Handshakes All Around! in which We remember 10 years Ago

Tomorrow.

Though I remember 10 years ago right about this time too. We were at a bowling alley. I was wearing a Jeffrie's Fan Club t-shirt. It was 1999, and things were about to change for me forever.

The next day, November 24th, the day before Thanksgiving, my parents drove me a few miles east of our house and dropped me off to live for three weeks before flying out to Michigan for two years.

I'm not sure about this, but I think that year was the only time they had any incoming missionaries the day before Thanksgiving.

Our first full day we spent going to devotionals, hanging out with nothing to do, and watching Legacy. I'm sure they thought this was a good idea, but observing hundreds of young men recently separated from their girlfriends watching the kissing scenes was kind of depressing.

Ten years. Whew!

And then, there was that time a few days before leaving the MTC that Mikey, Aaron, and Spencer visited me. We have a picture of the four of us (fully clothed) in the "tree of life" showers.

How did I get away with that?

Mom sent me cinnamon rolls one day. And that was awesome.

I weighed 140 pounds.

And Out Come the Wolves, in which I decide this is the greatest punk album of all time

Really. It is.

"Ah, turn it up!"

"Oy oy oy!"

"Na na na na, na na na na, na na na!"

"The radio was playin', Desmond Dekker was singin'..."

Journey to the End of East Bay's bass line and concise telling of the Operation Ivy story: "Four kids on tour, three thousand miles, in a four door car, not know what was goin' on."

"Black coat, white shoes, black hat, Cadillac..."

"Ruby Ruby Ruby Ruby Soho!"

That's evidence enough.

Red Head, in which Joshua wears a red beanie to school for Red Ribbon Week

We pulled up to Joshua's school, and before getting out of the van, Josh played a little game with Jack to make him laugh. As he hopped out of the van he said to me, "Take care of him for me."

"I will, dude."

29 years in the Making, in which Holdinator has a birthday

It took me 29 years, but I finally reached my star birthday.

I was hoping that for my birthday the Carolina Panthers would light up the Dallas Cowboys' defense, because then I would have won in fantasy football this week. But that didn't happen.

It's my own fault though, I guess. I'm the one with Frank Gore as a running back (left the game after one carry with an injury) and TO as one of my receivers (first time in many years that he didn't catch a single pass in a game). At least my quarterback, Jay Cutler, is making some improvements from his first game this season.

If you can't tell, during my 29th year of life I discovered another way to be a geek.

66, in which Holdinator misses his Dad

Today is my Dad's 66th birthday. It's really strange that he's not here for us to celebrate it with him.

My intent in posting about this today is very different from my other posts on this blog. Probably for the first time I'm posting solely because I know my family will appreciate these thoughts, and not for any other reason.
Dad isn't in very many pictures, and there's a good (but really not-so-good) reason for that.

Dad is the photographer. He instilled in every one of his children an appreciation for a good photo. He reveled in my taking a photography class as a senior in high school. He helped me create beautiful pictures for my projects, and let me use his really nice camera that semester.

Probably he instilled in each of us an appreciation for goofy pictures. The fish eye lens was a favorite of ours. I don't have any of those pictures here. But we all remember.

There's one of those shirts David talked about at Dad's funeral.
Here's a favorite in our house. In spite of how his appearance changed throughout the last years of his life, his smile was constant.
Each of the kids has adopted a Rich-ism or a few. I find myself almost every day making one of the mini-Holdinators laugh using a game, a face, or a noise that I learned from their Papa. I hope that I don't forget to give him credit.
Jack's memories of Papa. He'll absolutely remember him. We will make sure of that.

13 months ago Papa came to the hospital to meet his little grandson.
19 weeks ago this evening I took Jack with me to the hospital. We were told we needed to hurry. I went through a number of reasons in my head why we would need to hurry, but that we wouldn't be able to talk to Dad or give him a blessing did not occur to me.

It couldn't occur to me.

I was holding Jack at the receptionists' desk in the ER. The look of realization on their faces when I told them who I was, it was a look of sudden quiet and lack of rushing in the midst of a place where everyone was rushing to do everything (why would they slowly lead us to his room? I thought) should have been indicative of the reality of the situation.

It was very comforting, to me, to have Jack there. I could hold him as tight as I wanted, and he didn't mind. Jack didn't know what was going on, but he was good for a lot of hugs; somehow instinctively he understood his role that night. Love and be loved.


Papa made all of his grandkids laugh. That was what he did best with them.

That was one of the things he did best with everyone.

5 glasses during dinner, in which Holdinator learns that he can drink a lot of apple juice

Doggie Sneezes, in which Holdinator thinks a bug flew up Annie's nose

I feel kind of bad, but it was really funny.As you can tell, she's not terribly impressed with my posting about this.

And now for something completely different.

"Dude, this is my first day of Kindergarten. Just chill, ok?""Where's my cupcake? I just had it!"
-Insert your own witty comment here-

Poets Have Day (or Night) Jobs, in which Holdinator blogs about The Undertaking

The chapter in The Undertaking was about children and parenting.

And death.

Because the book is about death, and being a funeral director, and being a poet, and living in a small Michigan town, and life.

It is a much better book than Stiff.

