Setting For Lack of

First, I thought I'd check out the BCS standings out new today, so I googled "bcs standings" and the first hit was this article. What the...? The LA Times? 

Dude, that beating BYU gave UCLA must really have affected the psyches of the sports writers in Southern California if they're writing things like this.

Anyway.

profundity, in spite of its absurd sound and silly look, is in fact a word that denotes something full of deep meaning. Even if Microsoft Word or an English grad student doesn't recognize it (I have no idea if Word does or not).

But blogger (and wordpress for that matter) do not recognize this word:

dialogue

And why the heck not?

Hang on. Blogger's not putting little red dots under it. Time to investigate. 

brb

They both recognize it now. I have nothing to complain about.

They came around.

Good job blogging forces. Wait to recognize a key term in your existence.

And now for a cute picture:

This more than makes up for this post, doesn't it?

Sniff

A little while ago Mini #2 was eating his breakfast in his high chair.

Golden Grahams (tm or whatever).

He was toward the end of enjoying this bowl full of enriched sugary goodness, and I noticed something.

Golden Grahams milk has a very particular smell. It smells different than any other kind of milk.

I think it's probably the same for any cereal. They each have their own milk smell.

And flavor.

Which made me think, what's my favorite flavor of cereal milk? Certainly Lucky Charms makes really delicious milk, as does Cookie Crisp.

I can't decide.

What's your favorite flavor of cereal milk? I think I know Gatsby's (Reeses Cereal), but I don't know about the rest of you.

Huh!

I probably wanted to do it mostly because I thought it would be a lot of fun. But I think there was a little selflessness involved too.

About a year ago we bought bunk beds for Mini's 1 and 2. But we didn't have the beds on top of each other because the one used as a top bunk made a great toddler bed for Mini 2, what with the side rails and all. But the other day I decided it would be fun, and both boys were probably big enough respectively to use it (Mini 1 to use the top bunk and Mini 2 to use the bottom one without falling out), so with the help of J's sister, we got the beds together.

But there is one challenge involved now.

You see, both boys go to sleep at night in our bed. Then we carry them into their room and put them in their own beds and (ideally) that's where they stay for the rest of the night.

So this requires me to heft Mini 1 up and over the rails of the top bunk, a height of more than six feet I'm sure. Now, I've been known for my extremely buff thumbs (just ask J), but this is requiring me to work on my, um, lats or something.

But it's tough, you see.

I'm a manly man.

Even if I did shave that goatee thing off.

HUH!!

Literally

I just finished a book. This is a big deal for me. I don't read very well or very quickly, but once in a while I'll find a book that I really like, and this one is definitely in my top three.

The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible by A. J. Jacobs.

First of all, I love Jacobs' writing style. And the subject of the book is fascinating to me, primarily because of my degree from BYU. I spent years studying these bizarre Biblical laws and the culture of the Bible, and to read about this not-so-religious guy attempt to live by every law in the Bible... well, it was entertaining to say the least.

I really just wanted to blog about this so I could quote my favorite part of the book:

When he obeyed the commandment to stone certain sinners.

My plan had been to walk nonchalantly past the Sabbath violator and chuck the pebbles at the small of his back. But after a couple of failed passes, I realized it was a bad idea. A chucked pebble, no matter how small, does not go unnoticed.
My revised plan: I would pretend to be clumsy and drop the pebble on his shoe. So I did.
And in this way I stoned. But it was probably the most polite stoning in history--I said, "I'm sorry," and then leaned down to pick up the pebble. And he leaned down at the same time, and we almost butted heads, and then he apologized, then I apologized again.
Highly unsatisfying.
Today I get another chance. I am resting in a small public park on the Upper West Side, the kind where you see retirees eating tuna sandwiches on benches.
"Hey, you're dressed queer."
I look over. The speaker is an elderly man, mid-seventies, I'd guess. He is tall and thin and is wearing one of those caps that cabbies wore in movies from the forties.
"You're dressed queer," he snarls. "Why you dressed so queer?"
I have on my usual tassels, and, for good measure, have worn some sandals and am carrying a knotty maple stick I'd bought on the internet for twenty-five dollars.
"I'm trying to live by the rules of the Bible. The Ten Commandments, stoning adulterers . . . "
"You're stoning adulterers?"
"Yeah, I'm stoning adulterers."
"I'm an adulterer."
"You're currently an adulterer?"
"Yeah. Tonight, tomorrow, yesterday, two weeks from now. You gonna stone me?"
"If I could, yes, that'd be great."
"I'll punch you in the face. I'll send you to the cemetery."
He is serious. This isn't a cutesy grumpy old man. This is an angry old man. This is a man with seven decades of hostility behind him.
I fish out my pebbles from my back pocket.
"I wouldn't stone you with big stones," I say. "Just these little guys."
I open my palm to show him the pebbles. He lunges at me, grabbing one out of my hand, then flinging it at my face. It whizzes by my cheek.
I am stunned for a second. I hadn't expected this grizzled old man to make the first move. But now there is nothing stopping me from retaliating. An eye for an eye.
I take one of the remaining pebbles and whip it at his chest. It bounces off.
"I'll punch you right in the kisser," he says.
We stare at each other. My pulse has doubled.
Yes, he is a septuagenarian. Yes, he had just threatened me using corning Honeymooners dialogue. But you could tell: This man has a strong dark side.
Our glaring contest lasts ten seconds, then he walks away, brushing by me as he leaves (pp 92-93).

