the sight of Chic-fil-a.

And anytime we are in the neighborhood of a Target, a joyous "Red Store, Daddy!" greets me from the back seat.

It's even gotten to the point where she threw a minor fit last week when we had to drive past the Red Store to get to an actual grocery store. She insisted on Red Store. I was like, "they don't have groceries." She didn't care.

So I thought Elli would be thrilled on Monday when I had to swing by Target. But as I get ready to unbuckle her from her car seat, she protests.

Elli: No. I want the other Red Store.

Me: What other Red Store?

Elli: The Blue Red Store.

Me: There is no "Blue Red Store". The Red Store is by definition, red.

Elli: Definition red?

Me: Yeah. Let's go.

It then dawns on me that my daughter isn't just rambling incoherently. I start to connect the red dots and blue dots.

Me: Do you mean WalMart?

Elli: Yes.

Granted, Elli answers "yes" to 90% of the questions we ask, regardless of whether or not it's the factually correct answer. Nonetheless, it seems reasonable that she is referring to WalMart.

Me: We don't go to WalMart. We're Dashiells.

Elli: Ok.

I thought about explaining to her that the stance isn't elitist. I thought about explaining globalization and WalMart's habit of crushing small-businesses in little towns. But I thought better of it. No need to raise a jaded child.

Though I am a little worried about the standards we are setting for the future. It's easy to not go to Walmart in the city. But if we ever find ourselves living in rural Kansas, we will be challenged. Because WalMart has effectively choked out all competition in the region, and we will thus be forced to purchase a combine so that we can manufacture our own wheat-based toiletries.

Renew and Restore

I got to see my first live ultrasound of Dashiell Baby Numero Dos yesterday. Dos looked good. The kid is going to be a handful, though. So squirmy in there. Kicking. Sucking the thumb. Generally wiggling and swimming around. But really, what should we expect? The kid has two driven parents, one of whom is a bit of a spaz. I had better get a lot of sleep over the next six months. This one is going to be a firecracker. I can feel it.

Is there anybody out there good at scrap booking? I have a job for you. A huge job. I need you to scrapbook the many pictures we already have of Dos. I've learned that when your mother is a doctor and has both the ability and opportunity to take ultrasounds whenever she wants, you end up collecting a lot of pictures. This kid is going to have the biggest pre-birth scrap book of any child in history. Constant surveillance. I'm sure Dos will revolt, grow up to become a lawyer and fight adamantly for any law that protects the privacy rights of individuals. Either that, or we'll have some kind of glory hog on our hands. Time will tell.

Renew and Restore

The Wiggles have been very very good to us. They entertain Elli. They make her happy. They help her get a lot of excersise by means of incessant dancing.

But sometimes Daddy needs a break. Enter Veggie Tales. I busted them out recently, figuring that Elli was old enough to follow the plot and enjoy the concept. And enjoy she did. Following the plot (or any other number of crucial details)? Not so much.

We have two VT magnets on the fridge. One of Larry the cucumber and the other of LarryBoy. So yesterday we are looking at fridge photos, when she points at one of the magnets and proclaims, "Bob!".

Sorry to tell you kid, but it's Larry. Bob's a tomato. Larry is a cucumber.

She thinks. "Oh...He's ready to fight."

Oh buddy.

Here's the thing. The episode we watched was Dave and the Giant Cucumber. Loosely based on David and Goliath. Jr., who is a cucumber but certainly not Larry. So we were wrong on that little factoid.

But here's the bigger problem. While the storyline did include buildup to a big battle, I'm pretty sure the main point of the episode was something other than "The Veggie Tales characters are ready to fight." More seasoned theologians than myself can check my hypothesis. But I'm pretty sure that there are lessons about God using the underdog and the power and providence of God that are a little more pertinent.

But then again, it's possible I'm misinterpreting the VT canon.

Renew and Restore

Just chillin. Eating dinner as a family the other night. All of the sudden, Elli decides she needs her shoes and socks off. Sometimes you just gotta eat in your bare feet.

When you are two, it can be difficult to get your shoes off. You have little hands and you are not very strong. So you struggle because your parents are trying to let you learn how to dress yourself. Your parents are trying to let you develop the skills necessary to dress yourself, so they don't always jump in right away to bail you out. You can eventually get it, even if it means you have a bit of a wedgie because you hiked your Elmo panties up a little too high. But at least people clap for you and shower you with adulation when you figure it out.

There's a difference between my life and the life of a two year old. Nobody ever claps for me when I have a wedgie.

So she's struggling with the shoes. Struggle, struggle, struggle. This is serious business, and it's gone on too long. Finally she looks up at me with all of the seriousness she can muster and makes a simple request.

"Get the scissors"

In theory, that would solve the problem. Just cut those shoes right off. Plus, it was encouraging to see the little lass use some problem solving techniques. Good cognitive development there. If we play the situation out to it's logical conclusion, however, it would also open up a host of new issues. For one, we would no longer have a pair of functional Dora sneakers complete with lights in the soles. How would we ever live?

Being the good dad, I didn't get the scissors. Instead, I taught my daughter the miracle of Velcro. A little tug and a loosening of the straps works wonders.

Thus, we were free to proceed with our shoeless and sock less dinner.

Renew and Restore

The phone rings. Stacy picks up. One of her good friends is on the other end and announces her engagement. Congratulations are in order. The two friends catch up. Stacy hangs up the phone.

"Who dat, mommy?" A common question from the two-year-old.

Stacy explains to Elli that her friend is getting married. "Just like mommy and daddy are married. Just like nanna and papa are married. Just like grandma and grandpa are married. Just like harmonee and tyson are married."

Elli pauses. Blinks. Processes.

"Oh. I get married too."

Of course. All the cool kids are doing it. Common logic in Elli's mind is that if everyone she loves is doing it, then she needs to do it too. And since a lot of people around her are married, it has become the normative paradigm. As a father, that makes me glad. I don't want her to get married soon, by any means. But I'm glad that the seeds of fidelity and family are growing.

At the same time, the exchange highlighted one of the struggles of my job. As the strength of the traditional family has weakened in America, the trend has been even more dramatic in the urban core. Marriage just isn't normative anymore. The challenge with working with adolescent black boys is that they have very few examples of faithful fathers in their lives. I have 12 boys in my class this year. Two of them are in relationship with their dad, and neither of those two dads are married to the mothers.

Welcome to a completely different reality. It's a reality that begs to be changed if future generations are going to lead the resurgance of areas that have been abandonded by the empire. Kids need stable living enviornments. Kids need adults who are faithful to them and faithful to each other. But when you don't see people around you getting married, it's tough for you to grow up thinking...yeah. I'll get married too. And when you don't grow up with a dad who is engaged and who teaches by example how to love your furure kids and your future wife, then doing so yourself in the future is a challenge. There are some things that are better learned by experience than through books and Dr. Phil.

Renew and Restore

Stacy wasn't the only one to demonstrate growth at parents camp over the Labor Day weekend. I got to join the party too.

One of the cool things about the camp was that they opened up all of the activities that the kids partake in during their time there. Boating, swimming, basketball, driving range, the whole shabang. There were two things that Stacy really wanted to do. Boating? Check. It was fun. But the other?

High ropes course.

I was not as enthusiastic. I'm not afraid of flying. I love roller coasters. I don't like cliff jumping. Something about the free fall freaks me out. Though a high ropes course involves no free fall, it does involve performing numerous feats of dexterity and agility at heights I am not comfortable with. What do I look like? An Ewok?

The upside is that you are harnessed into a dohickey that can support the weight of three buses. The downside is that said doohickey gives you a mad wedgie. My butt was seriously eating my shorts, if you know what I mean. After weighing the positives and negatives I agreed to go, but I didn't think I'd love it.

As it turns out, I hated it. At least I hated the precarious positions it put me in. Man, I was sweating like nobody's business. I was nervous the whole time. My muscles were all tight. Not that much fun.

But I did grow through the process. The beauty of the high ropes course is that you learn about trust and communication. It's practically impossible to do on your own, so you have to trust your partner. And, your ability to communicate with calmness and grace under pressure is tested as well. Then you learn to trust your harness, and know that if you slip you won't plunge to an untimely demise on the forest floor. Just saying.

Stacy and I made it thorough the course in good time. We never got short with each other. And we got to kiss at every platform. Bonus. Oh, and I only fell down once. Stacy fell once too, but only because I pulled her down when I fell. Sorry about that.

So I learned that I trust my wife. I learned that I can trust my harness. And I learned that I trust my bladder, because I didn't even pee my pants one time the whole afternoon.

Restore and Renew

This past weekend we took some of the parents of the kids I work with to the camp that their kids attend each summer. The camp has been putting on this parents retreat for the past few years, and we were finally able to get some of our parents to attend.

I came a way with a lot of thoughts. The dominant one however, is that I really love, appreciate and respect my wife.

