“Daddy, we don’t eat poop. We don’t suck on dog poop!”
It was with this pearl of childhood wisdom that Andrew wrapped up our ten day tour of Minnesota. I’ve been scouring my brain for the last few days, trying to glean together an idea of where he may have heard that advice. Perhaps he was remembering our previous trip North, when a tenant of the Brookfield gorilla house entertained his audience by consuming that which should not be consumed. Perhaps it was something he heard while exploring Uncle Denny’s farm. Or perhaps this is just one piece of wisdom that every child eventually realizes . . . their little brain piecing together information. For your entertainment pleasure, I have recreated the thoughts leading up to this gem. I imagine it went something like this . . . I like suckers . . . suckers are from Chuck E. Cheese . . . I get to go there when I poo poo in the potty . . . there’s a big gorilla at Chuck E. Cheese . . . I saw a gorilla eat his poo poo . . . I like suckers . . . I like gorilla’s . . . . I like . . wait a minute . . . “Daddy, we don’t eat poop!!!”
It would be all too easy for that to be the only thing I remember from our trip. Fifteen years from now, it may be all that is left, but only two days removed I still recall enough to perhaps make an interesting blog.
We had two major events to go to in Minnesota; Mollie’s friend was getting married one Saturday in Eastern MN and her great-grandmother’s 90th birthday party was the next weekend in Southwestern MN (editor's remark: Mollie reminds me it was her grandmother and our children's great). With the road North being the longest part, there was only one logical thing to do . . . spend the included week perusing the rest of the state.
I have just decided that a play by play recount would likely bore even myself, so here’s the Cliff’s notes. Went to wedding – Congrats Shari, avoided tornados, went to Duluth, saw some guy jump out of a 60 foot tree into a small lake, went to a Twins game, saw a big salt-water fish tank, ate too many cookies at great-grandma’s, spent a night in South Dakota, again avoided tornados, went to birthday party, drove back to Illinois for another b-day party and to pick up Samwise Fingolfin 3 (the beagle dog), then home to Springfield.
While you are busy thanking me for not turning all that into six paragraphs, I shall continue with a few notables. Our trip home was kind of a play-it-by-ear adventure. We had thoughts of either meeting my parents on the road to pick up The Dog, or driving to their house and catching my cousin’s 12th(?) birthday party. Leaving Southwestern Minnesota at 8 PM, both options likely included stopping at a hotel along the way when the drive outlasted our eyes. But nine hours and over two liters of caffeine later, I was still driving and we were pulling into my parent’s driveway.
Apart from all that what to eat and what not to eat nonsense from earlier, I’m having a difficult time keeping this blog from sounding like an entry in my diary (not that I have a diary, but this is how I imagine people write in a diary – Dear diary, today I got my first tooth. Momma told me to . . . why am I writing from the point of view of someone who is writing as they get their first tooth . . . infants can’t keep a diary . . . . back to reality, please.) I was considering listing all the people we saw on our journey, the number is rather astonishing what with two birthday parties that served more like family reunions, but I think I have enough boring information crammed into this week’s blog. I mean, can you imagine reading what would essentially be a list of people you don’t know?
I guess that’s it for this week. Being only Tuesday, I have a slight hope that I’ll sit down tomorrow and revise what I wrote. However, if you currently find yourself bored and not even the slightest bit confused, then I found no further inspiration and you’ve been stuck with what I wrote today. Of course, you always have next week’s blog to look forward to. Next week’s topic promises to thrill and excite. The title will be based on a valuable life lesson I plan on teaching Andrew this week . . . “Don’t eat yellow snow.”
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
It All Ads Up
Does anybody else hear that high, sharp whistling sound? That, and the steam pouring from my ears, signifies that an idea which has long been percolating in my brain is finally ready.
I like to think of myself as an educated man, one who is unruled by the powers that be. I feel I can separate myself from what the mainstream media demands of me and find my own way amongst the muddle of talking heads, TV shows and especially commercials.
You may remember one of my favorite blog postings in which I regaled my audience of the only documented case of me choosing to purchase a product I would otherwise be completely uninterested in merely out of respect for the content and delivery of the commercial itself. If it would please the court, I would like to submit another example, please let it be marked as State’s Evidence B.
