Letting Go

It has been the most trying of times in our household. Sickness, death, arguments.

The realization that your kids will grow up and move away is more difficult for one of us to process than the other. It has caused some tension. How far do you let them go? When do you let them go? Who do you let them go with? When do you trust that what you have been teaching them is going to carry them through?

I have been reading Louis Markos' Restoring Beauty: The Good, The True and The Beautiful in the Writings of C.S. Lewis. I love the works of both C.S. Lewis and Dr. Markos (who is a personal friend of mine). A few of the passages that I keep going back to give me strength to believe that I am doing the right thing and to keep moving in the same direction.

Indeed, I cannot read through The Voyage of the Dawn Treader without a verse from 1 Corinthians popping into my head several times: "There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it" (10:13). Along with The Horse and His Boy, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader presents its audience with a picture of the the world that is not far removed from that of The Divine Comedy, Pilgrim's Progress, or Canterbury Tales. In an age when children (and their parents) are continually commanded to live in the now (not in the eschatological now of the kingdom, but the selfish, ephemeral now of immediate gratification), it is good that we be reminded that we are all pilgrims and sojourners in the land. We must be reminded (vis-a-vis the verse quoted above) that what we most need is daily grace to oercome the trials and temptations set before us on the road.

I have filled J's spiritual/moral bank account. I have read him the works of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. He has learned to love the story of Ulysses. We have read Shakespeare.

I have NOT allowed the public school system (which I am a strong advocate for, by the way) to reduce art and religions to mere feelings and nature and man to mere things (to paraphrase Dr. Markos). I have not allowed imagination to die in my home. I have taught them that there is a right and a wrong. I have shown the boys how to use a moral compass as a guide. I have told them it o.k. to be different and to not be afraid to be smart. We have discussed virtue and vice.

"Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it." Proverbs 22.

I have prepared them to go. I have taught them to try. I am not ready for J to leave forever. He is not ready to leave forever. But he is ready to try a few new things on his own. He is a good kid. Let him show you.

So two weeks became ...

almost a month without writing.

To be perfectly honest, I have settled into a mild depression. I don't want to live in Houston. I don't want to raise my kids here or drive here or shop here or eat here.

I want to live here.



O.K. so this would be tough as it is accessible only by a 4 mile mountain hike. Close to here would be nice. Close to here so I could visit and take my kids to see this more than once a year. Close to hiking and white-water rafting and skiing in the winter.

I want to be far away from the maddening rat-race of our lives.

I'll get better. I'll snap out of it. I'll reengage in my life and start reading and teaching and participating. But I don't want to .

I want to move to Montana.

Excuses, Excuses

photos by David Restivo

Not that I have been busy blogging a lot this summer, but I won't be again for about 2 weeks. I am going to Glacier National Park. Aren't you jealous?

I'll have photos of my own to share when I get home.

This Time He Has Gone to Far

My husband, that is.

He left 5 days ago and went to Paris and Antwerp.

Soon he will be on a plane bound for Columbo, Sri Lanka.

Please do not get any ideas that this is in any way glamourous or fun. It is work and he hates it.

Sri Lanka is, however, a new country for him. I can't remember if it is number 40 or 41. He could also add Qatar and U.A.E, but when we count countries we believe you actually have to leave the airport. Well, I count Japan even though I never left Narita, but I spent 14 hours in that airport with two young children. I paid my dues there.

To get home he will take two planes and fly 21 hours. He will leave Sri Lanka at 3:15 AM his time and get home at 4:25 PM my time.

That is too far away from me and the boys. We miss him. We have been trying to fill our days. It doesn't help much.

A Masterpiece

Despite my general enjoyment of life, I have been a little frustrated lately. Always one to lead, I feel like I have just been buffeted by competing forces. I have been in a few situations that robbed me of the power I usually have over my life. I couldn't get out of a rut. I have been living in a never-ending dress rehearsal.

I was finally able to turn things around and have been having a great summer. While not giving 100% (you were right, that would be off-balance), I have been living deliberately. I have been making the decisions in my life. I have taken the power back.

It has been so enjoyable. Each day, I have woken up knowing what my responsibilities were and what I wanted to make of the day. I have done what I needed to do and what I wanted to do. I have taken some steps to insure my children are insulated from the crazy people I am forced to live near.

We have travelled. We have had fun. We have spent time with real friends. We have created. We have even played a few video-games.

