A conversation I just had with my son, The Talker, as he returned to find my fiddling with a couple of building blocks he wasn’t yet using to build his house:
Him, agitatedly: “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t play with those!”
Me, teasing: “Hey, hey, hey: ‘you’re not the boss of me.’”
Him, matter-of-factly: “Yeah, I know; Mom is.”
Me: laughing out loud
Wife, also matter-of-fact: “That’s right.”
Doomed am I. 
Our daughter, as one of her school assignments, had to write a “persuasive” letter to her parents, asking for something and making her argument as to why her boon should be granted. We each read the letter and thought you might enjoy it as well.
I present, therefore, A Persuasive Letter, as written (speeling, grimmer, and plunkulation [sic] are hers):
Dear Mom and Dad,
Can you imagine girl with no pet and really wants one. She wants a cat but, her parents wont let her get one. I know that you don’t think I can do it but, I’ll want to spend a lot of time to be with it. We could give it a color and you wouldn’t have to pay for all of it. Didn’t you have a cat when you were little?
If I got a cat I would keep interest in it. I would play with my cat with cat toys and other things. It would just be so much fun to play with my cat. Have you seen what I do at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s? Every time we go to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s, I look for their cats to play with. I feel sad that Peca died because I liked to play with her. Sense we don’t go to their house very often, I play with the neighbor hood cats instead. I think you’ve seen me with the calico and Siamese
If the cat does roam the neighbor hood we could give it a collar. The collar would have our phone number and address on it. If you don’t want to buy the collar, it could stay inside. You could get use to it if it were an inside cat. If we got one of thoughs metal fences it will most likely stay in the yard. The cat could hunt the golfers if you let it.
It doesn’t have to be expensive. It could be from the shelter. You’ve tolled me that the pound sales are cheep. I could save up my money to pay for it. I am saving up my allowance. Or [my sister] and I could combined our money and buy the cat. You know that [she] wants a cat so she could help. You could pay only for a little of it. It doesn’t have to be a store bought cat it could be one of the calico’s kittens. It could be from Animal Ark if they have some cats.
In my opinion, I would be much happier if I had a best friend at home. I wouldn’t be board with trying to get [my sister] to play with me. We could just keep it inside and [she] can help with the money. I want someone to play with at home. Don’t you want to see me happier in my lifetime. Lets go to the [neighbor's] today. Can we, please?
Love,
Your Pet less Daughter
[signed]
Will she be getting her desire? Only The Shadow knows. And where did she learn to speak Engrish?! (At least she properly wrote “a lot” as two words, unlike many adults I know.)
We’re in the home stretch of remodeling our living room and putting in a new floor — and painting, apparently. For my birthday, I got a little air compressor and brad gun combo, great for reattaching those baseboards after the floor (and walls) are finished. My two year old came down and started babbling on about the Nu Nu, and saying something about his eyes.
The Nu Nu from Teletubbies
It took us a second or two but we realized he was talking about my new compressor, and the eyes were the pressure gauges on the top. Not bad for a two year old who hasn’t even seen Teletubbies for months.
My new air compressor. I will not be calling it a "nu nu."
I guess there are similarities. But I’m still not going to call it anything other than “my air compressor.”
I do so love my Sweetie, but she has produced some … unique looking children. He has such a cute personality that sometimes you forget that he’s a mutant.
Mutant child.
A face only a mother could love.
Thank you for such wonderful children, Sweetie — even if they are a little strange looking.
You know the old saying, “Kids will say the darnedest things” right? Case in point:
My wife returned with a stack of homework, drawings, worksheets, etc. from parent-teacher conference at the elementary school. One of my boys described himself as
“… a gentle fire of speedy secrets.”
No joke. In his own handwriting.
Now I’m left wondering …
One of the perks of being an active Ham in the community is getting to work some fun assignments. Among the several groups I volunteer with is TERT. We basically sit up on the mountain on weekends during the summer and help folks that get themselves into trouble. [You wouldn't believe how many people think sliding down the rock-strewn snow-field found on the back (north) side of Mt. Timpanogos is good idea. Talk about "road rash!" Well, rock rash, anyway.]
Each weekend we have a group of about a half-dozen TERT members who hike up and camp near the basin below the summit. They’re there to help folks who are up on the mountain. We have two trail-heads stations, Aspen Grove and Timpooneke (tim-poo-NEE-kee). We help the folks on the way up, and on the way down.