This second case of a commercial finding use in my life was more a case of the commercials properly directing me to the product. Unlike most entertaining commercials, of which I tend to remember only the comedy, but not the content, I was able to find the website I sought only after I could call to mind the company’s recently used pitch. I sat staring blankly at my computer, my fingers resting undirected upon the keys. What address did I want? I could not remember. I knew the content I so desired, but the location was a wash. Then I remembered it, that one actor guy saying something about them being aliens and wanting to eat my brain . . . of course, I could watch old Simpsons episodes on Hulu!
All of this is a rather winded tie in to an idea that dates back to prehistoric times (i.e. before my 8 month writing hiatus). As I sed, I thunk I be edumacated. I believe I understand the purpose and often the hook, line and sinker that advertisements use. I watched my wife participate as host in a (whatever the new version of a Tupperware party is – the names have been changed to protect the innocent – and because I cannot currently remember) party. I read through some of the media that was provided to her and was not surprised, but rather amazed at the hooks they used to reel ‘em in . . .
Directions for a host.
Step 1: Make a list of some of the items you may be interested in, items you can ‘earn’ if your party sales are high enough!!!
Step 2: Now make a list of the people you think might be interested in the event.
Just like a car salesman, who allows you to personally take ownership of the car before committing any money through what they call a ‘test drive,’ the brochure encourages the host to begin filling their kitchen with goods before filling the seats. Having done this, many people can’t help but invite everybody they ever met – “Oh, I can ask them even though we only bumped into each other once on the subway . . . I really need that one thingey, why else would I have written it down.”
The biggest host hook of all was the final sinker:
Step 3: (I paraphrase) Now that your party was a success, you get a few things free . . . but wait, there’s more . . . you did so well that you can now have 2, no, 3 things at half price!!! What a great deal for you.
Who could resist such an offer? Half price is great. Of course, one will want to get the most benefit for such a great offer . . . I wonder what half of $538 is . . .
So here I finally pour out one last commercial insight, the one that first sparked my imagination. Again, I do not find myself surprised by the content, but rather marveling at the difference I have noticed.
Generic brands: they’re cheaper because they don’t advertise. I get it. That gives me two reasons to like them. But in the case of cereal, I have a third. ( I now find that all but one of the cereal boxes Pedro had been watching for me for the last 10+ months has since disappeared – hi-ho hi-ho it’s off to Google I go.) Take for example this Wheaties Box. What is the back of the box used for? Reminding you how great Wheaties is, of course . . . it’s an advertisement for itself. Take a look for yourself some day. Every major brand seems to use the back of its box as a way to advertise the product you’ve already bought. It seems they fear you might forget them!
But not the generic store brands. Those, especially the Aldi brands we buy, do not use their morning billboard to self-promote. Instead, they often use their tableside pulpit to simply entertain or even educate. The two boxes I have in front of me are of the educational variety. (I said only 1 survives, but I had a ‘spare’ in the cupboard. The best part of that one . . . computer-side snacks inside!) The first, a yellow box of Crispy Oats, a.k.a, poor man’s Cheerio’s (wow, Cheerio’s is in spell check. That’s a successful brand!), has a map of the world on it. Some of the countries are numbered and the reader is afforded the chance to match the countries to the images of flags pictured below the map.
The second box, an Aldi brand Honey Crunch ‘n Oats, has an even more impressive back. The effort spent in the creation appears to rival that of a well done high school poster-board report, though it likely took much less planning than the advertisement on the back of the Wheaties box. (By the by, Wheaties is not in spell check! What do you think of that?) The back of this box recounts the adventures of Lewis and Clark as they explored and mapped the Louisiana Territory. Did you know that “Lewis kept a daily journal in which he collected and preserved hundreds of plants, flowers, seeds and cuttings, which became an important contribution to the scientific community for years to come?” The box even goes on to suggest starting your own ‘nature journal.’
So there it is, the oldest remaining, previously unblogged about idea I have. Do you find it odd that I should write about such a trivial concept, or do others find entertainment in similarly mundane parts of their world? I guess what I’m trying to say is, I have to go. I have to finish reading about Sacagawea and see how many country flags I remember.
By the by, I was wrong. The map is matching the country flag and name to the map. I got 26 out of 30 correct, having mixed up Columbia and Venezuela as well as Chad and Algeria. I also mislabeled Spain as France, but quickly caught my mistake. (Yikes, I just crossed into page 2 . . . you still here??? If so, thanks!)
