There are millions of women sports fanatics. We know that. But I wanna talk to the fellas right now because I literally don’t even know many guys in our population who don’t Completely Lose Their Minds when it comes to their sports teams. Do you?

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I was in Stop and Shop last Saturday, perusing the aisle for honey – not the one shaped like a bear but the normal one – and I found myself slowing to a standstill. I was being blocked by an unattended shopping cart, abandoned in the middle of the aisle like a burned out Toyota in a zombie apocalypse.

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29 Nov 2017, by

Failure and Goose Poop

If you don’t know what goose poop looks like, lemme tell you something – it looks a whole lot like a mossy little rock. And you’re probably asking “Who cares what goose poop looks like?” But you’re only asking that because you weren’t the one skipping stones with your son and you weren’t the one who picked up goose poop with your bare hands. If you were, then I promise you, you’d be very interested in what goose poop looks like.

I was only picking up that goose poop in the first place because Liz and Finn were tossing stones into the lake. Lucy was next to them, picking what I assume were poison berries. I didn’t feel like picking poison berries with my daughter (though I did say “Try not to eat those poison berries!” so I feel like I did my job there). So stones it was.

I heard Finn and Liz talking as they threw. Or rather, I heard them pause, each with a stone in hand, look at each other, each say something, and then throw. I got closer to listen to them. (Which is probably why I was distracted and picking up goose poop instead of stones.)

What they were saying was pretty cool. They would name a thing that they wanted to get rid of, thoughts and fears they wanted out of their lives, and then hurl the stone into the lake.

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27 Nov 2017, by

Social Detox

Liz is going through a Facebook detox for Advent – she says she’s starting a little early. Which is the thing I wanted to bring up here.

But first I have to confess that I wrote that first sentence and then realized that I wasn’t totally sure when Advent was supposed to start. Or  if  the word “Advent” was supposed to be capitalized.

I’m also not completely positive what Advent is.

Look, I’m not an idiot – I know it’s around December. And I know it has to do with the Christmas season because we have an Advent Calendar. You open these little doors every day and bam – chocolate.

I use the word Advent for one reason – I’m a Christian and I’m supposed to know what it means. I’m pretty good at using the word in a sentence to sound like I know what I’m talking about. For example, if I’m walking through the lobby in church and I pass some cinnamon-scented potpourri or something, I’ll smile serenely at the person next to me and say, “Don’t you just love this holy season of Advent?”

There are times when I find myself caught up in the air using a Christian term and I realize that I don’t actually know precisely what I’m talking about. And I know that I should know, but I became a Christian in my thirties and so I have these embarrassing gaps in my knowledge. I also know that the first commandment ain’t “learn what Advent is,” it’s “Love Your Neighbor” and so I’m gonna focus on that one. For everything else I have Wikipedia.

But here’s the thing – I’m not one to actually admit that I don’t know things like that.

I, my friends, am a gifted faker.

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24 Nov 2017, by

The Hamburger Phone

Liz and I are blessed to be able to provide for our children. Our kids have shelter from the elements and food to sustain them. I have lived in places that have taught me to never, ever take that for granted.

That being said….

I am obsessed with maintaining this tip-of-a-pyramid balancing act of providing for my kids without them becoming spoiled. Nobody wants spoiled kids, right? So the metric I use (imperfect as it may be) is the number of toys Finn and Lucy have. I would be strolling through Target with the kids and they would leap onto the cart and point as if they had spotted the white whale, their vibrating finger revealing something that they needed, please Dad! I won’t ask for anything else if I just get that!

And I, the Good Parent, would give them a self-satisfied smile and say something pithy, like “We can’t get that, honey. But! Good news! …I love you!”

I say that so much that they now mouth the words along with me, eyes rolling. They hadn’t really expected me to say yes, after all, and to their credit they would almost always drop it immediately. In that moment I would swell with pride that I had once again parried the Demon of Entitlement and poured still more Concrete of Righteousness in the moral foundation of my children.

Then, yesterday came. Yesterday I realized that I had failed wildly in this regard. That moment came when, while walking through our playroom, I tripped over an object I literally didn’t know we owned. That object was this:

It’s a hamburger phone.

I don’t know where it came from.

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