At least, in my opinion.

And I would imagine that most people who are in the temporal proximity of losing someone dear to them would agree.

It's sufficient to say that after having read this book I am appreciative of the work of someone who embalms rather than abhorred by it.

Fodder, in which Holdinator graciously answers a question from his older sister

Who is Dan Belnap?

Don't feel too bad. There is at least one of his fellow faculty members who doesn't know who he is.

But I'm pretty sure the BS (Biblical Studies, is that abbreviation accidental? I have no definitive answer for that; however, our club at BYU was abbreviated thusly: SANE [Students of the Ancient Near East]) graduate students and PhD's on the Bloggernacle know who he is.

I've left the Bloggernacle behind, mostly.

I think my departure coincided with my departure from Saturn, which also coincidentally (not so much really) coincided with the end of my days sitting in front of an internet-limited-but-blogs-still-allowable-computer all day.

He, Dan Belnap that is (this is all off the top of my head), is an assistant professor of Ancient Scripture at BYU.

His PhD is in Near Eastern Languages, University of Chicago. His dissertation was about the ritual use of liquids in the Old Testament and other ancient Semitic cultures (Ugaritic and others). ... I think.

I know he has at least three children. He taught Seminary for a while.

He is an expert on the seating postures of Latter-day Saint men and boys.

He prefers large print scriptures, not a quad but separate Bible and Triple Combination.

His class exams offer the students an opportunity to really demonstrate their grasp of the issues in the texts.

Thus we have spilled my memory.

Completion, in which Holdinator tells some of the rest of the story

I still have five songs total on my iPod. The playlist called "Jack's Sedatives."

Some may say I'm not a very practical man. I may not be. I may be.

The five songs are lullabies, in their own way, for Jack. I mostly only use two of the songs.

My iPod could do its job with only two songs.

One would probably work too. But then I would have to change the name of the playlist to "Jack's Sedative."

The soothingest song for Jack, when I'm in charge of getting the little guy to bed, is "Hope" by Jack Johnson.

And that is why my night, the other night, started, as usual, with Jack and Jack.

Jessica works nights, and on rare occasion I stay up most the night too--just at home. Ideally it's because I'm doing something really useful.

Like working on the library.

You know, categorizing and alphabetizing books.

We have:

Four book cases of fiction, two of those are fantasy, two thirds of one we consider Classics, and the rest are just ... fiction.

One book case of General Inspirational, whatever that is.

Two book cases of Old Testament and Near Eastern Studies. I got stuck here, that night, happily remembering my days at BYU. It was from Dan Belnap that the term "Near East" first struck a chord.

Two book cases of New Testament and Christian History

One book case dedicated mostly to scriptures: different versions of the Bible, and older versions of the Book of Mormon, and a copy of the Koran, two of the Bhagavad-Gita, a collection of the teachings of the Buddha, etc.

One bookcase for biography. It was here that I stopped to read a chapter from The Undertaking by Thomas Lynch, a poet/funeral director. Jessica was the one who suggested I make a bookcase specifically for biographies. I was surprised to see it fill up.

Then there are the Book of Mormon/Doctrine and Covenants/Church History books. They take up the rest.

Jack joined me for part of the night. That's usually about the time that I go full circle and end the night with Jack and Jack.

I wasn't planning on getting much rest anyway.

Prolegomena, in which Holdinator considers different lines with which to open the story of his evening

1. It usually begins with Jack and Jack.

2. My iPod has a total of five songs.

3. It was from Dan Belnap that the words, "Near East," first struck a chord.

4. It was Jessica's suggestion that I create a book case specifically for biographies.

5. At one point I stopped to read a chapter from The Undertaking.

6. I had planned on not getting much rest.

Which one would most likely cause you to keep reading? Even if there were no pictures and the post went on for many paragraphs?

Politics, in which Holdinator gets unsolicited email from this guy:

Dear Fred ThompsonPAC,

Holdinator is registered in the state of Utah as "unaffiliated."

I guess that's all. This is as political as I will ever get.

The Social Networking Site for Book Lovers in which Holdinator Discovers something about the Demographics of goodreads.com

The first social networking site I ever joined, before facebook and twitter ... uh, I think those are the only ones I've joined otherwise. And I haven't been back to twitter since the day I first signed up. I go on facebook every few days or so, certainly not multiple times a day, likely largely because I don't have internet access at work.

Back to our regularly scheduled posting:

The first site I ever joined was Goodreads.com, a site where you can list books you've read, are reading, and plan on reading, and rate them. Your friends do the same thing, and you can discuss books, write reviews, and other things.

Today when I got on the site I went to a page I hadn't visited before, it was the "Best Books Ever" page. I discovered something about the demographic of this site from this page. Click on the link above and tell me what group of people likely frequents Goodreads more than any other.

It would appear that I fit the mold of the Goodreads crowd.

Congratulations David Locke in which Holdinator Voices his Support for the new Jazz play-by-play dude

Not that what I think matters, but after reading the comments on this short news story, dude, I had to say something.