As I was driving home from dropping my husband off at the airport early one morning, I missed the NPR station and landed on the Christian radio station where I was lucky enough to catch a taped interview with the late Coach Wooden. What a funny guy with his homespun poetry and sayings. What an amazing leader and teacher. How he loved his wife.

Make each day a masterpiece. That's it. Same concept as my "there are no dress rehearsals," but I think I like the Coach's words even better. A masterpiece. A thing of beauty. Something enjoyable.

And guess what. My masterpiece is not yours or my neighbors. So if I am something you aren't and if I do things differently (from almost everyone else around me - which is not a way to win a popularity contest, by the way), then that is o.k. This is my masterpiece.

Busy Days

Expect a flood of posts in the next few days. I have been saving up my thoughts to pour out to you since the end of May. So much has happened around here, but I have been too busy with life to write about it. It's a good thing to be busy in the way I have been. I celebrated my 41st birthday. My sister, her husband and her three kids visited us for six day (not long enough). The boys finished another school year (with straight A's). I have been reading. It has been wonderful.

Yet today I was wondering, what would my life be like if I gave 100%? What if I gave even 90%? Life has been pretty easy for me. I am relatively intelligent. While I'll never be a super model, I am not ugly. I have great eyes and a wonderful smile. I attract mostly good people. My husband is brilliant, kind and generous. My children are healthy. I have achieved all of this while running at about 30% most days. Sometimes I bump that up to 40% when I have a lot to do. What if I gave even more ... I don't mean gave more away. I mean what if I gave more into my own life? What if I put some real effort into it? What could I accomplish?

I have always written that my life is guided by the truth that you never get to live this day again. That there are no dress rehearsals. I have kind of always lived so that there are no regrets. Even things I wouldn't do again, I don't regret. Everything I have done has shaped where I am today. I like where I am today. But what if?

What if I gave 100%?

He Can Tell a Story

As we work our way through our "at home" world history curriculum, J. and I are moving through the Middle Ages. We are making our way slowly, ever so slowly, to the Renaissance.

We flew through the Ancients. We loved the stories of the Egyptians and the Greeks and Romans. I haven't found quite as much to love in the stuffy English monarchs and the Plague.

Until this week. When we experienced Henry V.

I have read a little Shakespeare. A little. I remember when I was a girl, someone in my family gave me a beautifully illustrated children's version of some of his plays. His most famous comedies and his tragedies were all there. But there were no histories. There were none of the compelling and beautiful stories of the the great men of England.

So we jumped in this week. Anticipating this chapter and needing to add a little life into our study (the Greeks and Romans had tons of outside material to draw on, I haven't found as much for the Middle Ages), I purchased Henry V in comic book form for J.



and No Fear Shakespeare for myself.



We read them one afternoon, and the watched Kenneth Branagh in the title role in this film adaption.



I'll say it right now. I have missed out on a lot. It was wonderful. It was powerful. It was brilliant.

But we in it shall be remembered--
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
this day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

After we finished the movie last night, J. was pretty quiet. You know, it isn't very "cool" in 4th grade to be a fan of the Bard. Then he said before he went to sleep, "That guy really knows how to tell a story." Amen.

To Fly, To Read

Chapter nine of David McCullough's Brave Companions begins:

In the mid-1920s, in several parts of the world, a number of brave, skilled young men and women began taking to the air at the controls of a variety of aircraft ...

I was hooked on that chapter. I was hooked on the book as well, but I read and re-read that chapter. Then I went back to it and read it again.

These were no amateur pilots. They were intensely professional, intensely serious about the craft of flying and about their own role in history....

But most remarkable is how many of them proved to be writers of exceptional grace and vision, authors of more than a score of books.

The chapter was compelling because it combines two things I am passionate about ... reading and flying. You get the reading part. Who else would agree to read 15 books in 15 days and finish? Either someone who is passionate about reading or crazy (and I have been called that before).

But my passion for flying is a hard one to explain. I am not a pilot (my husband takes the controls of our personal aircraft). As many times as he asks me if I want to take the controls, I say "No." That is too much pressure. Too much responsibility. I don't want to pilot.

I like to navigate. I like to figure out how to get where we are going ... too easy sometimes with our modern avionics. What I really like is too look out the window and watch the ground rush by as we fly overhead. I like being up in the air. I like seeing the world from that angle. I like to fly.

I understand what compelled them to fly and to write. It is the same thing that compels me to read and to travel in our small plane. Both take you to new places.

The airplane offered a spiritual pilgrimage in ways other machines never had. These aviators wrote of being lifted out of themselves by the very act of flight, of becoming part of something infinitely larger than themselves.

