"This" President

I don't like it when people use the phrase "this President" when referring to President Obama. In the past people refer to the President as "the President" or "our President" but lately when conservatives are talking about President Obama they use the phrase "this President."

I don't like it. I think it seperates themselves from the President and I believe it has an unspoken racist tone to it. As if to say "this black President." As if to imply that he isn't really the President to all of us, we're just throwing black America a bone and giving them one.

Barak Obama is the President of the United States and he deserves to the respect due his office by all, whether they voted for him or not. Conservatives need to remember the freedom's they value so highly are being held in defense by "this President."

Lottie Moon

So this Sunday I'm going to tell the story of the Mother of Modern Missions, the Cookie Lady Lottie Moon as the text assigned for Children's Time at church.

Lottie Moon certainly is an interesting historical figure. I question why we are teaching her to the kids, and I doubly question why we are teaching it in terms of Chirst's Love.

Okay, before I share what I have learned this week about Lottie Moon with you I want to first say.... I am the only person that cares about this, I know. Nobody but me would ever even raise an eyebrow about this. So this is very much a non-issue, however, its been in my craw for a few days so I thought I would at least share it.

Oh... and let me say again that I intend to share none of what I am about to share with you to the kids.

Lottie Moon was born on a slave-plantation in Virginia in 1840. She was not a slave. At the age of 13 her father died and her mother sold the plantation and moved to Oxford, Ohio. In Lottie's own words she was "appalled" to learn that they would not have negro servants in Ohio. When Lottie was 18 she attended school in Viriginia. She used her status as a citizen of Ohio and a student in Virginia to become a Confederate Spy. In 1863 her sister was arrested and Lottie attempted to seduce a Union General (and former suitor, Ambrose Burnside) into releasing her sister. When the attempt failed she was also incarcerated.

She was released to her mother's custody in Ohio until after the war (it is worth noting that while she was under house arrest in Ohio she travelled to Canada to give a speech to the Canadian Confederate Sypathizers) and in 1873 when she joined the missions (a year after her sister did) it is speculated that she did so because there was talk of charging Confederate sympathizers with treason. She was, quite literally, running from America.

In China she believed that if she didn't baptize the chinese people they would burn in hell. And she told them so. She was openly racist toward the Chinese and attempted to convert them into wearing "christian" clothing.

Now is the good part.... After about 8 years in China she started to become understanding of the chinese. She began wearing chinese clothing. She began having respect for the chinese people and she became a beloved and endeared woman in China. She became known as the Cookie Lady for giving western style chocolate chip cookies to the people who would convert.

Lottie Moon has become a "Paul Bunyon" or "Davey Crockett" style of American Legend as the Missions Cookie Lady... but the truth of Lottie Moon isn't as peachy as the legend. Luckily, come Monday Morning, I am certain none of the kids will remember who she is :)

Carrie Prejean is an idiot. But she's allowed to be, back off the girl!

Carrie Prejean, Miss California, has received noted celebrity due to her answer when questioned as to whether or not every state should allow same-sex marriages.

First I want to say that her answer was convoluted, it was awkward "we live in a land where you can choose, same-sex marriage or opposite marriage." She appears to awkwardly be in support of same-sex marriage. But she follows it up with "You know what? In my country, in my family, I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anybody out there..." she goes on to repeat herself a little bit.

My first thought is that my marriage isn't defined by my, or my wife's sex. It is rather defined by the love we have for one another. I think this world needs more love, not less.

My second thought was that Perez Hilton, who achieved fame as a celebrity rumor-monger and blogger (its a living) used the Miss USA pageant to further his own political agenda. I don't have a problem with that. Except. Miss California is now being targeted based on the views she shared in the same Miss USA pageant. Miss Prejean wasn't using it as a political platform, she was answering the question of a person who was.

She was attacked by those of my brethren in the pro-gay stance as if they forgot she was entitled to her opinion. The other thing they forgot was that by attacking a sympathetic opponent they make themselves look petty and do more harm than good to their cause by swaying the fence-sitters away from them. Have they learned no lessens from the failure of the GOP?

Recently some topless photos of Miss California have risen. They were taken when she was a 17 year old aspiring model. First I would like to state that these are tantamount to child porn. I understand age of consent, but I'm saying that as a parent, I don't care. I don't fault the 17 year old for wanting to pose for sexy pictures. What 17 year old girl doesn't want to feel sexy and pretty? However, that decision should have been intercepted by her parents.

Apparently she signed a contract stating there were no partially nude photos of her... when in fact there were. So the pageant cops are certainly within their rights to strip her of her tiara. Its a shame that she would lose her title because she received infamy for her remarks. She shared her legitimate and , thanfully unpopular, opinion. Its a shame she has been demonized for her opinion. This sort of thing is expected from the grossly behaved GOP. I'm embarassed that members of the political left have engaged in it.

I can't help but to remember that the only pageant winner of any sort who'se name I remember without having to look it up is Vanessa Williams. Oh God! She's nude.

She turned out pretty well.

By the way.... the attached photo was stolen from perezhilton.com and used without permission. The faux "milk" stain on her lip was placed there, presumably, by Mr. Hilton. I used that particular picture because it was relevant to what I wrote about. And also because it allows me to address Mr. Hilton. Placing a picture on your website of Ms. Prejean with a stain on her mouth is tacky and it makes you look like a negative, shallow, queen. You do a disservice to gay society by appearing so petty.

Oso Poops and Farts

Here is a chain of emails I sent Ms.T-Hawks this morning.

Mohawks spelled this morning. We were coloring and Mohawks drew an "O" and then an "S" and than an "O" all by himself. I asked him what he was drawing and he told me "Special Agent Oso. See... O.. S... O."

And then a little later Mohawks said Oso! Oh... ess.. oh... Oso... and then he started singing the song.

Just now I asked him as if I didn't know... "Hey Mohawks, how do you spell Oso?"

"You just use an oh... and an ess... and an oh."

About 20 minutes later:

Okay... so I'm now using OSO to explain to Mohawks sounds. Up until today we've worked mostly on recognizing letters. We've worked a little on what sounds those letters made, but Mohawks didn't understand why we did that.

Now I can use Oso to show him how the sounds go together with the letters to form a word. Once I explained it he quickly read the word Dog with prompting and the word Dad without prompting!

About 20 minutes later:

Oh too much fun! Mohawks can spell poop!

About 10 mintues later:

Well, we're done for the day. We've been writing the sentences "...poops and farts." and filling in the blank with a name. "Daddy poops and farts." "Oso poops and farts." "Mommy poops and farts." And then, of course, we giggle uncontrollably! Mohawks draws little pictures next to the sentence of the person pooping and farting.

Now, I know that there are going to be parents who read this that think that sophomoric activity is just revolting. All I have to say is that for an hour today a Dad and his son laughed together. And my 4 year old can read!

Careful what you wish for... Lesbians are on the move!

I read an article in CNN.com today about how it is becoming fashionable for women to ditch male partners in favor of female partners. I was raised by gay men, you won't find a more pro-gay straight man in America than I am. My Dads are two of the greatest human beings I know. However, I also have a lesbian ex-wife. We were married at 20 and divorced at 23. What did we know, we were kids? I'm pretty sure she was attracted to my parents and not to me. They were the only gay people she knew.

So I'm a bit ahead of the fashion curve.

The problem I have with the Lesbian being the new chic is that men don't stand a chance. I mean when women and men are young and in our 20's we're all attractive and sex is fun! When we start having children and we turn dumpy and our careers take off and the children always have a need, life sometimes gets in the way of sex, and almost certainly gets in the way of the fun, off the hook, crazy sex you had a decade ago.

Now when we hit our late 30's and early 40's if women can then choose not to be bothered with surly men and smelly old shoes we're doomed! Men don't stand a chance.

What person of that 30something age group, male or female, wouldn't enjoy spending an evening with their best friend? Someone that understands you without having to explain it. Someone who gets your emotions. Or gets that hate you have for the New England Patriots. If this becomes a socially acceptable alternative men are doomed! Why would a woman choose a dumpy old man when she could have an attractive peer who understands she doesn't have problems and they most certainly don't need fixed.

How many times did we say "Honey, are you sure you don't want to try a threesome?"

Be careful what you wish for... she may say "yes."

Susan Boyle

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxPZh4AnWyk

Susan Boyle's performance on Britain's Got Talent ought to be required viewing to all High Schoolers.

I didn't understand the hoopla until I watched the entire performance. It isn't her surprisingly outstanding voice. But it is her hidden confidence in the face of social attack. She smiled at the leering audience with a chesire grin as if to say "You sophomore's are in for a real surprise." She was, of course right.

She made us all feel very small, very judgmental. She made us all realize how unloving we can be. She has done more for spreading love than any person has ever done in 6 minutes.

Susan Boyle most certainly deserves her 15 minutes!

Happy Anniversary

Happy Anniversary GW and Crista LeMaster!

Mobile Webbing

Today I went to the park with my children and caught up on my email, updated my calendar, and checked this weekends weather. Recently I purchased a sprint wireless modem, it plugs into my laptop's USB port and I can watch the kids playing at the park at the same time I catch up on the latest NFL rumors!

But tonight I discovered the added bonus. I am currently sitting in the basement living room watching Sprout with the little ones and singing the songs while typing this blog. Before the basement was a deadzone, it was eerily sans internet. I could only get the wireless signal I stole from my neighbor from the kitchen table. I tell you this moment makes this months bill worth every penny!

Dude, fatherhood rocks!

Key to success

So yesterday I decided to take the kids to the zoo. After getting She-Hawks, Lil Hawks and Mohawks all excited, and dealing with the expected temper tantrum brought on by overexcitement. I had all three kids in jackets and waiting by the door. As I put on my jacket and searched my pockets for keys I realized they weren't there.

An hour later, I grumpily told the kids to take off their jackets we weren't going.

Yeah. That went well.

Luckily about 45 minutes later Ms.T-Hawks returned home and I used her keys. I still haven't found my keys. But you try getting an 11 year old, a 4 year old and a 2 year old excited to go to the zoo and then tell them at the last minute we aren't going. NOT FUN!

However the day was saved and we saw Polar Bears (not dinnertime! see early entry for reference) and Spectacled Bears and Black Bears. We saw Foxes and Mexican Wolves and Turkey's. We saw Red-Tailed Hawks and Lions. Let me just say that a half-hearted Lion's roar in the zoo is still a pretty intimidating sound (it was the first time I'd actually seen the lions awake in the zoo.)

And we saw a skunk. Now the problem with the skunk was that it was in a cage that had a glass wall only about 2 feet high. So that the little kids could go up to the cage and peer over the top and even reach down inside the cage! I could not get Lil Hawks and Mohawks away from that cage quickly enough! Just what I needed was a kid annoying a skunk and get squirted for the hour ride home!

And we rode the carousel... and we rode.... and we rode... and we rode, rode, Rode, RODE! I believe that I could put together a photo album of each of the kids on every animal on that carousel.

Here is a photo of She-Hawks (that is Mohawks in the background falling off the shark!)

Mohawk down!

If you read the blog beneath this one you will read all about Hawks, Jr's official name change to Mohawk.

So after Mohawk got his new fauxhawk hair cut Miss T.Hawks had to go out of town for the week on business. Its just me and the kids all week. No problem. I got this.

Apparently Mohawk is feeling kind of daring with his new do! He broke his arm today. Yeah, I know.... I thought I had this. He was jumping on the couch as far as I could tell. See I wasn't actually in the room. While Dad was upstairs vacuuming the living room (see what housework does? Down with it, I say, down with housework) Mohawk was downstairs playing astronaut or superman or see-how-much-trouble-I-can-get-Dad-in-Man.

So I've got Mohawk downstairs on the couch. His arm propped up on a pillow.

"Does it hurt here?"
"No."
"Does it hurt here?"
"Ow."
"Does it hurt here?"
"Ow!"
"Does it hurt here?"
"HERE DAD! IT HURTS HERE! NOT HERE. NOT HERE. HERE!"

I guess it hurts there. Yep, definately broken.

Now we're all piled into the van on the way to the hospital. Lil-Hawks singing Old McDonald Had a Farm. Mohawk pulling through like a trooper. And me... trying to decide whether or not to call Miss T. Hawks... who should be driving back from Detroit with about 3 hours left of her drive.

In a rare moment of clarity and manness, I called her.

You know it went well. About as well as "You broke my son?!" could go.

After that phone call I decide that while I have a captive audience it might be a good time for an object lesson. Because, you know, driving to the hospital with a broken arm is such a pleasant experience I'm sure Mohawk was in the perfect mood for a lecture.

"Mohawk, that is why Daddy tells you not to jump on the couch. It is very easy to get hurt. You need to listen to Daddy when he tells you to do something."

I felt pretty good about that. Its a good time to show a life example and maybe gain a little familial respect.

"Oh my, what happened to you?" asked the nurse as we entered the hospital.

"I didn't listen to my Daddy."

That screeching sound you just heard was the world stopping as every hospital worker within earshot stopped what they were doing and glared at me!

Yeah.... about that familial respect.

Luckily my son is articulate enough to answer the follow up questions honestly and I didn't go to jail. But seriously... when those words came out of his mouth I knew I was going to be Mike Vick's girlfriend.

Hawks, Jr.

Hawks, Jr. has been the star of the family for the past week. First he had a name change. After much talking and pleading and promising he convinced his mother to allow him to get a mohawk. For years I, along with most other men, have been saying "I really don't care" about hair. I honestly can say that I could care less about hair. I never thought about hair. I don't like to comb hair. I don't look at hair.

All of the sudden I care about hair. Lil-Hawks has been begging me to learn how to do pony tails and pig tails and how to use hair pretties and now I'm faced with the prospect of Mom saying "Yes" to a mohawk for our 4 year old.

Is she crazy?

But more importantly how is it that our 4 year old was able to convince his mother it would be cool? Now I'm faced with an unpopular veto or risk having my son wear a mohawk to church on Sundays.

Then it dawned on me, she set me up. Miss T.Hawks set me up to be the bad guy. She couldn't say no to the little beggar and she knew I would. Well I fixed her. I got Hawks, Jr. a Fauxhawk. Its kind of like a mohawk... but you can hide on Sunday morning.

Now Hawks, Jr (who will officially be called Mohawk from now on) sports himself a shiney new mohawk Mon-Sat and a nice conservative look on Sunday.

Ha to you Miss T.Hawks! Ha, I say!

Colts Memories

This past weekend marked the 25th Anniversary of my beloved Indianapolis Colts' move to Indianapolis.

I was 12 when the Colts moved to Indianapolis. It was a formulative time for me and I dove into being a Colts fan with the passion and obsession that only teens have.

When the Colts opened up their W. 56th St. complex they had an open house. I had cut the tip of my finger off two days before. I was not going to miss it though and I stood in line for 3 hours with my finger throbbing just so that I could see my favorite player, Nesby Glasgow. I missed him but I did meet Mark Herrman.

The following August I met Mark Herrman again at training camp and he remembered me and had a rather lengthy conversation with me about my finger and took a good look at it. It impressed him that I was such a fan. An NFL quarterback was impressed with me. At 13, that was cool!

That memory alone puts Glasgow and Herrman on my list of favorite Colts!

Training camp was an annual event for my family and I. It was a time during my teens when my Dad and I could find common ground. Most of my early Colt memories are of training camp.

Jack Trudeau will always be a favorite of mine for a couple of reasons. I was there the very first day he arrived at camp. A holdout had him a few days late and I was amongst the throng wanting an autograph. I was about 15 at the time. I made a joke about his first NFL injury would be writer's cramp. He scowled at me.

It was at that moment that I realized he wasn't anything special. He wasn't much bigger than me. He wasn't better looking than me. He didn't look more athletic than me. Well shoot, if he could be an NFL quarterback than I could be an NFL safety! (turns out, I couldn't be... but it was that thought that led me to understand that I really could be anything I wanted to be... heck, Jack Trudeau was an NFL quarterback and I'm pretty sure I could take him )

So for that lesson Jack Trudeau will always be on my list.

Good Morning Sunshine!

I awoke this morning with excitement tingling through my body. I was excited about playing with my children. I was excited about getting things accomplished around the house. I was excited about having a working washer and dryer. I was excited about the warm weather we've been having and spring being here!

And then I realized that what woke me up was the yelling of my youngest from the bottom of the stairs up to my room. "aaahhhh." Nothing quite as inactivating as a 2 year old yelling noise at you. Not words, that would be too polite. Just noise.

But alas, it is still spring and I will still get things accomplished around the house and the washer and dryer still work and... and it's raining. I opened the curtains in my bedroom to let in the sunshine only to be hit by dingy grey and wet.

But alas, I will still get things accomplished around the house and the washer and dryer still work and ... it's 5:50am. I just glanced at the clock. It is 5:50 am. Are they insane? Speaking of they, where are they... my children that were yelling at me from the bottom of the stairs have stopped. Where are they?

Good morning, Daddy. That would be a wonderful welcome to the day.

"Aaahhhhhh," followed by silence is what I received instead. And silence always precedes trouble. In this case it was Hawks, Jr. holding the refrigerator door open for Lil Hawks to climb inside. They froze as I entered the room as if I were a giant T-Rex attracted to movement. I snorted and roared. They ran downstairs as I poured them milk and opened breakfast bars. Find a television station with good shows in a row and ahhh.. the couch, a blanket and nap...

"Daddy, Daddy , Daddy I have to potty!"

"Well, go do it," I told Hawks, Jr. At 4 years old he's been pottying for about a year and a half now but still needs to announce it every time he does.

"Holy Crap it's 9:30!"

Back upstairs, make sure Jr has flushed, clean kitchen from last night, get laundry going (at least THAT still works) in a rush as a stay-at-home parents job is never completed but it is often hectic. Well at least the rain is good for the plants.

Shit. It got cold last night. I had set the plants out a couple of days ago, the rain and spring would be good for them. They were growing and green and enjoying the freshness. Now they were brown and droopy and looking pretty.... dead.

I need coffee.

Well, Sunshine. I had wonderful aspirations with you today. First you abandoned me. But that's okay, you are a flighty lover. Only you took your warmth with you. And all those things I wanted to get accomplished today went down the drain with a 3 hour nap on the couch while my children were pleasant enough to play quietly with their toys. ALL of their toys, which lay strewn across the room and I wonder how I could have slept through the carnage that surely must have sounded like a freight train.

Today started off so promising.

What to say when there is nothing to say

So its one o'clock in the afternoon, I've only had two cups of coffee today and I'm still really not awake and I've nothing to say. What do you say when you have nothing to say? I guess you give an update. If nothing else it keeps the habit of writing the blog going, even if it isn't entertaining.

I went to a religious retreat this weekend. What?! Tom Hawks is religious - who knew?
Lil Hawks is playing with playdough and apparently all she is interested in making are soccer balls.
Hawks, Jr. is walking around with an old filmless camera taking pictures announcing that he "wants to catch everything on film."

I've got nothing to say, I just didn't want to go so long without blogging and get out of the habit.

Guess I'll go snuggle one of the Hawks children and see if I can get them to giggle by farting out my butt.

Waistin' away again in Perculatorville

I wish I lived in a world where a cut heel is such a tragic event that it sends you to your home looking for booze. But alas I do not live on a tropical island like Jimmy Buffett. I live in the Midwest with three kids. And that means that I have problems significantly more serious than a blown out flip flop. And when you have problems of the magnitude of middle class America you need a drink a little stronger than a margarita.

I blew out my bank account.
Wrote a bad check amount.
Into the red and the domino's fell.
But there's grinds in the maker
and soon it will make her
that bittersweet cup; an escape fom this hell.

Waistin' away again in Perculatorville.
Searchin for that perfect cup 'o' joe.
Some people clain that the economy's to blame
but I know its AIG's fault.

Dilemma of dilemna deserves a mulct

In writing the previous post I used the word "dilemma" and I wasn't sure how to spell it. Actually I'm a very good speller (as long as I am not spelling the word 'misspelled') but I always check because I am paranoid about misspellings (and yes I'm using that word repeatedly so I can remember how to spell it.)

Dilemna looked right to me. So much so that I thought for sure that was how it was spelled. But because it was an odd word I thought I would look it up. Egads! Lo and behold it was not spelled dilemna, in fact it was spelled dilemma!

What a dilemma!

Who knew? All this time myself and an entire generation of mid-westerners had been spelling the word with an "N" when in fact it is spelled with two "M's!" ASIDE: speaking of english... did I do that M's thing correctly... with all the consecutive punctuation, I never know in which order it should all go... well, if I did it incorrectly don't give me a mulct.

So what I discovered in several blogs, most notably some guy named King who is a much better blogger than I and taught me the word mulct, is that an entire generation of American's throughout the midwest were incorrectly taught to spell the word with an "N." It has never been spelled with an N. The greek root is "lemma" and in all dictionaries the word is "dilemma" when suddenly in a part of America people decided to change it to "dilemna" and, apparently, nobody knows why.

Natural City Hiking

So I took the kids for a "Nature Hike" today. Actually it was a "Its nice outside and you guys are driving me crazy" walk. So we loaded up the big red wagon, put on our cool shades, and went lookng for nature.

The problem is that we live in the city. How do you find this elusive "nature" when you only have 1/5 acre plots of grass surrounded by concrete and asphalt? There was a better than average chance we would see a Kestrel, as they live in the downtown buildings and frequently hunt these little 1/5 acre plots. Then it dawned on me! That is nature. The Kestrel hunts something natural, lets look for those! So we found grey squirrels and some chickadees and some dogs in peoples yards and a older lady still in her bathrobe.

Hey, its not what you and I think of when we think of nature... but to a 4 year old and a 2 year old it was pretty cool. Not as cool as Polar Bear poop. Really they just liked being pulled in the wagon.

I was about a block away when I realized I had left my coffee cup sitting on the counter. It was the classic middle-aged man's dilemma. Do I exert the energy to retrace my steps to go get the coffee... or do I just carry on without. Gamely, I proved to my children that man was capable of carrying on through great hardships as I continued my walk around the block sans coffee.

My 12 Toughest Decisions While President

Apparently former President George W. Bush is writing a book about "My Twelve Toughest Decisions While President." Seriously, that is just too good to pass up!

Here is my take on President George W. Bush's 12 toughest decisions while in office.

12. The red tie or the blue tie?

11. Should I give the thumbs up sign to the reporter from the Journal or from the Times?

10. Crunchy or Creamy?

9. What country gets called evil today?

8. Would I like Freedom Fries with that?

7. The New York Times crossword puzzle or internet porn?

6. Should I hang the "Mission Accomplished" banner or the "America, Love It or Leave It" banner or maybe I should go with the oldie but goodie "Mickey Mouse giving the finger with the tag line 'Hey Iraq'"... actually it will say Hey Iran, but the n is scratched off with a marker and a "q" is written in.

5. Crawford or Kennebunkport? Ah hell, both!

4. Leno or Letterman? Who am I kidding, Laura's done rode me roughshod by 11:30 I'm sacked out, I've got an early day tomorrow, have to be at the office by 9:30.

3. Fix Social Security or Bomb Baghdad? (lets not kid ourselves, that was an easy one!)

2. Do I call the Joint Chiefs of Staff "Sir?"

And hands down the toughest decision I had as President:

1. Do I rig the election in Florida or Ohio?

Dinnertime at the zoo

So it was the first very warm spring day today. Temperatures above 70 for the first time since last September probably. So I took Lil Hawks and Hawks, Jr to the zoo. It was filled with stay-at-home soccer moms... and me. But it was fun in that all of the children there were my kids age. Old enough to run around and have fun, but young enough that they weren't in school.

Apparently 2 in the afternoon is THE time to be watching the polar bears for they were fed.

I first could tell that something was amiss when I kept smelling an odor that I was familiar with but just couldn't place. Then as we moved our way from the Rhino (from our angle it looked as if he were trying to hide behind a very skinny tree) to the Lions (asleep, as usual) inching closer to the Bear section, the smell grew stronger and stronger. Then just as we walked down the little path to the back of the polar bear area where they have a swimtank you can see under I recognized the smell. Spoiling meat.

On the bank to the little swim area there appeared to be a side of beef. In fact there were three, one for each of the polar bears, and they each had theirs in different parts of the habitat knawing away like a lab on a rawhide bone.

Of course Lil Hawks was oblivious but Hawks, Jr. thought that was just the coolest thing he had ever seen. That way beat out the Stellar's Sea Eagle or the backhairs on the elephant. It was even cooler than the pink flamingos (which weren't pink) or the snow leopard and his spots - not stripes, Dad, tigers have stripes.

It was so cool that when we stopped for hamburgers on the way home Jr. couldn't stop talking about it. "And the bear would rip it like this and it smelled SO bad. I mean it was terrible, Dad (as if I hadn't been there) it was so bad like the trash when Lil Hawks goes poop (as if I wasn't eating) or the..."

"My poop don't stink!"

"It smells like polar bear food."

"Does not!"

"Poop stink." "Bear fart."

GUYS!

Somehow this memory is supposed to be endearing to me when I'm an empty nester.

So many thoughts, so little writing

Life goes on day by day and so little of it gets shared. I think that is probably a good thing for the most part. Life is mundane. Miss T. Hawks goes to work. Lil Hawks and Hawks, Jr. alternate between annoying each other and making each other giggle. She-Hawks gets more mature everyday. But the thing about having a tween daughter are the wonderful moments I get to see. The moments where she is acting too grown up for her own good and ordering a capuccino at breakfast that are coupled with her licking the whipped cream off the side of the cup like a kid just moments later.

Miss T.Hawks took me to the Bahamas for our anniversary. It was an exciting romantic weekend on a two day cruise. I thought I would miss the kids too much to enjoy it. Turns out I didn't miss the kids at all until after I returned. Then I really just felt guilty for not missing them. Getting away was wonderful though. I rememberd all those reasons I fell in love with Miss T.Hawks to begin with. For some reason we forget about those things in the day to day. We start to ask ourselves why we love this person that drives us crazy. Then we have a weekend in the bahamas that included more sex then we have in a typcial half year and it all comes back to me and I remember that she just does it for me.