I like to think of myself as an educated man, one who is unruled by the powers that be. I feel I can separate myself from what the mainstream media demands of me and find my own way amongst the muddle of talking heads, TV shows and especially commercials.
You may remember one of my favorite blog postings in which I regaled my audience of the only documented case of me choosing to purchase a product I would otherwise be completely uninterested in merely out of respect for the content and delivery of the commercial itself. If it would please the court, I would like to submit another example, please let it be marked as State’s Evidence B.
This second case of a commercial finding use in my life was more a case of the commercials properly directing me to the product. Unlike most entertaining commercials, of which I tend to remember only the comedy, but not the content, I was able to find the website I sought only after I could call to mind the company’s recently used pitch. I sat staring blankly at my computer, my fingers resting undirected upon the keys. What address did I want? I could not remember. I knew the content I so desired, but the location was a wash. Then I remembered it, that one actor guy saying something about them being aliens and wanting to eat my brain . . . of course, I could watch old Simpsons episodes on Hulu!
All of this is a rather winded tie in to an idea that dates back to prehistoric times (i.e. before my 8 month writing hiatus). As I sed, I thunk I be edumacated. I believe I understand the purpose and often the hook, line and sinker that advertisements use. I watched my wife participate as host in a (whatever the new version of a Tupperware party is – the names have been changed to protect the innocent – and because I cannot currently remember) party. I read through some of the media that was provided to her and was not surprised, but rather amazed at the hooks they used to reel ‘em in . . .
Directions for a host.
Step 1: Make a list of some of the items you may be interested in, items you can ‘earn’ if your party sales are high enough!!!
Step 2: Now make a list of the people you think might be interested in the event.
Just like a car salesman, who allows you to personally take ownership of the car before committing any money through what they call a ‘test drive,’ the brochure encourages the host to begin filling their kitchen with goods before filling the seats. Having done this, many people can’t help but invite everybody they ever met – “Oh, I can ask them even though we only bumped into each other once on the subway . . . I really need that one thingey, why else would I have written it down.”
The biggest host hook of all was the final sinker:
Step 3: (I paraphrase) Now that your party was a success, you get a few things free . . . but wait, there’s more . . . you did so well that you can now have 2, no, 3 things at half price!!! What a great deal for you.
Who could resist such an offer? Half price is great. Of course, one will want to get the most benefit for such a great offer . . . I wonder what half of $538 is . . .
So here I finally pour out one last commercial insight, the one that first sparked my imagination. Again, I do not find myself surprised by the content, but rather marveling at the difference I have noticed.
Generic brands: they’re cheaper because they don’t advertise. I get it. That gives me two reasons to like them. But in the case of cereal, I have a third. ( I now find that all but one of the cereal boxes Pedro had been watching for me for the last 10+ months has since disappeared – hi-ho hi-ho it’s off to Google I go.) Take for example this Wheaties Box. What is the back of the box used for? Reminding you how great Wheaties is, of course . . . it’s an advertisement for itself. Take a look for yourself some day. Every major brand seems to use the back of its box as a way to advertise the product you’ve already bought. It seems they fear you might forget them!
But not the generic store brands. Those, especially the Aldi brands we buy, do not use their morning billboard to self-promote. Instead, they often use their tableside pulpit to simply entertain or even educate. The two boxes I have in front of me are of the educational variety. (I said only 1 survives, but I had a ‘spare’ in the cupboard. The best part of that one . . . computer-side snacks inside!) The first, a yellow box of Crispy Oats, a.k.a, poor man’s Cheerio’s (wow, Cheerio’s is in spell check. That’s a successful brand!), has a map of the world on it. Some of the countries are numbered and the reader is afforded the chance to match the countries to the images of flags pictured below the map.
The second box, an Aldi brand Honey Crunch ‘n Oats, has an even more impressive back. The effort spent in the creation appears to rival that of a well done high school poster-board report, though it likely took much less planning than the advertisement on the back of the Wheaties box. (By the by, Wheaties is not in spell check! What do you think of that?) The back of this box recounts the adventures of Lewis and Clark as they explored and mapped the Louisiana Territory. Did you know that “Lewis kept a daily journal in which he collected and preserved hundreds of plants, flowers, seeds and cuttings, which became an important contribution to the scientific community for years to come?” The box even goes on to suggest starting your own ‘nature journal.’