McCullough discusses the books of both Lindberghs, Beryl Markham, Nevil Norway and Amelia Earhart. But I realized with a shock that I had never read one of the most famous pilot/authors signature works. I had never read Antoine de Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince.

That would be my 15th book. The Little Prince.




Much has been written of this little book that I learned to love in an hour of a day. But McCullough can say it better than I ever could.

"What frightens me more than the war is the world of tomorrow," Saint-Exupery told his mother in late 1940. Central to all he wrote was the theme of responsibility. In The Little Prince, it is the fox, finally, that tells the Little Prince what really matters in life, by reminding him of the flower, the single rose, he had cared for at home on his own small planet. "Men have forgotten the truth," says the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose."

I see that as I fly. The responsibility I have as a wife and a mother. The responsibility I have a citizen. We have built this country. We have planted and harvested from her soils. We have crossed her majestic peaks. We have settled and populated her. We have tamed her. Now we are to be held responsible.

Baseball, Book 1

I am hosting a summer "Bookclub for Boys." I have great plans for this club. It is open to any boy at the elementary school my kids attend. There are no restriction on age or grade. I don't even care if they can read. Their parents can read to them.

We are going to read baseball books, watch baseball movies and learn to keep score. At the end of the summer we will all attend a game together and use our new baseball skills to really enjoy the game.

I saw this book and loved the title. The Girl Who Threw Butterflies. It just sounded like a good book. It sounded like a fun read. It was. Not to melodramatic. Enough plot to keep me going. Fun characters. People in a community coming together.

The problem. The main character is a girl. A girl who plays baseball mind you. But she is still a girl. While I will have my boys read it, I don't think it will make the book club list.

With the Old Breed

This is Adam Brown. Adam is a Navy SEAL who was killed in combat on March 18, 2010. I didn't know Adam personally, but his life has touched mine on the fringes.

I was told of this tragic loss yesterday as I was reading the 6th of 15 books in the 15/15/15 challenge, With the Old Breed by E. B. Sledge. It is Sledge's account of his time with the Marines on Peleliu and Okinawa in WWII. It is one of the most profoundly moving books that I have ever read.

Sledge addresses the big picture: the war, the battle, and the Marines. But he also manages to make his experience more personal. He brings us into the action with a personal side and human stories.

The personal bodily filth imposed upon the combat infantryman by living conditions on the battlefield was difficult for me to tolerate. It bothered almost everyone I knew....To be anything less than neat and sharp was considered a negative reflection on the Marine Corps and wasn't tolerated....In combat cleanliness for the infantryman was all but impossible....It has always puzzled me that this important factor in our daily lives has received so little attention.

I have been fortunate enough to have spent time on Guam and in The Philippines. We have built close personal relationships with men who fought there. My husband stood with them as they honored their fallen comrades on the crest of Mt. Suribachi on Iwo Jima. They are heroes whose name will never appear in any history book or on any television series.

Mr. Sledge brought the stories that I have heard them tell me to life. I understand now that when Ed was telling me a gruesome story of a friend of his who was killed on Iwo, he was leaving much out. He was sparing me the most bloody details. He wanted me to understand the war, but he did not want me to know the war.

Mr. Sledge brought me closer to the battle than I would ever want to be.

To me, artillery was an invention of hell. The onrushing whistle and scream of the big steel package of destruction was the pinnacle of violent fury and the embodiment of pent-up evil. It was the essence of violence and of man's inhumanity to man.

During prolonged shelling, I often had to restrain myself and fight back a wild, inexorable urge to scream, to sob, and to cry. As Peleliu dragged on, I feared that if I ever lost control of myself under shell fire my mind would be shattered. I hated shells as much for their damage to the mind as to the body.

I hope I will never know war. I hope I will never lose a husband or a son.

I hope that the lives of the men who died in battle in WWII or Korea or The Iraq War will never be forgotten.

I hope that Adam's wife and two young children will know that there are people out there who appreciate their sacrifice and his.

I hope you will take a moment to say a prayer for them.

War is brutish, inglorious and a terrible waste. Combat leaves an indelible mark on those who are forced to endure it. The only redeeming factors were my comrades' incredible bravery and their devotion to each other.

If you have the way or the means in these trying times, I hope you might consider Adam's family.

Adam Brown Memorial Fund
Navy Federal Credit Union
Body 200 Dam Neck
Virginia Beach, Virginia 23461

Think for Yourself

TV turnoff week starts today. Can you do it? Can you turn off the T.V. and limit your non-work screen time? Can you get off Facebook and stop Twittering for a week?

I challenge you to keep the T.V. off for a whole week.

I dare you not to load Facebook for a week.

Turn it off.

Read a book. Even a bad one is probably better than T.V. (But if you are just going to read Twilight then you might as well just turn the T.V. back on.)

Do you feel lost without Facebook? Have lunch with a friend. Call your dad on the phone.

Play a board game.

Make pizza from scratch.

Go to a baseball game.

Thinking for yourself means finding yourself, finding your own reality. Here's the other problem with Facebook and Twitter and even The New York Times. When you expose yourself to those things, especially in the constant way that people do now--older people as well as younger people--you are continuously bombarding yourself with a stream of other people's thoughts....You are creating a cacophony in which it is impossible to hear your own voice.

William Dersiewicz in The American Scholar

Hypocrite

In an earlier post I described how much I missed the boys and how we were taking a mental health day. Well, I just shooed those same boys (who I enjoyed a wonderful day with) out the door with their dad. They are off on a weekend camping trip and I am home with the dog until noon Sunday.

Tonight I will watch Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution.

Tomorrow I will go to the art fair, do some shopping and have dinner with my girl-friends. Sunday, I will read the New York Times from cover to cover while drinking a quiet cup of coffee.

I will not watch Phineas and Ferb or ESPN Outdoors.

Forget the mental health day with the boys. I am going to get off the computer and start my mental health weekend.

Oh, how I will miss those boys.

Did You Watch?

How funny that the one show on TV last night that was really about "health care" in America was cut short for a special report on the health care? vote. Shame on you ABC ... what Jamie Oliver is trying to do can make a bigger change in our country than anything else.

Watch Jamie Oliver.

What Being on the Winning Side Gets You

I recently wrote a post on how J. learned a huge lesson by losing. I think I failed to mention that the organizers of the competition gave out trophies to the teams who came in 1st, 2nd and 3rd place. In other words, they only gave out trophies to the winners. One of J.'s teammates was upset by this. She thought everyone should get some sort of recognition. "My mom says we are all winners just because we tried."

Except that they weren't winners. They lost. They came in second to last. They did a bad job. There was no teamwork. They were losers. You are a participant because you try. You are a winner when you come in 1st. Yes, they give out three medals at the Olympics, but only one of them is gold. As my husband has been known to say, "Second place is really first loser."

It sounds kind of harsh today to hear it phrased that way, but it is true. Second place really is first loser.

Yes, the kids tried. Yes, they worked hard. Yes, they put in a lot of effort. But does my 7 year-old son need a trophy every single baseball season. He has a shelf full of them, but they mean nothing to him. He doesn't care if they fall and get broken. If you ask him what they are for he will tell you, "Those are just baseball trophies." Then he will walk you over to his dresser and point to his Pinewood Derby trophy. "This is my favorite," he will say. "I won this when the car that my dad and I built got second place." It has a place of honor. It has some meaning.

The Atlantic has tied the sense of entitlement these "Trophy Kids" we are raising have to the trouble they are having finding jobs in the recession.

Many of today's young adults seem temperamentally unprepared for the circumstances in which they now find themselves....people who graduated from high school in the 2000s dislike the idea of work for work's sake, and expect jobs and career to be tailored to their interests and lifestyle. Yet they also have much higher material expectations than the previous generations, and believe financial success is extremely important.... "It's a generation in which every kid has been told,'You can be anything you want. You're special."'

(Jean) Twenge attributes the shift to broad changes in parenting styles and teaching methods, in response to the growing belief that children should always feel good about themselves, no matter what. As the years have passed, efforts to boost self-esteem-and to decouple it from performance-have become widespread.

When did we stop telling our kids it is O.K. to lose? Do you even believe it yourself any more? (I think it was about when we stopped teaching cursive in elementary school) But you know what? It is O.K. to lose. As long as you put in your best effort and as long as you tried, it is o.k. to lose. It is a lot of fun to be recognized to for something you did, but it means so much more to be recognized for more than participation. Ask M. He'll show you how it feels to be recognized for winning. Ask Bode Miller. Ask Evan Lysacek. Ask the Saints.

She (Twenge) worries that many young people might be inclined to simply give up in this job market.... There's an element of entitlement-they expect people to figure things out for them.

Ron Alsop says a combination of entitlement and highly structured childhood has resulted in a lack of independence and entrepreneurialism in many 20-somethings.