So here it is. The voice of Hot Rod Hundley has been synonymous with Utah Jazz basketball for the entire existence of the franchise in Salt Lake City. Back in my Jazz-fanatic days when I played Jr. Jazz, collected basketball cards, and idolized Blue Edwards, Hot Rod was the TV announcer and I loved to listen to him call the games. I had no idea, and still really don't, what "hippity hop the bell hop dribble" means, but it was really cool to listen to anyway.

A couple years ago, when I started following the Jazz closely again, I discovered that Hot Rod still called the games, but just on the radio. As it happens, we don't have cable or satelite TV in our home, so anytime Jazz games are not on KJZZ, the radio is how I followed the action, and it was a pleasure to listen to that familiar voice use the same goofy phrases attached to different names (now it was D-Will hippity hopping the bell hop dribble instead of Stockton). But then one day this past season Hot Rod took the day off for some reason, and his replacement on the radio was David Locke, host of 1320 KFAN's Locked on Sports and an amazing NBA analyst.

Quite honestly, it was one of the most enjoyable radio broadcasts I have ever listened to. Locke has energy, a lot of energy, and passion for the game, and specifically for the Jazz. He is obsessed with statistics and understands the personalities of the players, and brings it all to the table when he calls the games. He is entertaining and really very interesting. His radio show can be intellectually stimulating because he includes in his arguments extensive research in addition to his very strong opinions. Someone on the KSL comment thread mentioned above compared him to ESPN's Colin Cowherd, but nothing could be less accurate. Cowherd thinks a lot of himself, talks about himself all the time, and formulates his arguments using cocktails and hot tubs as analogies. Locke brings thoughtful statistics and articulate analysis.

Oh, and David Locke is already a Jazz fan. He's one of us, who listened to Hot Rod growing up and thought to himself that he wanted to do what Rod Hundley did someday. Locke is a no-apologies Utah Jazz fan, and can express what thousands of other Jazz fans are feeling with unmatched passion (like during the first round of the playoffs this last season when his war cry was simply, "Beat the freakin' Lakers!!").

When I heard that Hot Rod was retiring (by the way, I heard it when he first announced it, and it happened to be on Locked on Sports that he announced it) my thought was that it was appropo that he would announce his retirement on Locke's show, because it was likely that Locke would be the next play-by-play guy.

And that prospect excited me.

Locke was the first to admit, during his show today when someone calling in said something about his replacing Hot Rod, that Hot Rod would not, could not, be replaced. "No one replaces Hot Rod Hundley," he said, "If the Jazz could retire radio play-by-play with Hot Rod, they would." But someone needed to take over, and in my humble, but very strong opinion, the best choice for the job is the man who got the job.

From the comments on KSL, it seems that most people object to Locke's voice. They claim that they won't listen, and in some cases won't support sponsors, because Locke's voice is high-pitched.

Really? You are going to miss out on passionate, well-thought out, extensively researched, articulate game calling because his voice is high?

That's too bad.

I say, You'll do awesome Locke. I look forward to many seasons of Jazz basketball with you as my play-by-play guy.

Baby Names? in which Holdinator finds this list in Jessica's handwriting on their computer desk:

Myke
Rich
Patricia
Denise
Jiri
Sheryl
Ellycia
Wendy
Amy
Penny
Maryann
Tracy
Joe (beard)
Joe
Linda
Jocelyn
Jeffrey
Ugly Frog
Jenn
Kevin
Tim
Christine
Val
Jodi
Karla
Nacho Gomez
Wendy J
Amy T
Dreamer Enchanted
Brenda B
Jeanne
Julia
Candice
Cheab

But here's the thing: she's not pregnant.

Remembering this, in which Holdinator loved to pretend to be Jeff

The Inept Homeowner, in which Holdinator breaks the Sprinklers

Bless her.

That's all I can say, really. She puts up with a heck of a lot, and so bless her.

That's not to say she wasn't aware of what she was getting into.

You see, when we were dating/engaged (somewhere in there) her car had a problem. I think there was a cable that came loose from the battery. Her dad spent no less than a half hour on the phone with me trying, very patiently, to describe where I should look under the hood to find this cable and reconnect it.

Total time project should have taken: 30 seconds

Total time project took in my hands: 45 minutes (because it took me 15 minutes to find the latch to release the hood)

So when we had a simple sprinkler repair in our front flower bed, and I decided I would investigate and be the superman I ought to be, I unearthed fifteen feet of sprinkler pipe looking for the place where I could unscrew the pipe from the rest of the pipe and take it to Home Depot to find a replacement.

Except that sprinkler pipe isn't screwed together, it's all glued together with these connector things or whatever ("Duh, dork," you're thinking). So all it took was sawing off a couple inches and gluing a new piece in place. Thanks to her brother, that was taken care of a month ago.

Thanks to me, it still doesn't work, because when I got that fifteen feet out, I broke the pipe somewhere else, and now ... well, I tried to at least bury the pipe so it wouldn't be sticking up out of the ground anymore, but the middle of it won't stay under the dirt.

I LOVE YOU JESSICA!

thanks for putting up with me

The Tale of A Weekend in which Holdinator reads two books

I finished two books this weekend.

No joke.

They were both a part of that LDS fiction club of books that we sell at Seagull.

I won't tell you about them.

But I will tell you about the book I'm reading now!

Actually just this much: it's freaking awesome.

