When the budget allows

When Bekah and I were still newlyweds, the number of kids we wanted was an occasional topic of conversation. She wanted six. I wanted two. I think we compromised on four. Part of those negotiation processes included what we want out of life. Since she was a little girl, all she wanted was to be a mom. I wanted to be surrounded by music. So we brokered a deal, every time she got a kid, I would get a musical instrument.

Shortly after Christian was born, I bought a keyboard. I started shopping for a bass guitar before Zu was adopted, and there is one that I've had my eye on for quite a while. Now with one more adoption approaching, I'm looking for a good portable recording equipment.

Why do I bring this up tonight? Today was Buy a Musical Instrument Day. Now that is the kind of holiday I could celebrate with gusto.

Unfortunately, my musical purchases will have to wait. As shiny and awesome as new instrument could be, there are more important things. Like my kids. So, between the Bekah and I, if only one of us can get what we want... I'd rather it be Bekah.

However, as soon as it's in the budget, I'm heading to an authorized Traben dealer.

Early arrival

My wife's older sister was planning on visiting us this weekend. We were expecting her and her husband to show up sometime before noon tomorrow.

But when Miriam's work day ended, she told Dan "I'm hyper, lets go now."

Now they're here. So until we all crash for the night, I'll be celebrating by hanging out with two of the coolest people in the world (and quite possibly the galaxy).

With apologies to my brother

My hometown was in strawberry country. Picking those berries was a first job for many of my peers. In fact, the City of Marysville throws an annual festival about this time of year - The Strawberry Festival. (I know - creative, right?)

This festival was (and likely still is) the most exciting thing to roll through town. A car show, beauty pageant, vendors market, parade, trike races, carnival... For some reason that still eludes any explanation, my favorite part was the giant strawberries that the city painted in the major intersections along State Ave. Nothing bolsters civic pride more than government endorsed graffiti.

As for the food options, those red berries received the center stage in every dish served around town. Strawberry milkshakes, strawberry shortcake, strawberry ice cream. It was the toppings for pancakes, elephant ears. Served in scones, on skewers. Dipped in chocolate, in whip cream, in yogurt.

My family was involved with the festival for a few years. My dad, brother, and I all worked the vendors market and volunteered as parade security. It came with perks. The guy who brought the go carts gave us unlimited or extended racing time, often after hours. We were given free carnival passes and an insane amount of free food.

Oh the free food. The food vendors understood that we were in control of their power supply and their access to ice. So they repaid us with goodies. This was greatly appreciated, but as it was a benefit it was also a curse. Remember how strawberries played a central theme in the festive foods?

After eating nothing but a variation of strawberries for five consecutive days, at the end of May, every year, you suffer something akin to strawberry burnout. At least that's what happened to my brother and me. For years, neither of us could stand to eat that infernal fruit. I'm not sure if Aaron has yet recovered from his strawberry aversion, but I have. Almost.



I have regained my taste for strawberries, but only in small doses - like a man building up an immunity to a lethal poison. It is a good thing, because today was Pick a Strawberry Day.

Zu, Christian, and I took a trip after dinner to pick strawberries. And there is no better place in Coeur d'Alene to pick strawberries than the grocery store.

Christian was seriously serious about his strawberries, but Zu was so excited I feared she might bounce out of her seat.

And of course, I savored my own bowl.

When life gets in the way

I missed yesterday. Completely skipped celebration. There were a few events conspiring against me.

1) It was Circus Day. The anniversary of Ringling Brother's debut in 1884. Not to make up an excuse but it is difficult to celebrate Circus Day when there are no circuses in town? (Yes, I realize there are a few who would say I live in a circus every day.)

2) Any plans to celebrate got hijacked by JJ's health. Bekah made a quick trip to the ER last night, and by quick, I mean she was absent for a significant chunk of the evening.

3) My father-in-law is entering a cupcake contest. Since my wife has mad cake decorating skills, he invaded our kitchen and dining room to enlist Bekah's assistance.