Perhaps most worrisome, though, is the fatalism and lack of agency that both Twenge and Alsop discern in today's young adults. Trained throughout childhood to disconnect performance from reward, and told repeatedly that they are destined for great things, many are quick to place blame elsewhere when something goes wrong.

Be gracious in both winning and losing. Be a good sport. Try harder next time. Know that it is perfectly fine to lose. Teach your children this, because being on the winning side might get you more than you bargained for.

The Thunder of a Shout

I copied this paragraph in a post on this date last year to describe my (then) 6 year old.

I love you the reddest! I love you the color of the sky before it blazes into night. I love you the color of a leopard's eyes when it prowls through the jungle, and the color of a campfire at the edge of the flame. A wide open hug. The swirl of a magic cape. The thunder of a shout.

That is what he is ... the thunder of a shout.

For such a little kid - smaller then average - he takes up so much space.

His head is big ... really, really big. He is only 7 but he wears adult hats. He has since he was 4. He had to have an ultrasound on his head when he was 6 months old because the doctors thought the extreme growth rate of his head was due to a tumor. When the doctor asked if anyone in my family had large heads I asked, "Literally or figuratively. 'Cause we have both." I made a joke because I was scared. He was fine.

His head is big - literally and figuratively.

His laugh is big and contagious.

His thoughts are big.

His writing is big.

This kid takes up "space."

He takes up space in the life of everyone he meets. Very few people who meet M. leave without commenting on "what a ___ kid he is." Fill in the blank with whatever you want ... he is it.

What a FUNNY kid he is.
What a NICE kid he is.
What a CUTE kid he is.
What a GRUMPY kid he is.
What an AMAZING kid he is.
What a SMART kid he is.
What a SOCIAL kid he is.

What can I say to best describe him, besides the "thunder of a shout?' Just this.

HE IS.

I Have A Secret

I am not a "creative" person. Really.

(Well, maybe it isn't a huge secret.)

I am analytical. I like clear-cut steps. I like rules.

Even my creative undertakings usually involve steps. Cooking is a great example. I love to cook. I am quite a good cook. I am not a chef. I do not come up with dishes on my own. I follow recipes.

I scared myself a little yesterday when I bought this ...


and this ...


I don't know if it will make me creative, but I am going to have fun finding out.

I have been looking for a challenge.

And the most important part of this purchase is that it is the first thing I have bought and paid for myself since my husband's wedding present. I worked and got paid. I saved and spent. I bought this on my own!


I used Ken Rockwell's site and this information to help me choose. There is a wealth of useful information on this page.

People Magazine and Captain Underpants

I don't read People Magazine. There, I said it.

I don't read it. I don't even pick it up in the doctor's office when I have finished my own reading material. I don't like the magazine. I don't care if Brad is with Jen or Angelina. I don't care who went into or came out of rehab. I think People Magazine is a colossal waste of my time.

I read The Atlantic. I read the Wall Street Journal. I read to engage my mind. Sometimes I read to drown out the world around me. People Magazine doesn't do either of those things for me. When I want something a little lighter, I read Bon Appetit or Backpacker.

If you want to read People Magazine, by all means, go ahead and enjoy it. You are not me. You might not care who Brad is with either, but you might enjoy the temporary break in you day. You might care about who Brad is with. Good for you. I won't judge you. I will just understand that we have different tastes.

I eat sushi and my husband doesn't. Different tastes. He likes his steak well-done and I prefer mine medium. Different tastes.

My kids don't read Captain Underpants or Junie B Jones. I think they are awful. As a matter of fact there are a few books other popular books that I would prefer my boys not pick up. I am not a fan of Diary of a Wimpy Kid. M. enjoys it, but J. thinks it is little to young for him. We own it, but we are not fans.

We are a reading family, and my two boys are avid readers. They will take any book you give them and give it a chance. I would say I am lucky to have kids who love to read, but I raised them to be that way. We have always read and we are always reading.

We love Percy Jackson. We are actually a bit obsessed. We can't wait for the next book by Ted Bell to be released. I rediscovered Call of the Wild in the fall when J. and I read it together. Such a beautiful book.

Now you tell me. If your child would read Call of the Wild, wouldn't you give that to him instead of Captain Underpants?

I made a decision a long time ago, even before I had kids, that I would surround them with good books. I thought that if the only choices in the house were classics then they would learn to love them. I was right. They do love the classics; but more importantly, they just love to read. They enjoy being taken away to different worlds and different times. They enjoy telling me about what they learned. I love to hear about it.