So there it is, the oldest remaining, previously unblogged about idea I have. Do you find it odd that I should write about such a trivial concept, or do others find entertainment in similarly mundane parts of their world? I guess what I’m trying to say is, I have to go. I have to finish reading about Sacagawea and see how many country flags I remember.
By the by, I was wrong. The map is matching the country flag and name to the map. I got 26 out of 30 correct, having mixed up Columbia and Venezuela as well as Chad and Algeria. I also mislabeled Spain as France, but quickly caught my mistake. (Yikes, I just crossed into page 2 . . . you still here??? If so, thanks!)
Thursday, July 15, 2010
And I Thought Writing a Blog Was Hard – Coming Up With a Title is Downright Impossible!
Oh how a week flies by when you have nothing to write about. To be fair to myself, it hasn’t really been a week; I resurrected my blog last Friday and I write this on Wednesday so the auto-post feature can kick in sometime around 12:01 Thursday morning. So let me begin again . . .
Oh how five days fly by when you have nothing to write about.
While I say nothing, it is not as if my life has been a complete blank, it’s simply that I’m not sure I want to bore the world with my semi-tame, semi-drama-filled life. I could blather on about my current job search or about the general depressiveness I’ve acquired having watched a Chicago White Sox take the first All Star game loss for the American League in over a decade. I could wow the world with the ooh-so-interesting (“Well, I’d hope so, because I’m laying it on pretty thick.” Five bonus points to the person who can name the movie, actor and what he (and I) had been spreading so deliciously thick. If I remember correctly . . . no, I don’t . . . I’ll have to read through my old blogs to see who the current points leader is.) . . . ooh-so-interesting tale of . . . . of . . . shucks, my tangent derailed me. ‘Twold hav ben wurth it if tha last few sen-tan-ces had dun made any cense. (to be re-read aloud with a slow country twang.)
Ahem . . . I mean . . .
When this blog was last in style, my little girl had just been pulled out of the oven, needed 18 more days of baking in the NICU, and had possibly already followed us home. Then news of her ceased; it was, to the outsider, as if she had simply dropped off the face of the Earth. Well, I’m here to tell you, she hasn’t. Gravity has kept her safe and she has been living rather quietly, no, loudly, well, let me put this as delicately as I can . . . my little girl is not her big brother!!
We’ve all heard it, “Oh, my second child wasn’t anything like my first. They had such different personalities right from the start.” I was not sure I believed it, but apparently it is quite often true.
Before I dig myself into too big a hole, not that I intend to stop digging but rather to kind of slope the sides, making my escape a little less perilous, I would like to point out that I have two very amazing and super-good kids. They both do well in public, they enjoy meeting new people and their general personalities are relaxed and happy. But as I had warned myself while raising an infant Andrew, he was such an insanely easy going child that a second child couldn’t help but be seen as a troublemaker!
Now calling Annaliese a troublemaker may be taking it a little too far, but she is definitely different. While Andrew’s biggest (and perhaps only real) challenge was cleaning up all the food that thought the esophagus was open to two way traffic, Annaliese has been . . . the little guy sitting besides me (no, not Andrew, this guy’s invisible) just told me to stop rambling and start giving examples.
Since the day she came home, Annaliese has yet to hold still. If she is awake, she is moving! With ‘The Boy,’ you could wrap your arm around him like a seatbelt and he would settle in for hours on end. Not Anna. Ooh no. She wants to move, to have her own freedom. But contrasting this independent spirit, she all too often requires attention be lavished upon her. She can be sitting in her saucer, queen of the world, when Daddy stands up to walk out of the room. Instantly, she reverts from Queen back to spoiled princess, demanding proper attention be again paid tribute to her. Often, it is quite enough to stand besides her, smiling. Other times the only payment she will accept is to be picked up and held. Of course, the now held child promptly demands the freedom of movement she so deserves.
Despite the minor downside of actually having to work while raising this second child (honestly, infant Andrew really was that easy!), I still find myself fondly attached to ‘The Girl.’ What she denies me in time spent asleep on my chest, she more than makes up for by joyfully climbing and bouncing on me as I attempt to hold her on my lap. She smiles and laughs, she army crawls around the house attempting to sate her infinite curiosity. And I, thanks to the briefly aforementioned job search, have a front row seat as my big-little girl grows up. Not a bad gig if you can get it!
By the by, paragraph three doesn’t really make any sense to me either. And I know the movie I was quoting . . . at least the “Blog Alarm” on my phone worked!