I know these reasons are not a valid justification to neglect my daily celebrations. At the end of the day, I failed. However, I did manage to spend some time with Christian looking at pictures of circus animals, which turned into pictures of animals of all varieties. Which turned into a series of unanswerable questions.

"What's the giraffe doing? Why is the giraffe eating? What is the gorilla doing? Why is the gorilla sleeping? Why is the fox hunting? Why is the baby moose learning to walk? Do coyotes howl? Why do they howl?"

Blow Up the Outside World

I've always felt a kindredship with Mount Saint Helens. It blew up the day after my first birthday, so I feel like we're grown up together. Like the dorky kid next door, who you're only friends with because he lives next to you. And he owns a Nintendo. (When I was 5, he was the only kid in the neighborhood with a Nintendo... that actually counted for something back then)

I digress.

As a kid in the Seattle suburbs, I truly believed that this piece of natural history was a part of my story. And to an extent it may have been the catalyst to my fascination with disaster in both it's natural and man made forms. In this respect, I feel this is an important chuck of cultural history that I want to teach my kids.

So, today was all about St. Helen's anniversary. No... no big bash, no volcano shaped cake. I used this day as an opportunity to educate my son. A little geography lesson, a little geology lesson, and a little OOOH SHINY.

First, I made sure he could locate our house on a map, then showed our neighborhood in relation to where Mount Saint Helens is located. Then I showed him pictures of the mountain before 1980. I asked him if he knew how a volcano worked. His answer was almost correct. Then we watched the video of the explosion (thanks youtube!).

"Where's the lava?" He asked.
I explained how some volcanoes erupt with lava and some just shoot out ash and rock.
"Oh," he said.
We looked at some more pictures of the mountain, and looked at what it looks like today.
Then, "Where's Africa?"
"The other side of the planet." I answered.
"Can I see what Africa looks like?"

Perhaps he'll appreciate volcanic explosions more next year.

Stuff, lots of it

Happy Pack Rat Day. I am probably the first and only person to bestow that wish upon you today. I realize this. But if you're like me, you don't like wasting stuff. And it doesn't matter if it's food stuff or clutter stuff. Or time stuff. But you get that there are mathematical formulas to calculate stuff and scientific laws that govern the properties of stuff. (my father in-law posted a great list on this idea, READ IT.)

However, I know the life of a pack rat is one of stress, insecurity, worry, and overwhelming discontent. And yet there's irony in sharing my birthday with Pack Rat Day. (as most pack rats endeavor to throw nothing away, I forgot to take the trash out this morning)

How does one stop being a pack rat? Is it possible to be a rat that travels light? I'm sure it entails throwing and giving stuff away, but there is one thing I refuse to throw away - my friends. Thank you to all who wished me a happy birthday.

I may never wear purple again

This might quickly become my mom's favorite holiday: Wear Purple For Peace Day. Yes, it's a real day. Don't believe me? Google it.

So, purple it is.

Here's a short list of what i did today while wearing purple:

Watched the most recent episode of Fringe. (hooray for DVRs)

Made the kids' lunch.

Mowed the lawn.

Hauled firewood. (we don't have a fireplace, but our neighbor's supply spilled over into our yard and needed moved in order to mow)

Picked up pine cones. (the pine trees in our front yard shed like a cat it's horrible)

Did the dishes

Sweat. A lot. (it was muggy today, humidity plus heat is a bad combination for me)

I would have lit the barbecue while wearing purple, but by that time exchanged my sweat soaked purple shirt for a comfortable black one.

But I'm sure if it was up to my mother, every day would be Wear Purple For Peace Day

Dinner for 8

Our church tried a social experiment a few months ago. The idea was to match up four couples to meet and share a meal once a month for three months.

I thought that sounded like a great idea. Bekah thought I was weird, but signed us up for it.

The strategy used by the church to select the groups is still a mystery, as our group came from different demographics and our homes were not geographically similar. Yet it kinda worked. The fourth couple in our group was a no-show, so our dinner for eight was more like dinner for six.

Tonight was the last night for the three nights.

Disclaimer: Bekah thinks I'm cheating in the use of dinner for eight as my reason to celebrate. She views it more as a commitment. And she reasons that I still would have gone even if I wasn't doing the year of celebration. I reason that I still would have celebrated Mother's Day even if I wasn't doing this project. Besides, if you don't see fellowship as a cause for celebration, there might be something wrong in your brain. Or you're just anti-social. Or I'm over-simplifying things.

While I'll admit the first evening was awkward as it was eating a meal with strangers in a setting reserved for close friends, I'm happy with the end result. One of the couples has a daughter Christian's age and Bekah is ready to start planning some play dates at the park. If nothing else, that alone makes the experiment worth it.

It also gives me a few more familiar faces to greet at church or at the Krock. So I won't complain.

However, I may need to celebrate National Chocolate Chip Day a day late, as I promised the kids I'd make cookies with them, but instead we sent them to bed after we came home. And with good reason, Zu made a mess of herself.

What happened to Friday?

If you were paying close attention, you may have noticed that I didn't post anything yesterday. Why? Because I'm ashamed.

Yesterday was Dance Like a Chicken Day. I was planning on teaching the Chicken dance to my two older kids. Then I had a revelation: it is a horrible fact that I know how to do the Chicken Dance. The fact that the Chicken Dance exists is a travesty. Yet it is standard fare at wedding receptions across America.

And as a former wedding DJ, I feel compelled to apologize all whom I subjected to this embarrassing monstrosity of a dance.

Rise Up

In the liturgical calendar, the Easter season continues past Easter Sunday for another 40 days. The 40th day (a Thursday) is Ascension Day, commemorating the Biblical account that Jesus ascended into Heaven 40 days after being raised from the dead.

The holiday is supposed to be a feast, but after Eat What You Want Day, I'm more in the mood to fast rather than feast. The day is filled with rich historical tradition, but my kids are too your to appreciate those rituals.

So instead, we played. after an hour at the park, my daughter refused to get off the swing. I've never seen her so happy. That is the longest she's ever sat content in one place. We have to get a swing set for our back yard.


Personally, I used the day for some reflection. The Biblical passage of Jesus' ascension also contained his final promise to his followers: "I am with you always, to the very end of the age."

I believe those words, but how well am I living as if that promise is still true? How do I rise up to show that Jesus is with me, always, to the end of the age?

Sweat & Sunshine

I got to enjoy the sunshine more than usual today. My office had a fire alarm tripped, forcing us to evacuate until the fire department clears the building and deems it safe for re-entry.

As one of my friends called it - the biggest smoke break ever. I prefer to think of it as an opportunity to disguise my lack of melanin. After a half hour in the parking lot adding pigmentation to my skin, we headed back inside. I can't speak for myself, but that time in the sun helped me feel refreshed. I should get out more.

I continued to enjoy the sunny weather at home lighting the barbecue. To be honest, I don't enjoy manning the grill as much as I do igniting it. Bekah does the cooking, but given the opportunity I'll play pyromaniac. Give me a match and point the way... hopefully my eyebrows return intact.


But since I indulged in Eat What You Want Day yesterday, today was the day to celebrate burning it all off. The bad news: I'm not losing any weight. The good news: I'm not getting fatter. So it's a wash. I enjoy Sonic and clobber myself at the Krock. Not a bad deal if you ask me.

Eat it

My sister-in-law spent Mother's Day with us. While getting dinner ready she brought up this blog and some of the upcoming events. She told me she was going to boycott Clean Your Room Day. I don't fault her. Clean Your Room Day is not the type of holiday that could excite the typical resident of earth. How do you decorate for such a day?

Clean Your Room Day was yesterday, and if you read yesterday's post you would have noticed I did not celebrate that strange day. I joined my sister-in-law in her noble boycott. Today was another event I intended on abstaining from any participation.

Today was Eat What You Want Day. Glutteny in festive disguise. But if I want to achieve my other goal for the year (to lose some weight) eating whatever I want is antithetical to what I want to accomplish.

