Gene pool

I realized something the other day. To illustrate my epiphany, a story.

I was assembling something that came with instructions, and as I pulled the different pieces out of the box, Morgan quickly picked up a piece and showed me where it went. It was the part to assemble. He just knew. And he was right.

Joshua, on the other hand, during the 20 or so minutes while I was putting the rest of the thing together, was carefully studying the pictures in the instructions (or "constructions" as he calls them, though in my hands they may as well be called destructions). Just as I was finishing the assembling of the project, Joshua took the same piece Morgan had and said, "I think this goes here," showing me the same thing Morgan had shown me just by looking at the stuff.

And so, I regret to inform you that Joshua has inherited my talents and inabilities when it comes to common things dudes are supposed to be able to do. Whereas Morgan has inherited the mad skills of J's brothers, one of whom overhauled an engine or replaced a transmission or something when he was 10.

Sorry, Josh.

Yeah, But what about when it really happens

I'm all about talking the talk.

In Elders' Quorum today we discussed Elder Wirthlin's last Conference talk, "Come What May and Love It," and I made some comments about how we should enjoy the every day things that we do with our families, particularly our children, who can sometimes be a little frustrating.

Then this evening, as J was getting ready to go to work, we came upstairs to find Morgan hysterical and saying something about, "Clean it up, Daddy!"

We followed him into the bathroom where there was an inch of water on the floor. He had put nearly an entire roll of toilet paper in the toilet and flushed.

This is something we have tried to help him learn not to do, inasmuch as he is currently in potty training mode and these kinds of temptations are around. But he doesn't learn such things very easily.

Or, at all.

I got most of the water mopped up and then went to try and fix the toilet. In my attempts to do so, more water ended up on the floor, which I cleaned up.

(Oh, all this while poor little Jack had to sit in his high chair and try to be entertained, though he was really in the mood to be held.)

Just when I was very nearly done mopping up the water for the second time, Morgan came running toward me there in the bathroom (I do not know what for), slipped, and knocked the mop bucket of dirty toilet water over.

Yeah, come what may, and love it.

Maybe tomorrow.

Monkey and Monster Both Start with ...

My kids are watching Word World.

Just about every day as I'm doing whatever it is I do each day, I think, as things are happening, ooh, I should blog about this.

Then I get home and the moment is far gone, and either the thing doesn't seem that interesting anymore, or I can't remember what profound and eloquent things I wanted to say about it.

Oh, by the way, you will no longer find me at the Seagull Book in Orem or American  Fork (where I spent two blog post-less weeks, not that there wasn't anything worthy of blogging (see above)), but you will find me at the South Towne (pronounced Town-ee I'm pretty sure) Seagull Book. As of this past Monday that's where I've been assigned as store manager, no longer in training.

Here is something though, I'm going to try to get a picture if I can.

Never mind, actually you can sometimes mind if you want, but it's no mind right now. I'm going to go ahead and take my own fatherly advice to not disturb him if he's playing nicely; advice that usually sounds like this: "Joshua, put him down! If he's playing happily there is no reason to pick him up and distract him."

The picture would have been of Jack's fat lip. He's got two sharp little teeth on the bottom of his mouth that met with his upper lip when his hands slipped out from under him as he was crawling and his chin hit the floor. His lip is huge; it makes him look really pitiful. Poor guy.

I googled my name.

There is a cardiologist in Maryland that shares my name.

And an attorney... somewhere.

Sometime I'll have to write about my dislike of phone conversations.

Extreme dislike, that is.