Cheese, George Washington, And Not Much In Between...

You know from previous posts that my children say and do some pretty strange things. I don't mind; it gives me great amusement, something to post about, and it also gives me great fodder--along with pictures of Blake riding his scooter through the house buck naked on his way to take a bath--that I will use in the future to mortify them in front of girls they bring home.

The other night we were on our way home from church, and the topic of conversation turned, as it usually does, to cheese.

Despite the fact that cheese is basically milk that sat around so long it turned solid, we like cheese a great deal, and talk about it often.

Yes, now that you mention it, I do lead a very sad existence. But anywho...

From the back seat of the car, Blake asks me, "Daddy, is cheese good for you?"

"Well," says I, "It can be, but like everything else, if you eat too much of it, it can be bad for you."

Blake, ever one to apply his new knowledge to everyday life, says "So if George Washington ate ten thousand pounds of cheese, he'd be really sick."

It took a moment for me to process this statement, but I eventually replied, "George Washington is dead."

"Oh," says Blake. "How much cheese did he eat?"

I have to admit that I'm stumped by this one.

I am mystified (and more than a little entertained) by how a child's mind can come up with the notion that cheese is almost certainly what killed our first president.

You can see why I remain consistently and constantly amused.

And perplexed.

Now I'm wondering when I'll have to field a similar question about yogurt...
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Double-Digits...

Today is a very special day, for me, for the world in general, and for one very outstanding young man in particular:

Today, Hunter turns 10.

Yeah, he knows he's cool...

I could joke about how the time flies. I could make cracks about how I'm not old enough to have a 10-yr-old son.

But I think instead that I'll just talk about him.

Ten years ago today, he brought a joy and love into my life that I never even knew I was missing.

I can't begin to describe how proud I am of him, of his gentleness, his intelligence, his creativity...his just in general coolness.

Since he came into the world, he's been my inspiration. My inspiration to do better. To be better.

I nearly lost him once, and honestly don't think I could have made it without him.

I love both of my children very much. I love them both differently, but equally.

But Hunter will always be my firstborn.

Ten years doesn't seem like a very long time, and yet I can't remember a time without him.

Truthfully, I don't really want to.

Happy birthday, Hunter.

I love you.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Praying for October...

Let me begin by making one thing perfectly clear:

I hate summer.

To paraphrase Frankenstein's Monster, "Summer BAD!!!!"

When it's cooler to stand in the blistering sunlight than it is to drive a car, it's too hot.

When you pop into a sweat when reaching for the TV remote, despite the fact that you're sitting inside, right under the A/C vent (to quote an old friend of mine, "I don't remember signing up for that"), it's too hot.

When opening the front door causes you to a.) lose the will to live, and b.) not care that you've lost the will to live, it's too hot.

It has come to my attention that there are a lot of people who like this kind of weather. I would like to say (and I really do say this with the utmost respect) that you are all crazy.

I realize that being slightly overweight (read: fat) and hairy (ironically, the only place I can't grow hair is the top of my head) has something to do with this, but even without the extra insulation (blubber) and fur coat (I sometimes look in the mirror and think my brain has been transplanted into the body of a silverback gorilla...or possibly a Sasquatch), I just plain don't like heat.

My own personal temperature comfort zone is something like this:

0-35: A bit chilly. Probably ought to wear a jacket.
36-75: Perfect. Break out the shorts and Hawaiian shirts.
76 and up: Unholy.

Yes, the temp zone where I'm most comfortable is rather large, but it should be pointed out that we spend relatively little time in that comfort zone.  Where I live, we seem to go from "so cold that Titanic-killing icebergs are in the front yard" to "quite honestly, the surface of the sun would be more comfortable" overnight.

That being said, it doesn't help matters any that I am constantly accosted by people who, while seeing by the redness of my face that I am clearly about to explode, feel the need to ask "Is it hot enough for ya?"

This is not amusing.

I usually manage a weak chuckle (it's too hot to fake laughter) and say something like "Yeah, pretty hot, ain't it?" when what I really want to say is "Well, no, I really like it when my face begins to melt and slide away from my skull. I really wish it were about a hundred degrees hotter, with ten thousand percent humidity, so I can really start enjoying the great outdoors! Now, give me your phone number, because during the winter, I'm going to call you every single day and ask 'Is it cold enough for you, you heat-loving weirdo? I have all the windows open at home so I can bask in this lovely breeze...'".

Clearly, I'll survive. I have every year so far, and usually without bursting into flames.

I just feel the need to rant a bit, because I'm so darn miserable during this time of year that I do in fact spend a great deal of time praying for October to get here (by the way, I think that "Praying For October" would be a great name for a band).

In closing, I'd just like to ask that if any of you find me passed out from heat exhaustion after the effort of taking the trash out to the curb, please roll me over so I can at least get an even tan.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad