Archive for December, 2006

Recently, our son has become obsessed with shooting things. We have no idea how. We don’t watch shows with people shooting each otherit’s just not something we’re into. We can only assume he’s picked it up in his playtime with other kids. At least that’s how we help ourselves feel better about the situation.

He’s constantly figuring out what he can shoot. To wit:

While crossing the street this evening on our way downtown, we passed in front of a pickup driven by a nice lady that had stopped to let us cross.

Son: (pointing the ceramic bell he brought with him at the truck) pow! me shoot her!

Dad: No son, we don’t shoot people.

Son: Me shoot truck? (he asks, pausing to point his bell back to where the truck had been)

Dad: No, let’s not shoot the truck either.

Son: (gesturing to the mud in the gutter) Me shoot mud?

Dad: Sure, big guy, you can shoot the mud.

Son: (pointing the bell at the mud) pow!

Mom: Well, I think I know what he’s going to want for his 8th birthday.

Dad: (badly affecting Ralphie‘s 8-year-old enthusiasm) I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle! (back to Dad’s voice) No way kid, you’ll shoot your eye out.

Son: Okay! Me will! pow!


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Michelle: (suddenly, a brilliant flash of genius) I know what, kids! Why doesn’t Daddy go out and get us some ice cream (aside, to Daddy) and a diet Coke?
Rik: Hey! That sounds great! What do you guys want?

Discussion ensues. A diet Coke. A couple of vanilla ice creams in a cup. A hot fudge sundae. A diet Coke. Whatever Rik wants. Did we remember the diet Coke?

And then something amazingly, brutally juvenile happens on *cough*Wife Swap*hack!* that stops us in our tracks. Our attentions have been diverted. We lament the insensitivity of the participants, the ridiculousness of the situation, the fact that we are watching it. A minute passes. Then five.

Then suddenly, and very cheerfully:

Chloe: Good-bye, Daddy! I love you! I’ll see you soon!

Apparently, somebody’s attention was most definitely not diverted by things of lesser importance.

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  • behind the stove (curses! they found my secret dirt stash!)
  • under the stove hood (you must take it down and wash it)
  • the stove filter (located somewhere in the stove hood)
  • under the stove top (under the burners and drip pans and electrical wiring)
  • the dishwasher seal (“oh, everybody forgets this one”)
  • the side of the stove (when there isn’t enough room to even lose a knife down there)
  • under the fridge (because everyone knows when you have a dirty floor under your fridge)
  • inside the folds of the plastic seal around the edge of your refridgerator door (crumbs are your worst nightmare)
  • the top of the blades of the ceiling fan on your vaulted ceiling (anybody have a ladder I can borrow?)
  • the insides of the light fixture covers
  • the track that the patio door slides on (I’m actually okay with this one because I get down on my hands and knees and inspect these every time we considered moving into an apartment. Don’t you?)
  • under the contact paper in the bathroom drawers (especially when you consider that the paper was there when we moved in and the lady checking the apartment told us it wasn’t supposed to be there. Hmmm…sounds a bit fishy to me)

(and the one that really gets me, and that might take me a bit to explain)

  • the front face of the door jamb behind the doors of the furnace storage closet. That is, the part that extends downwards from the top beam of the door frame (and outwards from the side pieces) that the door rests against when closed (look at your own door, any of them, and you’ll see it). Must be wiped clean of dust. All 1/8″ of it. Because they actually check it, you see.

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get a grip

Lately, I’ve come to think about our passage through life, how it passes so quickly, much like a bit of a whirlwind.

At times, the wind is a bit rough and you have to reach out and grab on to something secure and try to ride out the worst of it. You come out of it a little rattled, maybe a bit shaken, but not so terribly hurt.

prelude to a fall

Other times, though, the wind is fierce and biting. It rips and pulls at every piece of you, at all you hold dear, threatening to sever ties to all that you know and relocate anything it can get a hold of. You feel like you could fall at any minute, and sometimes, you do. You get bruised, at times scarred, and it’s tough to pick yourself up.

And yet somehow, you do.


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Well, dear me. I don’t believe I know your name.

And so we begin to see the very root of the problem that inspired this letter. You see, I think the reason for our slightly strained relationship is that we never really took the time to introduce ourselves to each other and the set a few ground rules from the beginning. And now that we’ve moved, I feel like I may have already missed my opportunity to do so. Nevertheless, I’d like to try and salvage whatever might be left of our neighborly relationship.


Hi. My name is Rik. Nice to meet you.

There are probably a couple of things I should point out from the beginning (or from the end, as the case may be). Most importantly, perhaps, is the fact that I’m a parent. That title usually comes with at least one thing for certain: I have children. And, from our limited interaction, I can tell that I’m going to need to do a little explaining on that point.


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a brand new look

I finally got tired of our last theme mutilating our quoted conversations, putting everything in italics that shouldn’t have been. It really got under my collar.

So I switched.

So check out our brand new look and let me know what you think!

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Kids… that’s all I have to say. And yet, I’m writing more. Please continue…

They’re hilarious at times (at times). They listen to everything. Everything.

In the car this morning we were talking about our daughter’s preschool. Her class is the red group, and the other class is the white group. Very straightforward.

We went on to dicuss the world, life, work, adult stuff, etc. Then on to talk about saving money, carpooling and such (Poor Rik does this daily due to our one-car status).

Michelle: We carpool now. So we must be saving gas, or the air, or something. Plus, we bought LED Christmas lights, and we’re changing our lightbulbs to energy efficient ones!

Rik: We’re so green!

Chloe: (from the backseat) I’m red!

Hyrum: (with no idea what’s going on, but who loves to be involved) Me blue!

So now we’re a rainbow. An energy efficient, money saving, parents of two, rainbow.

(By the way, if I get to pick my own color, I want to be Pink. She makes a lot more money.)

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