This

Is it just me, or did that last comment thread seem a little one sided?

Sundry Books meet Concrete

I'm really clumsy.

I don't know if I've told you this before. 

Probably.

This morning walking out to my car, I stepped on a divot in our front lawn, turned my ankle, and dropped my load of books into the middle of the street.

You see, I'm thinking that I need to get back into studying Hebrew, so I had my Hebrew Bible, a lexicon, a grammar, and a set of scriptures in my arms. I thought I would study them during lunch breaks at work.

I landed on my arm, I guess, and somehow strained a tricep. I've been hobbling around all day.

I hope my Hebrew skills aren't too rusty.

From Le Guin's The Other Wind

I'm enjoying some toast made with homemade bread compliments of our wonderful next door neighbor.

And I wanted to share this with you all.

"And it being his royal buttocks that sat on the uncushioned throne, his critics did not get the last word on the matter" p 150.

Gene

Oh deary deary dear.

Someone Found It!

It may have been after a long journey seeking for wisdom. Struggling up the side of a steep mountain and finding the house of knowledge at the top.

And inside was this.

And yes, I would advise you to imagine the guru dressed like a certain BYU professor who wears thick glasses, bow ties, and high waters.

Eleven years ago on this day, June 13th, my friends and I went to what was supposed to be an outdoor concert called Mutiny on the Beach. The Aquabats were headlining.

It was a cold rainy day, so the show was moved to Salt Air.

We left early, before the Aquabats played, in part because to stay we would have had to suffer through an entire set from some band called Cannibal Corpse, or Cannibal Cafe, or something to do with cannibalism.

The lead singer wore leather pants and no shirt over his ghastly-white belly. But his waist-length greasy black hair covered his face. The keyboardist, or maybe it was the guy playing the electric drum set, wore a gas mask. And the one song we listened to before deciding enduring more bands like this (there were six or something) wasn't worth it, had one line, and one line only.

"You make me ... do this!"

over and over and over

Happy Mutiny on the Beach Day!!

201

My 200th post was that last one.

Just so you know.

Well, it's the one below this one.

I need to go clean out the van and put away some laundry.

Is This the One that's supposed to be Sick?

Joshua suddenly screamed, "My ear!!"

"What's wrong, dude?" I asked.

"My ear!! It hurts!! Owww!!"

So I made him an appointment with the doctor, which was set for 3 hours away, and gave him a dose of Motrin.

By the time we made it to the doctor's office, the pain killer had kicked in, and he spent the few minutes in the waiting room doing somersaults, cart wheels, and giving precocious answers to a teenage patient and her mom about the coolness of the toy in the middle of the waiting room.

Then when the doctor (a man Josh had never met) came into the exam room and called Josh by his name, he said with a hint of suspicion in his voice, "How do you know my name?"

One Cool Thing

About being sick and losing my voice is that I can sing along a lot better with Dicky Barrett.

Unexpected

There's not really a good way to write about this.

Yesterday I was trying to get a hold of my mom, which usually is not very difficult, what with cell phones and everything. I finally reached her and found out that she was at the hospital with my dad (a not too rare thing, quite honestly), that he had to go to the emergency room.

This time was different than the other times he went there, though. This was the last time he would go to the hospital. After so many times spending days or weeks in a hospital bed, putting up with the food, battling through fevers and pain unimaginable, three failing kidneys, infections, pneumonia, and so much else, he was apparently not going to do that again, because he just left.

Left his body behind.

This photo was taken a few months ago, the day of Jack's baby blessing. This is one of our favorites. He's talking cars with one of Jessica's brothers. We are all really glad that he's been having good days lately. In fact, just this past Sunday, Mother's Day, we all got together and he was in fantastic form, giving J a bad time about putting milk on her cake, looking at our brother-in-law's Jeep with him to diagnose a problem with it, playing with his grandkids at a park ...

How fortunate for us that we get to remember him that way.

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.

I've Only Been Golfing Three Times in My Life

But if I took it up, I might excel at it.

And this is why:

Jessica has incredible reflexes. One night when Mini Holdinator #1 (otherwise known as Joshua) was an infant and still sleeping in a rocking cradle, Jessica bolted out of bed, out of a deep sleep, and caught him as he was pulling himself up in the cradle thereby causing it to rock and nearly dump him out on the floor. It was incredible! The cradle was at the foot of the bed, so the speed with which she did this was nothing short of amazing.

The other night I was up with Jack, and I got hungry, so I poured myself a bowl of cereal. Suddenly the bowl was slowly moving across the table top and on its way to the edge. Then it fell off and into my lap. This was of course because I knocked it off the table somehow (I'm really not sure how), but I had plenty of time to do something about it, I guess. But I couldn't. I just don't have the reflexes.

Then to top it off, after it fell and got cold, wet cereal in my lap, I considered the situation and the predicament that I was in, then I thought for a few seconds about what I should do. I considered my options: What should I clean up first? How would I clean it up? Would I use my hands to pick up the fallen cereal, or go get a paper towel for the whole thing?

Before I did much of anything, I changed my facebook status to reflect the situation I was in, because apparently comedy trumps all action.

And this is a problem with me. I don't react. And I know it drives Jessica mad sometimes. If Jack spits up all over her, I'll tilt my head and take in the scene, and consider whether a paper towel, s dish towel, or a baby wipe will best remedy the problem. She just wants me to do something.

This is probably why I never excelled in the sports I played as a kid: football and basketball. Both of those require pretty quick response times to situations.

This is also why I could never be in the military, or law enforcement.

Brian's thoughts in a crisis: Huh, this guy is shooting at me; what can I do about this? I guess I could try to avoid the shots. Should I call for backup now or after I've diffused the situation? How should I diffuse the situation? Let's see, I have my own gun, and I have this tazer thing, but I could get in a lot of trouble if I used it inappropriately. The guy who's shooting at me has something on his face, what is that?

etc.

This is why I think I might be good at golf. It's not one of those sports where you're required to make split second decisions and rely on your quick reflexes. You really consider every shot, even the two-inch puts.

So yeah, I feel bad for my kids while knowing just how lucky they are. On the one hand, they've got a parent who will be able to rescue them from anything in the blink of an eye. On the other hand they have a parent who, well, is me.

This Other One Too

For your information, I am blogging here (ideally) once a week. 

And now for a cute picture.

Consider Yourself Forewarned

Unless your name is Spencer Ellsworth, you are in no way required to watch this. If your name is Spencer Ellsworth, this one's for you.

Remember, I've forewarned you.

Avalanche

So yesterday at Seagull (WHERE YOU, AND I DO MEAN YOU NEVER PAY FULL PRICE AND ALL THAT JAZZ) I was walking from our DVD isle with 49 DVD's in my arms, and noticing a customer at the counter ready to check out I said something to her about being right with her, then turned a corner around the check-out counter and walked into our display of delicious Utah Truffles, and the display promptly relieved itself of all its chocolaty contents on the floor. 

It was truly awesome. The customer helped me pick up the fallen truffles, as did a couple little boys whose dad instructed them to aid me. 

This one's for Shel

Did you read Shel Silverstein poems as a kid? There was one where this kid tells his teacher, "I growed another head," to which his teacher responds, "It's time you knowed, the word is grew instead of growed."

In the spirit of this poem I present to you a part of a conversation that Joshua and Morgan had about the word "think."

Morgan: "I'm sinking, I'm sinking, I'm sinking that I don't want to do that."
Joshua: "Morgan, not sinking, sinking is bad. FINK, Morgan, you're finking."

New Idea

I had a sudden burst of inspiration the other day for a musical project. I'd call it "Brian Singing the Nineties while Eating Pizza."

It would be a collection of popular nineties alternative hits sung by yours truly with a mouth full of delicious cheesy pizza.

I think it would be a hit.

guess what I'm thinking

As a sunday school teacher, I try to avoid doing the following, though I'm not always successful.

Miracle of the Leaky Roof

My job is absolutely fantastic. I get to help people find books to inspire them and hopefully make a positive difference in their lives. It's wonderful!

The building our store is in has its issues though.

There was a problem with the furnace for a while. It didn't work. But that got fixed, thanks to a dude who climbed up on the roof and flipped a switch up there (at least that's what he told us he did). One of the doors has a difficult time closing--it catches on its spring or whatever and then slowly, ever so slowly, makes its way back to the shut position, just in time for someone to open it again. We are located next to a nail salon, and some days (like today) the smell of the salon makes its way into our store and dude, it stinks. It's been really really strong twice now.

Speaking of our location, we also share a building with this weight-loss place that is never very busy except every once in a while there will be numberless cars in front of it; and I have no idea why. There's a wig shop too, a plasma donation center, and some other things. It's great.

But this morning, we found a large spot on the carpet where water had leaked through the ceiling over the weekend. There was water on one of our display tables too, one holding $30.00 books. But somehow, inexplicably, the water hadn't touched any of the books. Oh it was close in some places, mere millimeters away, but it didn't get the books.

And for that, we are thankful. 

Subconscious trumps Reality at 3 am

I dreamt that we really needed to find someone to give a refrigerator and a dryer to. It was crucial that we do this, so when J woke me up to help take care of little Jack, I wanted to ask her who we should give these appliances to so I could figure it all out in my dream. I was stuck on that thought, and felt very anxious to resolve the problem...

The magic is gone:

Have you ever noticed when shopping somewhere where they print your savings on your receipt, that when the checker circles your savings they seemingly don't have a writing instrument in their hands. I noticed this all the time at Smith's. And every time it happened I would think, "Ah! They must have a pencil lead stuck to the end of their finger that they use to circle these things. Next time I come I'm going to pay closer attention and see if I can see how they hide that tiny pencil, or maybe even pen." But then the next time I would go, I'd forget until the magic occurred again. As it turns out (and this is something I've learned at work, because we circle savings on our receipts, after all at Seagull you never, and I mean NEVER pay full price...), receipt paper is made of carbon stuff that shows marks on it when pressure is applied, so the pressure from, say, a fingernail could leave what appeared to be a pencil or ink mark. 

Perhaps that's really more magic than the tiny writing thing taped to the finger. I mean, seriously, that would just be obvious. THIS, my friends, is true magic at work. Paper that doesn't require a pen!

Sometimes my kids say really funny things. 

Like Morgan (Mini #2) who says all his f's as s's, so the word funny is pronounced sunny.

It's so sunny!

Ten Years Looking Back

So we rang in the new year. J worked, so I was home with Mini Holdinator #3 (1 and 2 were asleep) when the two-hour delayed film of the ball dropping played on TV.

I have no idea what 2009 holds in store, but if you'll bear with with (endure it well friends), I've really been thinking a lot about New Years ten years ago.

Ten years ago I celebrated New Years at the Wilk on BYU campus. I don't know if they still do this, but back then there was a huge multi-stake dance at BYU on New Years Eve for the youth. I distinctly remember talking with my friend Yvonne about how this next year would be huge. 

For one thing, I knew that I'd be graduating from high school. Somehow high school graduation seemed like one of the most significant transitions I could make. And it turned out it was.

I also knew that by the end of the year I'd be serving a mission somewhere ... it turned out to be Michigan. But that change, from no responsibilities punk to full-time ecclesiastical work, was pretty daunting to consider.

But as it turned out, there was one thing that happened that year that has had more profound influence on the past ten years than anything else. 

It was a hike to the Y.

From that vantage point I struck up a conversation with a kid from Southern California who was planning on starting a punk band when his friend (who played bass) moved up to Utah that summer. They would need a drummer, and I agreed to play with them and see how things worked out.

Things worked out pretty well with that band; we became best friends, and through those associations I met J.

1999.

Yeah, it was great.

Good Sabbath Morning!

Hi there, and welcome to a very cool day. Six years ago J and I married in the Jordan River Temple.

Then we played a little while on the lawn in front of the temple.

See.Thanks J, for six years of fun, and I love you very much.

Are You Really Posting At 5:45 am?

Yes.

Because the two older Mini Holdinators decided they were either getting up with daddy or waking up the youngest Holdinator in the process of trying to talk sense into them.

So, for some early morning merriment, I present you with Porky Pig singing "Blue Christmas."

MT's Log: 12-15 later that same day

I have heretofore failed to mention one of the biggest perks of my new job.

A gigantic roll of bubble wrap.

MT's Log: Bookdate 12-15

So on Saturday a gentleman came into the store and told me he needed two pieces of framed art. After showing him what we had available in each of the works he wanted, he made it clear that he expected an additional discount because he was buying two relatively expensive items.

"I want you to make me a deal," he said.

"I'll get you 50% off this one," I told him as I pointed to one of the works he wanted.

"That's already 50% off," he said.

"That's right, I cut you an amazing deal before you even walked in the door," I answered.

He was not impressed. But the store manager was.

I learned that line at Saturn: the no haggle/no hassle car dealership.

And it was the truth, dangit. 50% off a work of art is an amazing deal. It exceeds my employee discount of 30% (i.e. I couldn't get it for any less being an employee), and anyone would be more than happy to buy something at half off.

But I've discovered that some people don't care if they are indeed getting something at the best possible price, they just want to feel like they are getting a better deal than someone else.

I didn't realize that this attitude even applied to shopping at LDS bookstores. But apparently to the haggler, it doesn't matter where they shop, they just want to feel like they accomplished something by getting themselves a better deal than others could get.

That's some serious competitive spirit, dude.

But then another day a man tipped me five dollars for helping him get his piece of framed art, and concealing it in a box so his wife (who was in the car outside) wouldn't see what it was.

I could do it

Remember a while ago, when I blogged about developing a phobia?

Well, I've decided that instead of developing a phobia, I should just focus on becoming obsessive compulsive about something.

I think it would be pretty easy to obsess about brushing my teeth. It's so satisfying to brush them, maybe I could always carry around a little toothbrush and some toothpaste wherever I go, and any time I eat, even if it's just a little snack or something, I could then run to a bathroom and brush my teeth.

What On Earth is a Twenty-eight year old Man Doing Reading Anita Stansfield?

Getting to know the products we sell, that's what.

When I interviewed for the job at Seagull, the district manager asked me about my product knowledge (you know, of the products that Seagull carries), and I told him honestly that I knew quite a lot about books written by general authorities and religion professors from BYU, but that was about it. I had never read much (i.e. any) LDS fiction. 

Well, now I have read some LDS fiction.

Perhaps I'll get to that another time.

But yesterday I did change up our "Inspirational" section. I made a section specifically for books written by general authorities and took them out of the section where they would sit next to books about people's visits to the spirit world by pre and post-mortality.

It just felt right.

I Had a Dream I Was a Vigilante Sidekick

My name was not Tim, but I'm pretty sure I was a lesser known character.

One Handed

I am currently blogging using only my right hand.

SeeThis is a common thing in our home--one-handed stuff.

In fact J was commenting on a blog a few moments ago while I was holding Jack, but she was only using one hand to type. She stopped when I pointed the fact out to her.

Token

The other day I found the missing keys to my Chevy Lumina.

You may all stop praying for their safe return.

Thank you.

That was a terrible Game

Or you could say it was a great, and really exciting game. But that last push-off shot of Jordan's just wasn't very cool at all.

But all that aside, I was thinking yesterday how I missed the NBA on NBC theme music when watching a basketball game on TV. So I looked it up on youtube, and dude, I'm not the only one who feels that way. Most the comments for this video say the same thing.

So here it is:



Also, I've been missing in blogger action lately. My new job is very cool, but I don't ever use the internet there, and when I get home I want to see my family, so pardon my absence. I'll check back every once in a while.

Alive and Well

Yes it is. Most certainly it is.

Sexism, that is.

Did you know that there are public places that discriminate, BLATANTLY discriminate, against one of the sexes?

These places are probably more prevalent than you'd think.

This is the unthinkably sexist situation that I found myself in earlier today:

I went to change Jack's diaper in a public restroom, and of course I went in the Men's room, since I am a man after all. And in this restroom there was no changing table. Not in the main part of the restroom, not in one of the stalls (as is sometimes the case), not anywhere!

So I made the most of the situation, and changed him as best as I could without a changing table. When I came out with him I asked J, who had been in the Women's room not long before, whether there was a changing table in the Women's room or not. She told me there was.

Can you believe it?

The nerve! The outrage! The unspeakable DISCRIMINATION!

Eyes of Pink

I don't think you can see it that well, but I caught some pink eye from one of the kids. It's in the eye that is half shut. 

Anyway, this is a good shot of Jack's bulldog cheeks.

Oh yeah, and I chose the Seagull Book job. It pays slightly less (in the short term, but that will change when I become a store manager), but has much more affordable health insurance. It's a smaller company than the bank, but that means much less bureaucracy. The potential for growth in the company exists with both, but is more certain with Seagull. The schedules are comparable. The US Bank was an in-store branch, which means it is open extended hours and open most federal holidays, and there was a requirement of all bankers to hand out at least 100 fliers to in-store shoppers each week. 

And then there was this factor: When I got offered the job with the bank, I was extremely excited ... because someone offered me a job. When I got offered the job with Seagull I was really excited too ... because it was a job that I really wanted and know I would enjoy.

So, yeah. I start Monday. 

And I finished another book by A J Jacobs, this called The Know-It-All: One Man's Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World. He accomplished this feat by reading the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. I recommend it.

Whoops

Remember that last post? The one about my getting a job at US Bank? I was slated to start on Monday, and was pretty excited about it.

But then I got another job offer today. This one as a manager in training with Seagull Book.

Two job offers in one week.

I honestly didn't know what to do with myself. I was so used to not hearing anything from places I applied/interviewed, or getting this phone call, "We've decided to go another direction."

So this was unusual to say the least. The ball was in my court. The decision became mine.

I've decided, but I won't say just now which I chose, because I want to find out your opinion. Which job should I have accepted?

Miracles Do Happen

Not quite like the pioneers, but close.

It started on a day when I decided to attend a job fair that was held at Energy Solutions Arena. KJZZ had been advertising this job fair during the pre-season Jazz games (go Jazz! yeah!), and I thought it would behoove me to give it a go.

I'd been to one other job/career fair, and it was not the most positive experience (thanks to my own negative attitude that developed after being snickered at when I told these prospective employers what my degree was in: "Really? You studied that? Why? What did you expect to do with that?"). But I thought that I should try again, and this time go with some more optimism. 

So I drove up to the Sandy Trax Station (thought I'd avoid looking for parking around the arena) and parked my 1995 Chevy Lumina (white, as if they made them in any other color that year), locked the doors and made my way toward the platform.

Then I remembered I didn't have a key to the door of the Lumina.

A couple weeks before through a set of strange circumstances, the one copy of the door key to my car was mysteriously misplaced (it still hasn't been found). I was realizing this predicament as I approached the ticket machine. Did you know (yes, you probably did) that the Trax ticket dispensers only take cash. I didn't have any cash.

And essentially, I didn't have a car. I walked back to the car and checked each of the doors multiple times. They were all very securely locked. 

So I made a bold decision. I would ride Trax without a ticket, but once I got to downtown I would find an ATM (none of those available at the Trax platform either) and buy an all day ticket to cover my heretofore unpaid ride.

While on the train I remembered that my parents were driving up to Salt Lake to take my sister to the dentist, so I called them and asked if they would be willing to give me a ride home after the job fair. They agreed.

But then I changed my plans, because the job fair had less than twenty companies represented, and most of those were telemarketing places. Though I did have one good conversation with a representative of US Bank.

So I was done long before my parents were. So I hopped back on Trax with a plan in my brain. I would walk to the South Town GM dealership and order a new door key for the Lumina. 

But first I had to get off the University Trax Line and back onto the regular southbound line (a mistake I seem to make every time I ride the dang thing).

The dealership did cut me a new key, but it took J faxing them a copy of the car title to prove that we actually own the thing and aren't just trying to steal it. 

The point is, US Bank hired me. I start there on Monday. The ordeal (a lot of fun, actually) was worth it.

Jack's first Laugh

Oh, by the way, that's mini #3's actual name for those who didn't know.

Presenting his first ever laugh at ten weeks and caught on film:

Do You Need Apples?

We've got some fruit trees in our backyard. There's an apricot tree that drops all its fruit just before it goes ripe, a peach tree that produces two good peaches a year and 500 rotten ones, a pear tree (or maybe two I forget), and two apple trees. This year one of the apple trees did really well (no thanks to me, I only watered the lawn half the summer as J will tell you).

