The boys, Van and Powell, encourage each other in a vast number and range of ways. Van is often the leader, but when he's feeling tired or uninspired, Powell takes over--usually taking his older brother to an anthill to continue their join entomological studies--viz., digging in the dirt.
The boys are quite close in age (they're four and three now, but there's only a six-month difference), and they've followed each other developmentally all their lives. They were circumcised on the same day, they went to the dentist first on the same day, they've had another operation on the same day, and now they're due for another operation.
This time, it's a tonsillectomy. Or, rather, it's two tonsillectomies.
Some parents have had to face many surgeries with their children--we're getting up there, but it hasn't become, by any means, routine. We know that this will help them in many ways, but we just wish there were an easier way.
More later--Van seems to be waking up!
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Don't Care for Lawn Care
And, of course, there are many reasons not to care for lawn care. To be blunt and manipulative about it, there are people in the world who could eat for a week for the money it takes to put gas in a lawn mower for one mow. Also, it's often too hot.
This year, however, Amanda decided that it was time to get our lawn in shape. We've only been here a year, and I think we have a three-year grace period to get our house in order before we start working on the lawn (the number of boxes we've left un-unpacked is embarrassing!), but she's right that the neighbors don't see our basement but that they do see our pathetic lawn.
The trouble is that we've made friends who have put their faith entirely in Bob, the Lawn Genius. Bob is, apparently, to a lawn what Albert Einstein was to the Theory of Relativity. He knows much more than you'll ever even guess there is to know about the subject, and he'll just be able to communicate the rudiments to a lawn moron like me.
He's also a little like the Soup Nazi of Seignfeld (and, before that, of New Yorker) fame--what he says goes, and he doesn't have time to waste with those who don't obey his every command.
The command I had the most trouble with was the vacuuming command. Because they salt and sand the roads where we live, we need to spend a few hours using a shop vac to vacuum the two feet of our lawn nearest the curb. Since we live on a corner, that amounts to a fairly large number of square feet.
The Lawn Nazi says "Do!" and Amanda says "Go!" and Django goes and does.
Foolishly, however, I decided to seize the time available to me instead of procrastinating. (Just to throw a bit of vocabulary out there, the opposite of procrastinate is hodiate--I decided that hodiation was needed instead of procrastination.) It was about three o'clock in the afternoon--about the time the uber-kewl high school students get dropped off the bus on our corner.
I probably shouldn't have felt as foolish as I did, but all the high school acceptance emotions rose to the top--stylishly-dressed girls and bulky boys marched in waves over the lawn that the nerdy kid with the shop vac was unaccountably vacuuming.
Ah, so much for getting in with the in-crowd.
I imagine that the Lawn Nazi really asks people to vacuum their lawns as a test. If they're willing to do something as ridiculous as that, they'll follow his every command. If they'll endure the humiliation of going back to high school to be once again walked over by those whom the world admires, they'll buy the one-pound bag of fertilizer at $254.99.
This year, however, Amanda decided that it was time to get our lawn in shape. We've only been here a year, and I think we have a three-year grace period to get our house in order before we start working on the lawn (the number of boxes we've left un-unpacked is embarrassing!), but she's right that the neighbors don't see our basement but that they do see our pathetic lawn.
The trouble is that we've made friends who have put their faith entirely in Bob, the Lawn Genius. Bob is, apparently, to a lawn what Albert Einstein was to the Theory of Relativity. He knows much more than you'll ever even guess there is to know about the subject, and he'll just be able to communicate the rudiments to a lawn moron like me.
He's also a little like the Soup Nazi of Seignfeld (and, before that, of New Yorker) fame--what he says goes, and he doesn't have time to waste with those who don't obey his every command.
The command I had the most trouble with was the vacuuming command. Because they salt and sand the roads where we live, we need to spend a few hours using a shop vac to vacuum the two feet of our lawn nearest the curb. Since we live on a corner, that amounts to a fairly large number of square feet.
The Lawn Nazi says "Do!" and Amanda says "Go!" and Django goes and does.
Foolishly, however, I decided to seize the time available to me instead of procrastinating. (Just to throw a bit of vocabulary out there, the opposite of procrastinate is hodiate--I decided that hodiation was needed instead of procrastination.) It was about three o'clock in the afternoon--about the time the uber-kewl high school students get dropped off the bus on our corner.
I probably shouldn't have felt as foolish as I did, but all the high school acceptance emotions rose to the top--stylishly-dressed girls and bulky boys marched in waves over the lawn that the nerdy kid with the shop vac was unaccountably vacuuming.
Ah, so much for getting in with the in-crowd.
I imagine that the Lawn Nazi really asks people to vacuum their lawns as a test. If they're willing to do something as ridiculous as that, they'll follow his every command. If they'll endure the humiliation of going back to high school to be once again walked over by those whom the world admires, they'll buy the one-pound bag of fertilizer at $254.99.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
End of the Semester
As the numbers of essays, exams, and projects to grade piles up, the number of distractions that can reasonably keep me from grading them all grows proportionally.
I teach at a mid-size Christian liberal arts college on the East coast. (Actually, it's on the West coast, but I'm trying to keep vaguely anonymous here!) My only hope is that I'll be able to keep my mind distracted during the graduation address. Last year, the speaker spent quite a lot of time telling the students to avoid playing cards, drinking, dancing, and going to R-rated movies after they graduate.
Thank you very much for your lovely legalism, sir! I'll keep it in mind. It's so nice to be told a set of rules that you have to follow--it means you don't have to think! And, since our students haven't been asked to think while they were at our college, why should we expect or even want them to think once they leave it?
Graduation is Tuesday. I'm hoping to bring a pack of cards to the ceremony.
I teach at a mid-size Christian liberal arts college on the East coast. (Actually, it's on the West coast, but I'm trying to keep vaguely anonymous here!) My only hope is that I'll be able to keep my mind distracted during the graduation address. Last year, the speaker spent quite a lot of time telling the students to avoid playing cards, drinking, dancing, and going to R-rated movies after they graduate.
Thank you very much for your lovely legalism, sir! I'll keep it in mind. It's so nice to be told a set of rules that you have to follow--it means you don't have to think! And, since our students haven't been asked to think while they were at our college, why should we expect or even want them to think once they leave it?
Graduation is Tuesday. I'm hoping to bring a pack of cards to the ceremony.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Bashing Bush-Basher Bashers
One Christian liberal arts institution at which I've taught (I've taught at three thus far) came in consistently high in the "Nostalgic for Ronald Regan" category, which was disturbing enough--even to one generally and vaguely Republican in some of my politics. This institution could be voted "Most Nostalgic for George W. Bush" with no questions asked.
A vast majority of students and faculty defend our current president with the fervor of a rabid dog. Not only can he do no wrong, but to suggest that he can is instantly labeled "Bush-Bashing."
It's come to the point that there's an almost obligatory bashing of Bush-bashers in most public occasions. If anyone has suggested that things could be better, that person is a Bush-basher. To suggest that a good president ought to do these things and that ours hasn't is Bush-bashing.
Recently, I overheard colleagues discussing an article published in The New York Times: "Poll Gives Bush His Worst Marks Yet." Yes, that's Bush-bashing, too.
I want to stand up on a table and announce that Bush-basher bashing will no longer be tolerated! We're allowed to criticize any public official, no matter how revered.
The rhetoric is driving me insane. Criticism is bashing. Bashing is bad.
Frustrated.
A vast majority of students and faculty defend our current president with the fervor of a rabid dog. Not only can he do no wrong, but to suggest that he can is instantly labeled "Bush-Bashing."
It's come to the point that there's an almost obligatory bashing of Bush-bashers in most public occasions. If anyone has suggested that things could be better, that person is a Bush-basher. To suggest that a good president ought to do these things and that ours hasn't is Bush-bashing.
Recently, I overheard colleagues discussing an article published in The New York Times: "Poll Gives Bush His Worst Marks Yet." Yes, that's Bush-bashing, too.
I want to stand up on a table and announce that Bush-basher bashing will no longer be tolerated! We're allowed to criticize any public official, no matter how revered.
The rhetoric is driving me insane. Criticism is bashing. Bashing is bad.
Frustrated.
Don't look too closely
The danger of starting off tacky is either that things are going to continue that way or that the point beyond the initial tackiness is missed.
My general cleaning policy has always been "Superficially clean, superifically inspected, superficially done." If you look too hard at any project, you're bound to find another layer that needs work.
But you need, at some point, to scrub. It may be that you notice something really grungy growing around the bottom of the toilet; or it may be that your boys are using the facilities but without advanced aiming techniques. Or it may be that someone else--a spouse, say--points out something to you. Occasionally, you've got to scrub.
The tacky part is that our lives in Christ are like that. I don't like to look too hard at any point because it might need more work than I'm wililng to give it.
At one point, I thought I could make a few bucks writing tacky Christian greeting cards. That sounds like an idea for one.
But think about this. One direction is the dirt that you don't notice. The other direction is the soap scum. Layer upon layer of soap . . . or bleach spray . . . or Johnson's Wax--they're just as hard (and sometimes harder!) to break through.
Our lives in church can be like that, too. Sometimes we need to break through the saccarine coating of ordinary church life to get to the core of what we're all about.
Maybe this emergent church thing has something to offer after all!
My general cleaning policy has always been "Superficially clean, superifically inspected, superficially done." If you look too hard at any project, you're bound to find another layer that needs work.
But you need, at some point, to scrub. It may be that you notice something really grungy growing around the bottom of the toilet; or it may be that your boys are using the facilities but without advanced aiming techniques. Or it may be that someone else--a spouse, say--points out something to you. Occasionally, you've got to scrub.
The tacky part is that our lives in Christ are like that. I don't like to look too hard at any point because it might need more work than I'm wililng to give it.
At one point, I thought I could make a few bucks writing tacky Christian greeting cards. That sounds like an idea for one.
But think about this. One direction is the dirt that you don't notice. The other direction is the soap scum. Layer upon layer of soap . . . or bleach spray . . . or Johnson's Wax--they're just as hard (and sometimes harder!) to break through.
Our lives in church can be like that, too. Sometimes we need to break through the saccarine coating of ordinary church life to get to the core of what we're all about.
Maybe this emergent church thing has something to offer after all!
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