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A Pile of Leaves (or Lies?)

After happily spending an afternoon amassing a pile of colorfully crackling dead leaves in our backyard, I watched with unabashed delight as my darling daughter ambled into view.  She spotted the newly built bed of fall fun, and with her eyes wide with excitement, stumbled happily in its general direction and Fosbury-flopped into it, her face painted with smiles and the crisp autumn air pierced with her unbrided laughs of delight.  My wife and I stood by, camera in hand, capturing every moment of this amazing time in our family.

At least that’s how I like to recount the tale.  In actuality, it played out a bit more like this.

After a third round of nagging, my wife threw a rake in my general direction and pointed at the backyard.  After about 10 minutes of chain-gang-esque manual labor, I had gathered a small group of leaves and came upon a fantastic idea –  I could use my daughter and some decent fall weather to get out of finishing the rest of the yard.  I went and found her, called for my wife to get the camera, and returned to my miniscule pile of mostly rotting leaves.  Justine stood, contemplated bathing in odorous yard detritus, and instead made a beeline for her playhouse instead.  Under the assumption that “she didn’t know what she was missing,” I coerced her back to me, picked her up and placed her into the leaf pile while my wife snapped “candids.”

Justine pulled herself up and ran as far away from this “fun fall activity” as she could.

Smart kid.

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Posted in First Fall Activities, Tell Me Thursdays. Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

Making Like a Tree

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Posted in Wordless Wednesday. Tagged with .

If The Shoe Fits…

There are many, many avenues that scientists can travel in their unending quest for truth and enlightenment, their quest to shed light on the thousands of questions that plague humanity each and every day.  A precious few give up their lives trying to make things better, by uncover new flavors of ice cream or designing a faster way to do things that are already pretty darn fast.  Some toil away testing whether buttered toast does indeed always land face down, or whether you can raise a boat with ping pong balls, both important questions.  But most instead spend their days seeking answers to mind-numbingly boring and for the most part useless bits of knowledge, like how was the universe formed, or a grand-unified theory that bridges quantum physics and physical education, or something like that.  But I personally wish science could tackle a more pressing question for me – what is the gene that determines how many pairs of shoes a person thinks is acceptable and how the heck do I turn it down?

This is usually the point where some people cringe, waiting for ol’ misogynistic Mark to rear his ugly head and attribute this particular trait specifically to woman, but I’m not going to do that.  I know a few guys that have this affliction as well, owning multiple pairs of the same sneakers in different colors to “match their outfits,” a suggestion that is as foreign to me as brushing your teeth more than once a day.  (Just kidding – I don’t brush my teeth at all) No – this pernicious condition spans all races, genders and ages – extreme shoe acquisition disorder (ESAD) is an equal opportunity offender.

To be honest with you, my wife isn’t all that bad, if a short perusal of an MTV Cribs marathon can attest.  While yes, she does have probably dozens of pairs of shoes, sneakers, clogs, sandals, glass slippers and faux Bigfoot clompers we use to ignite the imaginations of local cryptozoologists, I wouldn’t describe her collection as “out of control,” despite the fact that it spans two closets.  In truth, she only has about half a dozen or so active pairs, the rest rotting away in wooden bins awaiting that rare occasion when they would actually go with a nice outfit on the two days a year we actually go anywhere nice.  (Usually sans Justine – coincidence?)

In any case, the only reason I bring this up now is the glimpse I caught in my daughter’s bedroom as we were, once again, recounting the tale of Curious George Goes Fishing, a rather lackluster tale of everyone’s favorite chimp that Justine finds strangely captivating.  There upon the dresser lined up in a neat row were the accumulated pairs of shoes that she owned and actually were available for wearing (i.e. they still fit).  A half dozen varieties were on display, including sandals, boots, sneakers and the like.  To my dismay, it appears that ESAD’s has been passed on to my darling daughter as well.

I know what you are thinking – this is simply a case of my wife projecting her desire for purchasing shoes upon my infant daughter, and normally I would tend to agree with you.  But if that were the case, than my daughter would simply choose the same pair of shoes every time we go out, and the reality is that she doesn’t, firmly shaking her head no when offered certain pairs, and grabbing at other unprompted.  No, I think the seed of ESAD is there, it just needs the nurturing and (dare I say) enabling of another afflicted to turn into an unstoppable infliction.

In other words, I’m screwed.

- MWF -

Happy Fatherhood Friday to all, and to all a good day!

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Posted in Day to Day Baby Living. Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .