Church of Latter Day Saints came to the door.

The other day there was a knock on the front door.

Two, well dressed, polite young men introduced themselves to me.

"Hello, how are you this afternoon sir? My name is Matt and this is Jason and we're going door to door talking about God."

I looked at them blankly.

"Have you ever spoken to someone from the Church of Latter Day saints before?"

I said, "No thanks, I can't talk right now."

"Could we come back at a more convenient time?"

"Sorry, no, I'm not interested."

They smiled and said, "Thank you sir. Have a good day."

I wonder if in their heads as they were walking down our front steps they were thinking, "That poor man is going to Hell. I feel sorry for him and will pray for him tonight."

Blowing bubbles.

The last few days I've been going a bit crazy blowing bubbles for Jake.

It reminded me of a fantasy I had one I was a kid. I imagined that each bubble was it's own universe, with physical laws and living beings and wars etc.

When the bubble burst, the universe ended. Some bubbles lasted longer than others and so these were the lucky "universes". But of course in the end, they would burst. Wind would throw them against a fence or the bubble would lose stability and explode in a rainbow of soap particles.

Naturally, I though that our universe too was a bubble that perhaps someone else had blown us into existence and was watching from an outside meta world that contained other "bubble universes" competing with our own.

Would ours be a long lasting universe? Or would the child stick his finger inside of us just as things got going? We'd see a beautiful rainbow explosion and then everything would end.

Thoughts on Ketchup

I remember when ketchup came in glass jars and it was so thick you had to slap the jar hard. An uncontrolled burst of ketchup would land on your plate. If you didn't shake the jar, a watery substance would leak out.

These days ketchup comes in squeezable plastic bottles. It's no longer thick, but runny. You don't have to shake it anymore.

They've fixed a lot of these ketchup problems, yet somehow there's less satisfaction in eating ketchup. It's too easy.

Spreadable lettuce.

I have a great idea for a new invention.*

Spreadable lettuce. You know how when you leave lettuce in your fridge for a long time, it gets slimy?

Well why not manufacture this process and market it as spreadable lettuce?

It can come in a jar and you just spread it on like butter. It would be sort of a thick, dark green colour, and obviously would have a rich lettuce taste.

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* Actually I stole this from my wife and added a few more details.

Liquid diets don't help you gain weight.

We weighed the kids a couple days ago. Since taking Jake off his liquid diet (last January) he's gained 20% in weight.*

Mason's still growing, but he's slowing down. Now he's only in the 60th percentile. Still big for his age though.

___

* Moved from 30th percentile on the down syndrome growth chart to 50% approx.

Joe Mooney phoned.

You know you're getting old when you start telling lame Dad jokes.

We decided to spring for call display. The other day someone named Joe Mooney phoned, but didn't leave a message.

I started singing "Leave a message Mooney, moon, moon mooney" to the tune of Billy Idol's "Mony Mony".

It was hilarious and caused huge belly laughs.

There should be hundreds of people walking around our neighbourhood.

We usually go for a night time walk after dinner for a half hour or so. Most of the time we see all the same people - maybe 15 different couples or families at the most, plus a few strangers.

Our complex has hundreds of houses. I would think that at any given time there should be hundreds of people walking around.

Not even close. We've concluded that the vast, vast majority of people who live in our neighbourhood do not walk around.

I guess they stay inside or only drive their cars.

Mason smells good.

When Jake was a baby, he smelled awesome - like cookies. Mason didn't smell like that for the first few weeks and I was disappointed.

But now he does! Something changed in his body chemistry and he smells good. I like sniffing him and then making faces until he smiles.

I don't like some kids.

Yesterday at the park Jake was sitting in his stroller and we were walking toward him. Two kids, maybe 5 or 6, walked around the corner with toy light sabers. They saw Jake and said, "A baby! Let's kill it!"

Then they saw us and got all scared. They went off to the grass and started bashing each other with the light sabers.

As they were hitting each other they chanted, "Kill the baby! Kill it!"

We're in four successive star signs.

Each member of my family is in 4 successive star signs.

Mason is a Taurus. Cindy is a Gemini. Jake is a Cancer and I'm a Leo.*

Four birthdays in a 3 month period and we all managed to squeak into a different star sign. I'm not sure what this means, but it's mildly interesting.

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*TAURUS

APRIL 21 - MAY 21

GEMINI

MAY 22 - JUNE 21

CANCER

JUNE 22 - JULY 23

LEO

JULY 24 - AUG 23

5 Things Jake's better at than me.

1) Flexibility. He can bend his feet way past he head if he wanted.

2) Resisting junk food. He can easily resist chocolate, chips and ice cream.

3) Sleeping. He's a much better and deeper sleeper. He can almost sleep through anything.

4) Friendly to strangers. He can approach strangers, hug their legs and asked to be picked up. I'm much too shy.

5) Dancing. He's got some great moves. I wouldn't be able to attract as much attention as him if I danced.

I didn't like how our behavioural interventionist was so exhausted.

When you pay $1,500 to have a behavioural interventionist trained to help your son, and then you pay her $16 an hour, you don't want her to show up for work exhausted.

That's what ours did. She'd be totally exhausted from staying up all night. She'd be yawning and falling asleep and sitting on the couch, not doing anything.

She'd be drinking Red Bull at 9am when she showed up for "work", and then she'd leave her can on the counter for me to recycle.

Optimists shower.

If you have a shower or bath in the morning, you're engaging in your first act of optimism. You're saying, "I want start the day, fresh and clean."

You want to feel good. You have things to do and people to see and acts to complete.

If the world were to end or you were to disintegrate into a pile of garbage, you obviously wouldn't shower.*

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* This entry is adapted from Breakfast with Socrates : an extraordinary (philosophical) journey through your ordinary day Robert Rowland Smith

Sugar cubes are cooler.

Sugar cubes are the coolest form of sugar. It's a cube. That's cool.

You don't have to measure anything because each sugar cube is exactly one teaspoon of sugar. You don't tear open a package and contribute to paper waste and garbage.

And the coolest thing of all is that sugar cubes dissolve in your coffee. One minute it's a cube. The next it's gone.

Sugar cubes used to be used in diners and restaurants when I was a kid. Not anymore. Now it's just the sugar packets because people didn't like the idea of using a sugar cube that could have been touched by a stranger's hand.

Getting ready is a paradox.

When we say, "Let's get ready!" we're participating in a paradox. In one sense, we're inviting the unexpected to begin. We're excited about the unknown and we have a "bring it on" attitude.

On the other hand, the act of "getting ready" requires preparing for the unknown. Getting a hat if it's sunny. Bringing an umbrella. Checking the gas in the car.

So at the same time as proclaiming readiness for the world, we try to minimize any of its affect on us.*

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* This entry is adapted from Breakfast with Socrates : an extraordinary (philosophical) journey through your ordinary day by Robert Rowland Smith

Who can afford to live there?

Whenever I see a home show on TV I look at the people who own the house and ask, "What job do they have where they can own a home like that?"

Their appearance gives no clue. I'm doubtful that anyone can own a beautiful house in this day and age. Yet many people clearly do, so I'm obviously wrong.

My guess is most of the people on the home shows with gorgeous houses are professionals - accountants, lawyers, doctors or stock brokers.

Clowns part 2

“So you want to build a website, Mr. Kansas, about clowns?”

The 20-year-old Dial a Geek worker stood in Harvey’s doorway. The sunlight exposed the acne on the man’s left cheek.

“Yes,” said Kansas. The door was only partially opened. It blocked a Mossberg 500 pump-action shotgun held in Harvey’s right arm. He surveyed the boy and relaxed.

“Come in then. Don’t stand idle.”

The boy stepped into the home. “We’re offering a hosting and domain name special…” He stopped talking when he noticed the shotgun. Kansas placed it on the foyer table.

Kansas saw the boy’s eyes. “You could have been a clown.”

“You would have shot me?”

“That’s the shotgun’s function, yes.”

“Me?”

“If you were a clown.”

The boy seemed perplexed.

Kansas said, “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“It ain’t unheard of but you’re probably safe from clowns. They prefer boys between the ages of 8 and 14. And occasionally girls.”

“Our package price is 29.99 a month, which I think you’ll find competitive.” The boy’s voice sounded unsteady.

“That’s reasonable,” agreed Kansas.

The boy looked down at a clipboard. “My notes say you want the website to have a hand grabbing at you.”

“A clown hand,” said Kansas. “Scooping you up like ice cream.”

“We could do that,” said the man. He was perking up. Enthusiastic. “We could do a splash page, where the hand comes forward, right at you.”

“It’s a different anatomy.”

The boy raised his eyebrows.

“The clown hand,” explained Kansas. “The fingers are of varying lengths. It’s why they wear white gloves.”

“Our designer can definitely do a misshapen hand. We can do it in Flash.”

Kansas nodded. “Sure. Make it flashy. I dislike anyone who wears gloves for that reason.”

“Did you have a domain name picked out? I’m assuming it would have the word ‘clowns’ in it?”

“I make a point of looking at a person’s hands and feet,” said Kansas. “Clowns don’t take care of their feet. They have bunions and dead skin and calluses and ingrown nails. Their skin is milky pale. Unnatural. That’s why they wear big shoes, on account of comfort.”

Harvey stopped talking. His eyes focused on a vehicle slowing in front of his house. A courier. He picked up his shotgun and pulled the boy aside, out of his line of sight.

The car stopped. A moment later a courier walked toward them holding a box.

Kansas leveled the shotgun. The courier was almost at the front door. His eyes went wide. He dropped the box at Harvey’s feet and sprinted back to the car.

“Get back!” shouted Kansas. He ripped open the box with his hand. “Could be anthrax or an incendiary device!”

The Dial a Geek employee jumped behind a lamp.

“Cheeses Christ,” said Kansas. “I said Cheeses!”

“What?” asked the twenty-year-old. “What is it?”

Harvey Kansas turned toward the boy and held out a human arm.

“A hand,” said Kansas. “Severed at the elbow.”

The boy’s face did a hiccup.

“I know whose it is too,” said Kansas. “Rip Waychild. He worked for me once. Then the clowns got him. This is their message to me. This is the fourth package.”

“It’s an arm,” said the employee. He vomited a little into the plant.

“Them clowns are dismembering him piece by piece and sending me the parts.”

Harvey Kansas stared at his friend’s arm. “We’ll put that on the website too.”

It's not fair when God punishes us.

I don't think it's fair when God punishes us for the very same traits that he gave us.

If he gave me trait of being lazy, why punish me by holding me back and not allowing me to excel? If he gave me a trait of a bad temper, why punish me by making me lose my friends when I rage?

I'm not even going to mention how unfair it is that God punishes children by giving them cancer or heart defects or genetic disorders.

I think God should not punish people for having a positive trait, and then still failing, despite the trait. For example, God should punish intelligent people who fail school. Or he should punish beautiful people who can't find a spouse.

Clowns part 1

The principal stood on stage and looked at his students over the top of his glasses. The auditorium felt cold.

“Children, it pleases me to introduce a very important dignitary.” He surveyed their heads for a moment and continued.

“Please applaud for mister”… he consulted a cue card… “Harvey Kansas.”

The children clapped and the sound echoed off the polished floors and cinder block ceiling.

A large man stood from a chair and stepped to the centre of the stage. He wore heavy cowboy boots and a worn jeans jacket. A hush fell over the children. All eyes went to the Belgium-made FN F2000 assault rifle with telescope sight and 40mm FN EGLM grenade launcher. He held it loosely in his hands.

“Scholars,” he said. “I thank you for your welcome. I’m here to talk about an imperative matter. Imperative.”

Not one child even fidgeted.

“Clowns,” he said. “They’re a menace. Dangerous and treacherous.”

He pointed a thick finger at the children. “We need to come together as a society to eradicate clowns.”

Still no one moved.

“To terminate them.”

A boy raised his hand. “Do you mean kill them?”

The principal looked at the boy over his glasses. “Say sir.”

“Do you mean kill them, sir?”

“That’s perfectly right,” said Kansas.

“With that?” said the boy, awed by the weapon.

“Often.”

A girl raised her hand. “My dad’s a clown when the carnival comes to town in August.”

“Your dad is not a clown young miss.” He spoke with authority. “You’re dad is only dressing as a clown. Like when you children dress as the devil on the Halloween holiday.”

The girl wasn’t finished. “But my dad…”

“Your dad is not a clown because clowns don’t have children. Clowns steal children and turn them into clowns when they get older.”

Many of the pupils nodded their heads.

The principal stood and told the students that Mr. Kansas would give each student an important flyer.

“You are to call me,” said the man, “when you see a clown. And be hasty about it.”

A bell rang and the principal said a few more things before dismissing the students. They hurried to the exits, chatting, fidgeting and staring at the large man.

Mason had his first immunizations.

A few days ago Cindy drove Mason to the local health unit.

She walked into the nurse's office and chatted about breast feeding and babies. The nurses like to talk.

The nurse pulled out three long needles and jabbed them into Mason's leg.

He screamed.

The nurse advised tylenol or advil. Then they waited in the office for another 15 minutes or so and chatted, while the nurse watched Mason out of the corner of her eye to make sure he didn't have an allergic reaction.

Cindy brought Mason home where he was grumpy all day and demanded that you walk around while holding him. He screamed the instant you sat down.