On our recent vacation to Louisiana, we went to the local Jazz Festival and sampled various Cajun foods, amongst them Cajun Meat. We asked Aunt Bama “What is Cajun Meat?” Her response — “You drive down highway 190 and spray paint all of the dead animals orange. Then, you drive back an hour later and pick up anything that isn’t orange. That’s your Cajun Meat.” She noted that it is a 30-year-old joke, but we thought it worth repeating.
What M says: “I love you daddy…I just don’t like you brushing my teeth.”
My daughter came home yesterday carrying the pictured sheet of paper and a glass “rock.” Two interesting, yet unsurprising things followed:
- After reading the poem, all three of my sons immediately reacted with incredulity and indignation — “Who would teach this to kindergarteners?”
- My daughter became a bit confused about the rock. She agreed that it was a better idea to tell your worries to Jesus or to your parents, but thought the rock was cute and it might still be a good third-place backup.
Well, if I needed something to worry about, I would worry about the competence of the school psychologist.
Worry Rock Poem
One of our favourite manly traditions is the calling of the front seat. Men and boys all over the English-speaking world can be found racing out of doors shouting, “Shotgun!” At our house, though, the mom and dad always take up the left seat and shotgun positions, leaving only the middle and back row positions open, but alas! those seats have no awesome nickname or protocol for calling them.
So we have adapted the shotgun protocol to the exigencies of our mini-van. In honour of World War II bomber crews, we have christened our two middle row positions “waist gun” and our three rear positions, “tail gun.” Our boys and girl may daily be found sprinting out the front door shouting, “waist gun!” “tail gun!” and that’s just the way we like it.
What K says: “I know the rules say I can’t hit you in the head, but I probably will anyway.”
Adam, we are envious and we shall miss you, but only for a while and then we get to take that bike ride.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.
I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better.
1 Thessalonians 4:13
But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.
“O! I’d better do a load of laundry or I won’t have anything to wear this week.” – G
Cinderella would join in building the wall.
Cinderella picks up a hammer.
After a conversation about the program with my son’s gym teacher, Mr. F, I had the opportunity to stop in and observe B’s class shooting archery after school. I was impressed by the structure of the program and how much the boys and girls had learned. The class followed the National Archery in Schools Program, so there was a proper emphasis on safety. The instructor had three different whistle commands. Two whistles meant “take your position on the shooting line and rest your bows on your toes.” One whistle meant “shoot.” Three whistles meant “return your bows and get your arrows.” A few times, a student slipped up and was quickly reminded, but almost every boy followed the commands instinctively.
Mr. F said I should take a few shots, and A said I should borrow his bow, but the other boys said A’s bow did not work as well. I chose it anyway. On two whistles, I approached the line and reached for an arrow, only to be reminded by Mr. F that I must wait for the single whistle. I grimaced and replaced my arrow. On the single whistle, I put three arrows in the bulls eye and A was quick to point out that “it’s the archer not the bow!”
The great part about archery is that anyone can do it. I know several of B’s classmates, so I was stoked to see them shoot. There were varying degrees of ability, but I was told they all had improved and they all appeared to enjoy it. Thanks Mr. F!
B demonstrates fantastic form on the range.
Here is what a four-year-old thinks; “if I say I am hungry, dad will say it is o.k. for me to have some gummy vitamins.” The conversation goes like this.
“I want vitamins.”
“But you already had your vitamins for today.”
With a moderate whine, “But dad, I’m hungry!”
“I understand. How about an apple.”
“No, I want vitamins. I’m hungry.”