But anyway, we've got an abundance of apples. So the other night I thought I would use some of these apples to add a little crunch to one of my favorite things.I give you the apple quesadilla.This guy approved.
J had me make her a quesadilla with peanut butter and bananas. But without the cheese maybe it's not so much a quesadilla as a pbbdilla.
How did I not know about this? For most of my life I had no idea that such a beautiful and wonderful thing existed. I somehow survived two years as a missionary eating melted cheese on a tortilla done in the microwave... without anything else. All I had to do to make it a million times better was mix some salsa and sour cream together.
This guy opted for something entirely different. Pasta Alfredo with broccoli. He mostly likes that broccoli.
The point is, we have lots and lots of apples if you're hungering for some.

An Old One

This happened a couple years ago when Mini #1 was two years old. 

More Like...

Here are pictures of Mini's #1 and #2 when they were about the same age as Mini #3 is now.

Who is he going to look like? Mini #1

Mini #2

Mini #3

Another Friday

Lately I've been spending a lot of time online. But not reading blogs or anything important like that. No no, I've been submitting job applications and resumes.

I haven't been finding a whole lot of success (as evidenced by my still unemployed status), and I'm thinking it might be due to my not-so-impressive resume.

I need to spice it up.

So here's my idea (and thanks to Avram for the inspiration).

I have this book that is chalk full of ancient texts that make the Old Testament look both tame (see Judges) and nail-bitingly thrilling (much of Numbers).  These texts are mostly related to the monarchies of the Ancient Near East, and these old school kings knew how to embellish their qualifications.

For example, one text begins, "the treaty of Esarhaddon, king of the world, king of Assyria, son of Sennacherib, likewise king of the world ... etc."

Or there's the prologue to the Code of good ol' Hammurabi in which the king says that he was chosen to rule at the creation of the world:

"me, Hammurabi, the devout, god-fearing prince, 

to cause justice to prevail in the land,

to destroy the wicked and the evil,

that the strong might not oppress the weak,

to rise like the sun ...

and to light up the land.

Hammurabi, the shepherd, called by Enlil, am I;

the one who makes affluence and plenty abound, etc"

I just have my name listed on my resume. I need to add a title or list of my accomplishments like these guys.

Like

Brian, son of Richard, defender of the mini Holdinators, sent to eliminate all unhappiness and sorrow through my (whatever the job responsibilities of the particular business), wielder of the sword of foam (courtesy of Nerf) to lead out in the fight against shag carpet cruelty and eating of stale bread, etc...

Mightn't it work? Would you hire me?

What if I looked like this?

Mr. Hammurabi himself.

Luke warm

This is my Jerry Sloan face. It needs some work, but I think it's pretty good.

I shaved three days in a row this last week. It had something to do with job interviews. I may still get offered one of those jobs, but the other one won't work out because I failed a sales proficiency test that asked questions such as, "Do you like to force people into decisions they may not want to make?"

At least 20 questions were very similar to that, and I answered no when if I wanted the job I should have said yes.

Just before getting the phone call informing me that I didn't get said job, we went to this place with big inflatable toys that even I was allowed to play on. It was awesome, and totally exhausting. 
This is me and Mini #1 after playing at this place. 

Then this morning it was 59 degrees in our house because someone, probably a very small someone, shut off the furnace. There's a switch on the furnace unit in our bedroom closet/utility closet, and Mini #2 really likes to play with that switch.

Incidentally, he also likes to play with the thermostat on the water heater which is also in the same closet (we try to keep him out of there, but sometimes he sneaks in quickly and does his business before we realize what happened). Thanks to his interest in the water heater this morning, after trying to warm up a little in our chilly house, I took a very chilly shower because the water heater was turned all the way down past the "vacation" setting.

Dude Just wants One

Mini #1 likes to pick seeded dandy lions and make wishes as he blows the seeds off:

"I wish for a powerful mask."

And tonight after praying that my phone would work (it's not been having problems, but I guess it's a good precautionary measure), he prayed, "And bless that we can go to the store and get stuff... for me. Bless that I can get a powerful mask."

The problem is, though, that we're not sure what he means by "powerful mask." What do you think this powerful mask is?

Well, You Know

Which is better? 

Mushroom & swiss or spicy black bean?

This is a veggie burger we're talking about by the way.

Spicy black bean wins by a long shot.

In Case You Were Wondering

You can get $2000 off the purchase of a new Saturn Astra and get the Saturn Sky and the Saturn Outlook (all '08 models) at invoice price.

How do I know this, you ask.

I still get texts from the management team at Saturn. It's only been seven weeks or so. I haven't been gone that long.

J is Pretty and Awesome

Things that J is better than me at:

• hearing
• helping the kids brush their teeth
• bringing home the vegetarian bacon (if there was such a thing)
• discipline
• consistency
• folding clothes
• completely cleaning the kitchen
• remembering lines from books and movies
• routines
• listening
• empathizing
• faith
• clean hands and pure heart
• making pizza crust
• majoring in something useful
• stick-to-it-iveness
• reading people
• caring
• keeping her blood pressure low
• just about everything else
• actually not "just about everything"

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.