I really recommend you read this book.

My Dad Did It

So why shouldn't I? Right? 

Wrong.

Now When I Said No...

So four weeks ago I quit my job at Saturn. 

It was official when Mini #3 was born. You see, I'm not very good at sales. As the general manager said, "You're too nice. People know they can tell you no."

I tend to give people an out; I'm not pushy; etc.

But man, now that I'm not there selling Saturns, let me tell you, they are wonderful cars and the service that you will get, especially at Saturn of Orem, is unmatched in the car industry. The people there are sincere and actually care about their guests. Even if you are not interested in the Saturn brand (which you should be, by the way), go there to see what they have and receive a little education on car buying.

Oh, for those who may be interested in the Toyota Highlander, a really nice crossover no doubt, don't make any decisions until you've checked out the Saturn Outlook. 

You know who you are.

For the past four weeks, then, I've been "in school." At least, that's what it sounds like to people, and I'm often asked how school is going.

But really, I'm just taking this one class, eight weeks in all, to get my nurse assistant certification. So saying that I'm in school right now is like saying UCLA played a football game today. It's not exactly like what you may be thinking.

Oh, and class was cancelled three out of four days this past week.

But I did apply for a job. I should have known better. It's become very clear that I am not supposed to work for the Church or any of the ancillary branches of the Church. Even if I get an interview and feel like I'm extremely qualified... nah. It doesn't happen.

It was for a job at the MTC. One that I've been watching to see if it would open for more than a year. It did; I applied, I interviewed, and they hired someone else.

But I think I'll like wearing scrubs to work better than a suit anyway.

Insight

Mini #1 loves to play online games on pbskids.org. All the games are associated with a TV show on PBS. For the most part, these TV shows are educational and really good. 

But then there's this one:

I don't think he's ever watched the show on television, so he has no idea what it's all about. But he clicked on the game this morning and played one where he was supposed to give each of the characters an object, and then they would say thank you.

After giving the last object to the last ... whatever ... and it said thank you, he looked at me and said, "They sound sick."

I always knew Mini #1 was intuitive.

Minis Skip to the Lu

We've considered getting some of these for Mini #3. They're supposed to protect you during diaper changes.
They're called "pee pee tee pees".

The other night Mini #2 woke up and had no diaper on. I clearly remembered girding his loins with one the evening before (in spite of what J may say). He was wearing one of those one piece pajama things that zip up the front, so losing a diaper would seem impossible. I then remembered that the night before, after getting Mini #2 ready for bed he had gone upstairs and enjoyed some gold fish crackers in the kitchen. When I went up to get him and bring him downstairs there was an unused, yet open, diaper of his on the kitchen floor. I assumed he had got it from the living room and been playing with it, but on further consideration I figured he must have unzipped his pajamas, taken the thing off, and zipped them back up while he was upstairs alone.

Or maybe I just forgot to gird him. That could be too.

The other morning Mini #1 came running downstairs very excited about showing me something. "Come see my poopoo, Daddy! It's so big!!" I ran with him upstairs while he told me about how "huuuuge" his poop was and observed the work in the toilet. Sure enough, he had pooped a very big poop.

Later I found out from J's sister, whose bedroom is next to the upstairs bathroom, that he had called for me for about five minutes thusly, "DADDY! COME LOOK AT MY POOPOO! DADDY! IT'S SO BIG! COME ON DADDY!!" before she got up and suggested that he come find me and tell me.

10 is Not Really That Big

Three times today.

Twice at the  pediatrician's office and once at Shopko.

(Oh, that reminds me, Mini #3 is growing a lot and has gained a whole pound and stretched an inch in his two weeks of living.)

J was wearing sandals, and I stepped on her toe once, then as I was handing Mini#3 to her I rammed my shoe into her other foot catching her big toenail and bending it back a little, then I ran over one of her feet with a shopping cart.

What's wrong with me?

And on another note, I have a quiz for you:

Why would Mini #2 use the first person possessive pronoun ("my") to say that he's done doing something (eg. "My all done" instead of "I'm all done")?

I will answer this, if no one figures it out before hand, in a few days.