A lot of people are nice. A lot of people say they want to break down social walls. A lot of people talk about how into justice they are. Stacy doesn't say those things very often. She's just not the prophetic voice that is always out front bringing attention to issues.

(Side note: I realized last night that I could never run for President. I watched Cindy McCain sit there with the camera on her every 30 seconds, and remembered how prominent a role Michelle Obama played in the DNC last week, and I thought about how that much attention would be pure hell for Stacy. So we'll just scratch "The Presidency" off of my list of goals)

What Stacy does have is a fearless and passionate heart for others. Especially those who are caught in systems of injustice. She is passionate to the point where she lives life as God has called her to live it, which has quickly thrust her to exist in society's margins. It's not an easy calling, especially when you are part of the dominant culture and the calling leads you to the role of minority.

At this parents retreat, everyone was black. With the exception of maybe 8 white people and two Hispanic people. And yet, Stacy was completely herself. The girl who grew up in a rural white community just hung out and had the confidence to gracefully be herself even though she was being immersed in experiences that were pretty new to her. She experienced "black church" twice each day. She hung out in a culture that is far more expressive than the one's she usually exists in. She got to meet women with amazing stories about love of family and perseverance that she otherwise would not have had the opportunity to hear. And she did it all coming off of an awesome 30-hour shift at the hospital.

So, I love my wife. It's cool to see how God has made her bold enough to do things that completely flip the script and that a lot of other people just aren't willing to do. And it's good for me to see what it looks like to live justice and reconciliation while saying very little.

Fair Dinkum

HDTV. It solves all of your problems. According to all of the commercials I've seen, at least. They help couples get along better. They provide opportunities for families to spend quality time together. And as we all know, nothing says "quality time" like passively staring at a television.

The KC Royals have bought into the theory that HDTV makes life better. Bought into it so much that in the off season they installed the biggest HD screen in the country. It's flippin' huge. And bright. Almost retina burning. I'm pretty sure it's the number one killer of flying insects.

It's pretty cool. Though I can't help but think the good old Royals are compensating a bit. We're not that good, but at least our TV is bigger than yours.

I, for one, don't have a HDTV. I do have a decent 25-inch standard tube TV, though. It's good. While I'd love to have and HDTV, it's just not in the old budget. So I had to settle for the second best option.

Get my smiling grill on the biggest HDTV in the country before the Dallas Cowboys put a bigger one in their new stadium. Everything is dumber bigger in Texas.

Lucky me, my moment in glory came this past weekend. Stacy, Elli and I were enjoying a night out at The Royals, when we made it on Kiss Cam!!! It's one of the greatest features of the giant video board technology. The cameras pan the audience looking for random couples, and then plaster them up on the screen until they smooch. They always end it with a cute old couple, except on the occasion that they frame two players on the opposing team for the grand finale.

Mark it down. On Aug 23, 2008 Stacy and I professed our love for each other for all to see.

Because nothing says "I Love My Wife" like sucking face with her in high def with an audience of 20,000 people cheering you on.

Fair Dinkum

The July after I graduated from high school, I spent 3 of 4 weekends on the Oregon Coast. I love it. The mountain lined beaches. The sleepy little towns. A lot of memories. Violent colisions of wave on rock that send spray flying at every angle imaginable. It's my spot.

Last week, Elli got to experience the joy of the Oregon Coast for the first time. It was actually her first trip to any beach. She didn't totally understand the concept as she claimed numerous times that it was her sandbox, but I think she got the gist. She certainly understood that it was fun to go and splash around in the water, knock down Mommy and Aunt Harmonee's sandcastles, and go for a walk with grandpa.

I'm glad she liked it. Different strokes for different folks, ya know? I mean, the temperature of the Oregon coast just isn't for everyone. But in many ways, I like that aspect. Because when it is 70 degrees the last week in July, it's refreshing. And instead of everyone going to the beach to be seen, they go to enjoy it in other ways. You don't have to worry about people flaunting their goodies, synthetic body parts on the loose or accidentally glancing at some old dudes unkempt bikini line trying to escape from his speedo. Just a bunch of folks nattily dressed in their capris (men and women), Lightweight Columbia gear and caps. It's nice. And my daughter likes it, just like her daddy.

As my kids grow up, there are three teams I want them to root for. Go Blazers. Go Chiefs. Go Royals. It should be pretty easy, assuming we don't move to a city that has a competing team in any of the sports. I guess a KC NBA franchise would throw a wrench into that plan as well, but I'm not optimistic that will happen.

A big part of the rooting experience is taking in the live game. I fell in love with the Blazers live and in person from my dad's seats in Memorial Coliseum. They were grand nights.