Oh how five days fly by when you have nothing to write about.
While I say nothing, it is not as if my life has been a complete blank, it’s simply that I’m not sure I want to bore the world with my semi-tame, semi-drama-filled life. I could blather on about my current job search or about the general depressiveness I’ve acquired having watched a Chicago White Sox take the first All Star game loss for the American League in over a decade. I could wow the world with the ooh-so-interesting (“Well, I’d hope so, because I’m laying it on pretty thick.” Five bonus points to the person who can name the movie, actor and what he (and I) had been spreading so deliciously thick. If I remember correctly . . . no, I don’t . . . I’ll have to read through my old blogs to see who the current points leader is.) . . . ooh-so-interesting tale of . . . . of . . . shucks, my tangent derailed me. ‘Twold hav ben wurth it if tha last few sen-tan-ces had dun made any cense. (to be re-read aloud with a slow country twang.)
Ahem . . . I mean . . .
When this blog was last in style, my little girl had just been pulled out of the oven, needed 18 more days of baking in the NICU, and had possibly already followed us home. Then news of her ceased; it was, to the outsider, as if she had simply dropped off the face of the Earth. Well, I’m here to tell you, she hasn’t. Gravity has kept her safe and she has been living rather quietly, no, loudly, well, let me put this as delicately as I can . . . my little girl is not her big brother!!
We’ve all heard it, “Oh, my second child wasn’t anything like my first. They had such different personalities right from the start.” I was not sure I believed it, but apparently it is quite often true.
Before I dig myself into too big a hole, not that I intend to stop digging but rather to kind of slope the sides, making my escape a little less perilous, I would like to point out that I have two very amazing and super-good kids. They both do well in public, they enjoy meeting new people and their general personalities are relaxed and happy. But as I had warned myself while raising an infant Andrew, he was such an insanely easy going child that a second child couldn’t help but be seen as a troublemaker!
Now calling Annaliese a troublemaker may be taking it a little too far, but she is definitely different. While Andrew’s biggest (and perhaps only real) challenge was cleaning up all the food that thought the esophagus was open to two way traffic, Annaliese has been . . . the little guy sitting besides me (no, not Andrew, this guy’s invisible) just told me to stop rambling and start giving examples.
Since the day she came home, Annaliese has yet to hold still. If she is awake, she is moving! With ‘The Boy,’ you could wrap your arm around him like a seatbelt and he would settle in for hours on end. Not Anna. Ooh no. She wants to move, to have her own freedom. But contrasting this independent spirit, she all too often requires attention be lavished upon her. She can be sitting in her saucer, queen of the world, when Daddy stands up to walk out of the room. Instantly, she reverts from Queen back to spoiled princess, demanding proper attention be again paid tribute to her. Often, it is quite enough to stand besides her, smiling. Other times the only payment she will accept is to be picked up and held. Of course, the now held child promptly demands the freedom of movement she so deserves.
Despite the minor downside of actually having to work while raising this second child (honestly, infant Andrew really was that easy!), I still find myself fondly attached to ‘The Girl.’ What she denies me in time spent asleep on my chest, she more than makes up for by joyfully climbing and bouncing on me as I attempt to hold her on my lap. She smiles and laughs, she army crawls around the house attempting to sate her infinite curiosity. And I, thanks to the briefly aforementioned job search, have a front row seat as my big-little girl grows up. Not a bad gig if you can get it!
By the by, paragraph three doesn’t really make any sense to me either. And I know the movie I was quoting . . . at least the “Blog Alarm” on my phone worked!
Friday, July 9, 2010
“The End is Near: A New Beginning” by Mike Hofner
It’s been way too long since I last sat down at my computer and attempted to create some conglomeration of words that best expressed what I was thinking . . . . who am I kidding, I’m usually not thinking . . . well, perhaps I go too far. Me thinks I always think.
There is always some oddity that is rambling about my tiny brain; a replay and/or revision of the past, some anticipation of that which is yet to come or some impossibility that will never be. Every once in a while over my 8 month (we shall call it a) sabbatical, my thoughts have turned to my long abandoned blog, but the desire to write has always been met with an equally strong desire to be apathetic.
But not today!
Today, I set a recurring alarm in the calendar of my phone. Every Thursday at noon, a blog is due. And as of this moment, I expect to meet my self inflicted deadline each and every week until the calendar on my phone ends . . . December 31, 2030!!!