Stop with the, "You are a dictator" speech even before it gets our of your mouth. I do let them choose what to read. We take turns. The boys choose a book and I choose a book. (They have never chosen Captain Underpants by the way.)

They are also only required to read 50 pages of each book I choose for them. They have to give every book a try. The smartest man I ever knew once told me that there were too many good books out there to waste time on the ones you don't like. I have taught my kids that as well. When they are reading for pleasure and not for a school assignment, they can quit if they don't like the book. They just have to give it a chance.

Look, I won't judge you if you and your child love Captain Underpants. I get that some kids don't like to read, and I agree that a child who is reading is better than a child who isn't.

We have different issues and different tastes.

(Scary) Random Thoughts

I profoundly believe that the power of food has a primal place in our homes that binds us to the best bits of life.

We've got to start teaching our kids about food in schools. Period.

I'll be watching his new show ... Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution

This book agrees ... Anti-Cancer, A New Way of Life by David Servan-Schreiber.

Socks on the Floor

My husband suggests you not buy a 2-story house. After this morning, I tend to agree. If I had a 1-story house, I would know where the socks are hiding.

I only go upstairs at night when it is time to tuck the boys in bed and say good-night. It is dark when they go to bed. The lights are off.

I went upstairs today to pull my ski gear out of the closet in preparation of our twice-postponed ski trip. I could see them. The socks on the floor.

Who cares right? Some socks on the floor. Well I do. I care. I can clean up just about anything. I don't even mind cleaning up the backyard. I hate picking dirty socks off the floor. From the back seat of my car. In the bathroom. On the kitchen table. Off the kitchen counter. On the computer table. On the coffee table. Dirty socks everywhere.

Help me. They can put the rest of their dirty clothes in their rooms. Not always in the hamper, but at least in their rooms. Socks never make it there.

The other day I quietly asked them to take all of their dirty socks upstairs. The socks disappeared.

Soon after that I asked them to put their clean clothes away, "Yes ma'am," came the quick reply.

I found all the socks today. And the clean clothes. The socks were all in a pile next to the Wii. The clean clothes were still in the hampers ... yep, next to the dirty socks and the Wii.

Well, the Wii is gone. Put away until June (I am such a mean mom). Their Nintendos seem to be gone as well (those only until we leave for our two day driving trip to Colorado). There will be no play-dates until next week. They will do their homework, go to baseball practice, read, and write me nice notes about how sorry they are that they can't pick up their socks!!!!

Please don't annoy me BEFORE I've had some coffee

I know my husband is quite good at his job. Now I think I know why. He annoys his employees and superiors until they just give in and let him have his way.

Let me recreate a little of our conversation this morning ... before I had even thought about coffee.

He: When are we going to see John this weekend?
(John is our cousin who is shipping out to Iraq in March.)

Me: You go up early and I'll come up after the baseball games.

He: That's too far for you to drive on your own.

Me: It's an hour and a half. I've driven it many times on my own.

He: Something could happen.

Me: Between here and C.S?

He: You could break down.

Me: I'll call you or AAA.

He: What if your phone doesn't work?

Me: Seriously? My brand new iPhone?

He: Yes. What if you are on the highway and your car breaks down and your phone doesn't work.

Me: I'm not driving on the highway.

He: You're taking the back roads? What if you hit a deer?

Me: Seriously?

He: Something could happen. What if I have my phone off?

Me: I'll call AAA, or George or Pat (Friends of ours whose houses I have to pass to get to C.S.)

He: Then we'll have two cars there.

Me: Yes?

He: Is that excessive? That wastes gas. It's expensive.

Me: Yes, but let me remind you that you work for an oil company. We get a discount on gas.

He: We'll have to drive back at night. That is an added risk factor.

Me: I don't want to talk about this anymore, just decide what you want to do and tell me.

Short pause ...

He: I don't want to miss the baseball games.

Me: They are practice games.

He: I've committed to making as many games as possible.

Me: They are practice games.

He: Are they practice or games?

Me: They are practice games.

He: I want to be there for the kids.

Me: They are practice games. Why don't we go on Sunday?

He: We'll miss church and Sunday School.

Me: Let's just go to early church.

He: Our friends will be disappointed if we aren't at sunday school.

Me: Seriously?

He: Yeah, K. is depending on us to be there.

Me: Seriously?

He: Well, I know we've only been once, but I think they want us there.

Me: (I say nothing and put a pillow over my head in a vain attempt to drown out the incessant chatter.)

He: So, when do you want to go see John this weekend?

I can't take anymore and the conversation ends when I get up and leave.