One thing Stacy and I have looked forward to as parents is taking Elli to her first Royals game. But we weren't going to rush anything. You have to be smart about this type of thing. Elli needed to be old enough to enjoy herself. She needed to be brave enough to not be scared. We needed seats in the shade so that she wouldn't be miserable. We needed a 6:10 start, because the 1:10 and the 7:10 get in the way of our sleeping schedule.

Everything worked out this past Saturday, and we got to go watch the Royals and Cards with some close friends. We had hyped it up for about a week, so by the time we got to Saturday afternoon Elli was pumped to go to the baseball game with Jeff and Kristi. Granted, she has taken on the dialect of our Hispanic neighborhood and calls it "basebol", but that's cool. We also have a little work to do with "Go Royals" since she struggles with the "r" sound right now and it sounds a little more like "Go Orioles". But we know what she means.

When we got to the pregame tailgate, Elli became somewhat of a celebrity. She looked very cute in her Royals outfit. She also happened to be the only child at the proceedings. Since this particular family hasn't had a lot of grand kids yet, every one's repressed spoiling instincts came out and Elli was showered with gifts. I believe over the course of our meal she was handed two cookies and a can of Root Beer. We're not a big sweets family, but you hate to be an ungrateful guest. We were able to sneak the can of root beer away, but I think she still pounded a cookie and a half.

The game itself was fun. The Royals lost, but Elli clapped, colored and cheered. She made it through the whole game, though it could have been a result of the sugar high she was on. As a chaser to her pregame snacks, one of our hosts purchased her a bag of cotton candy. It was as big as her torso. Fortunately, we were able to help her pound it so that she didn't OD on sugar.

The only drawback of the experience was that my arm was tired following the evening. I guess the Royals don't expect too many 22 pound fans to warrant their own seat, because she didn't weigh enough to keep it down. In an effort to keep the seat from eating her whole, I ended up holding it down most of the game. But I'm sure if she keeps pounding sweets we wont have that issue next time we make it out to the park.

Fair Dinkum

We have searched high and low for a brainwashing technique...errrrrrr...DVD that could successfully help in potty training. We picked up a couple from the library that managed to get annoying songs stuck in my head ("Bye bye pee pee, bye bye poop"), but nothing has really convinced Elli that she should use the toilet.

Enter Elmo's Potty Time.

We still have work to do. But the movie, the Elmo panties and the sticker chart are proving to be tools of worth. The best part is that I actually enjoy the movie. And who wouldn't? There is so much to love.

As an adult I don't have that many opportunities to laugh at toilet humor. And in all honesty, there are a lot of things in the movie that are not intended to be funny. However, that small fact does not stop Elli and I from laughing ever time they play out on the screen.

Like when Grover dances around with his old man belly and informs us that he has that "got to go" feeling.

Or when King Kong drinks too much and they have to bring in a huge toilet for him to use.

But my favorite segment, far and away, is the montage of kids sharing what they call their "stuff". Widdle, wee wee, poop, two. The usual list of suspects. But then, out of nowhere, this adorable little kid pops up on the screen. He grins. He announces very proudly: "I call it DOOKIE".

Score.

In our house, "dookie" has never been considered proper terminology. But we are clearly living in an age where it has gone mainstream. Look, if it's on Sesame Street, it's fair game. That's my feeling on the matter.

Now we have a little power struggle going on in our house. One parent is encouraging Elli to include "dookie" in her everyday vernacular, while the other is absolutely mortified by the idea. We'll just have to see how this one plays itself out.

Fair Dinkum

I got to drive the Jeep today. It's Stacy's baby so much so that Elli was confused as to why we were driving it today. She asked me numerous times where Daddy's Blue Car was.

Well little lady, papa's gettin' a brand new...freezer. An upright deep freeze, to be precise. One of our friends came across a free freezer (as in her mother is giving it away), so I rented a U Haul trailer today so that I can go pick it up after work. Christmas in May.

Some might wonder what the big deal is. Used household appliances don't typically make one turn cartwheels. For that matter, very few things make me turn cartwheels. The physics of tossing my gangly frame end-on-end is very hard to achieve given the restraints of gravity.

Freezers, however, make me dance for joy. Because starting tonight I will have the opportunity to buy meat by the case. A whole hog. Shoot, even a side of beef. Then, at my hearts desire, I can head down to the basement and pull out the meat so that it can later be smoked at my convenience. This really is a big moment in my meat smoking career.

Glory, glory.

Fair Dinkum