Many of those up at High Camp are amateur radio operators, many are medically trained (EMTs, First Responders, we even have an ER doctor on the team), and many are both. We also have rock-climbers and runners to round out the skill sets. The radio operators at Trail-head are support for High Camp, responsible for communications with the Sheriff’s Office (in case SAR has to be called out, or to call for emergency helicopter extraction), to apprise hikers of conditions on the mountain, and gently suggest that they might want to take more water, clothing, etc. before setting out.
I usually man Timpooneke Trail-head on my weekends. I find myself saying things like
“The weather up high is pretty bad today; do you have jackets you could take with?”
“Those flip-flops don’t look like they would be very comfortable crossing the scree fields; do you have better footwear?”
“There isn’t any drinkable water on the trail; you might want to take more [than that half-empty 16-oz bottle] with you.”
“Well, our 9-am weather report from the summit this morning was ‘horizontal rain, with wind-chill to 30° Fahrenheit’ …” [that was the real weather report from my last weekend] “…so you might not want to go very high in your tank-top, shorts, and sandals.”
“Are you planning on hiking very far today? Your three year-old looks study enough to make it to Scout Falls—a little over a mile up the trail—but it gets pretty steep after that.”
“Oh, really; just in from California? Today? And you’d like to summit? Well, OK then. The summit is at 11,749 ft so let me give you a couple of pointers about altitude sickness and what the symptoms are. …”
“Hydrate or die!”
I was on duty a couple of weekends ago (17.-19.Jul.2007). We had some good storms roll in; lots of thunder and lightning early Saturday, heavy rain with high winds, and the like. (There’s a saying we have on TERT, “If you don’t like the weather on the mountain, just wait twenty minutes; it will be something completely different.”)
Anyway, I spent most of the day watching cold, tired, soggy hikers come down off the mountain. (Did I mention a popular thing for the students from the local university to do is start up around 0100h [yes, 1:00 a.m., as in one-hour-after-midnight] so they can be at the Summit for sunrise. I think it’s supposed to be romantic to take your significant other. It gives you a common—sometimes traumatic—experience to share. I guess.
By early afternoon, most of the sodden hikers and soggy campers had made it down. I had brought a spy novel up to read, and was making good progress, as there were few folks to talk to. [It also helped that this 290 page novel only had about 150 pages worth of material. It was spread as thin as a Junior High School report: double spaced with large margins; each chapter number thingy was on a page by itself.] I had spent most of the day in the Trail-Head shack—a little six-foot square deal with a couple of antennas on top, and windows to look out and watch folks on the trail. The rain had let up and it was turning into quite a nice day.
I was sitting in the doorway reading when I felt something on my shoe; it was a brazen little chipmunk looking for something to nibble. He came by several times all afternoon, so I would toss him a few sunflower seeds; he would nibble for a minute or three, and then disappear for an hour or so.
It was during these breaks that I had the most unusual encounter I’ve ever had with wildlife—and the point of this entry, for which I’ve made you work so hard.
During one of the quiet moments, one of the hummingbirds that had been zipping past trail-head on and off all day long came for a visit. He flitted about the doorway, about an arm’s length away. He was in no hurry, and gave the impression of just sight-seeing. He was so calm about it that I gently raised my arm to see if he would lite. He hovered near, maybe two inches above my palm, buzzed over to the other side once more, then took his leave.
A little later I was standing in the shack, leaning against the door jamb. Suddenly, another hummingbird buzzed up and stopped about five inches from my nose. Just hovered there, nose to nose, staring at me for what seemed like a hummingbird eternity. It was probably only a second, maybe a second and a half, but for a hummingbird?! That’s a very long time. He buzzed from side to side, looked me square in each eye a couple of times, as though sizing me up, and then blitzed off. The whole thing lasted probably ten seconds, but it was a very surreal encounter.
Near the end of the afternoon, I think one of this friends was a little liquored up on nectar or something and came blazing in aimed right at my left eyeball! I ducked to the side, just as he came arrowing in, and he zipped around inside the shack, having himself a good look around. I stepped into the shack, up against the wall, and helped him find his way back out.
I wish I could have gotten photos of any of these little dare-devils, but the only camera I had was my cellphone. Since there is virtually no coverage, you don’t leave your phone turned on, because it drains the battery trying to find a cell tower to link to.
So, brazen chipmunks and cheeky hummingbirds. A “loverly” weekend all around.
OK, what idiot decided dumping left-over concrete and burying it in the yard of the house you’re building was a bright idea?!