Alas, our doom is at hand; the world will end on December 31, 2030 because that’s when my calendar ends . . . unless of course it’s already ended some time next year when the Mayan calendar ends . . . I suspect both may be wrong.
Here I sit half a page later and I have yet to broach the subject that my mulling mind meditated mediating manic motion on my mbehalf . . . The Boy!!!
For (here I will insert the number of days, if I can find the spreadsheet I made that calculates a person’s age in days – until then, we’ll just say most of three years – I found it) 1,019 days, I have awaited with undue anticipation that single event which most parents abhor. I have endured hours of torment answering every repetition of the question, “What’s that?” “A restaurant, it’s called Denny’s.” “What’s that?” “It’s called Ace Hardware, they sell tools.” “Tools!? What’s that?”
While I endured for long months, my torture has been lessened of late. He would often pause between queries to exclaim, “Daddy! Mommy, Andrew and Anna went there! We went to movie place! . . . What’s that?”
But it was not until yesterday that my o’er long desire was finally brought to fruition. Andrew came home from daycare and I gave him some direction to do something or such and such. Then out of the blue, it finally came.
“Why?”
With the pride that I’d been saving up for these long years, I pushed down the first response that came to my head (more on that later) and answered his question in unbridled detail.
I’m sure that every parent and most of the rest of you can make a guess at my initial reaction, “Because I said so!” But I have long been determined to not go that route. I feel that it is an easy out for one who doesn’t have the creativity or patience to outlast a three-year olds inquisitions. But not I, I have patience and creativity in spades.
So for the last 17 hours, I have answered the question “Why?” about forty times, each time with an answer that I think is befitting a child’s query. While I am not above requesting that the youthful investigation be put off until a later time (“Andrew, Daddy’s busy and can’t answer you right now.”) I am determined to avoid the parent’s ultimate cop out for as long as I can, or at least until my calendar says the world will end.
There is always some oddity that is rambling about my tiny brain; a replay and/or revision of the past, some anticipation of that which is yet to come or some impossibility that will never be. Every once in a while over my 8 month (we shall call it a) sabbatical, my thoughts have turned to my long abandoned blog, but the desire to write has always been met with an equally strong desire to be apathetic.
But not today!
Today, I set a recurring alarm in the calendar of my phone. Every Thursday at noon, a blog is due. And as of this moment, I expect to meet my self inflicted deadline each and every week until the calendar on my phone ends . . . December 31, 2030!!!
Alas, our doom is at hand; the world will end on December 31, 2030 because that’s when my calendar ends . . . unless of course it’s already ended some time next year when the Mayan calendar ends . . . I suspect both may be wrong.
Here I sit half a page later and I have yet to broach the subject that my mulling mind meditated mediating manic motion on my mbehalf . . . The Boy!!!
For (here I will insert the number of days, if I can find the spreadsheet I made that calculates a person’s age in days – until then, we’ll just say most of three years – I found it) 1,019 days, I have awaited with undue anticipation that single event which most parents abhor. I have endured hours of torment answering every repetition of the question, “What’s that?” “A restaurant, it’s called Denny’s.” “What’s that?” “It’s called Ace Hardware, they sell tools.” “Tools!? What’s that?”
While I endured for long months, my torture has been lessened of late. He would often pause between queries to exclaim, “Daddy! Mommy, Andrew and Anna went there! We went to movie place! . . . What’s that?”
But it was not until yesterday that my o’er long desire was finally brought to fruition. Andrew came home from daycare and I gave him some direction to do something or such and such. Then out of the blue, it finally came.
“Why?”
With the pride that I’d been saving up for these long years, I pushed down the first response that came to my head (more on that later) and answered his question in unbridled detail.
I’m sure that every parent and most of the rest of you can make a guess at my initial reaction, “Because I said so!” But I have long been determined to not go that route. I feel that it is an easy out for one who doesn’t have the creativity or patience to outlast a three-year olds inquisitions. But not I, I have patience and creativity in spades.
So for the last 17 hours, I have answered the question “Why?” about forty times, each time with an answer that I think is befitting a child’s query. While I am not above requesting that the youthful investigation be put off until a later time (“Andrew, Daddy’s busy and can’t answer you right now.”) I am determined to avoid the parent’s ultimate cop out for as long as I can, or at least until my calendar says the world will end.
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