My will was strong when I started the day. Rather than eating what I wanted, I ate what I needed. A banana and a granola bar for breakfast instead of breaded bacon. Protien shake for lunch instead of something from the vending machine. Left to my own devices, my weight problem would be described in monolithic terms.

Dinner was a greater challenge. Bekah and I had a meeting at the DSHS office in downtown Spokane. A building that is two blocks from Sonic. We (heart) Sonic. By the time our meeting had concluded, it was dinner time and we had a short time frame to pick up the kids and get home before I had to run off to Bible study.

So much for the boycott.

In honor of the juicy, delectible, and artery clogging cheese smothered, BBQ sauce drenche slab of meat fastened between two slices of Texas toast that filled my belly... I wish you the merriest Eat What You Want Day.

The friendly face at the front door

Receptionists come in many shapes, sizes, and personalities. Those that I've worked with have cut a wide swath through the spectrum of the human condition. From the crazy (I referred to her as the "bird lady" because she had the facial features of an ostrich and usually wore hats that resembled bird nests), to the inept but eager individual that can not tell the difference between a paper clip and a fax machine. Some are flamboyant, greeting everyone with frightening exuberance. Or one I worked with in Sioux Falls approached her job with clinical isolation; she stuck to the job in it's barest definitions as if there is a special place in the sixth level of hell for those that engage in conversation.

From bored to busy, there is a common thread that unites every species of receptionist. They are essential. With out them, your business would fall apart.

I know this, because for many years, my mom worked as a receptionist. In churches, manufacturing companies, and a pest control business. My mom was the smiling face that welcomed you through the front door and the warm voice that answered the phone.

In reality, I have no idea what receptionists do on a day-to-day basis. Their job is one that I could never hold with any sense of proficiency. The fact that they can juggle the demands of a functioning business while ushering the needs of a revolving public without committing homicide is amazing. They have superpowers.

Keep that in mind. Be nice to your receptionist. And if you didn't wish them a happy receptionist's day today... shame on you. (Actually, receptionist's day is on the 12th, but the calendar I am liberally stealing from listed it as the second Monday in May. Therefore, I celebrated today. If you've not said thanks to your receptionist, you still have two days to think of something creative.)

Something for the moms

The video below so perfectly fits my son, it is as if the songwriters had him in mind. Christian is that bumbling blonde haired blue eyed boy beaming with pride as he gives his mom a bouquet of dandelions. I'm sure I was much the same at his age. (Although, I remember picking weeds with purple flowers, as my mother's favorite color is purple.) Christian's gift for Mother's Day is a rocket ship and a half dozen rectangles he cut and colored from notebook paper. Bekah will love it. And that is something I think mothers have an innate ability to accomplish far beyond the typical father: to see love and magic in the simple (and often silly) gestures of our children.

Enjoy the video. And (if possible) give your mom a big hug.



And I wish a happy mothers day to the mothers in my life. My mom and Grandma Budd, Grandma Casey (perhaps one of the strongest woman I've ever known), Grandma Lu, and my mother-in-law. And most importantly, the woman my kids will not let sleep in, the love of my life, my wife.

Walking barefoot

Maybe I'm the only one that does this, but when I read the Bible, I want to add words or phrases that aren't there. For example, when the book of Isaiah says "How Beautiful are the Feet of those who bring good news," I want to make it read "How Beautiful are the Feet of those who bring good news... as long as they are wearing shoes."

I hate feet. I think they're ugly. Yes, they do serve a purpose. Feet hold us up, propels us to jump or dance, and provide the most ancient form of transportation. I'm good with their reason for existence as long as I don't have to see them. Flip-flops annoy me. Toe socks disgust me. Good news, bad news, I don't care what kind of news you have. Just please, for the love of all that is good and holy, wear shoes.

Or at least socks.*

But today was no-socks day. A day to forget the fabric that covers our soles. A day to defy all that separates our feet from the insides of our shoes. I've managed to survive the past 24 hours without socks. Including a trip to the gas station, Christians swimming lessons at the Krock, and a voyage to Zips to fetch Bekah's dinner. And I've done my best to keep my kids' feet collectively sock free.

Did my wife participate? No... I didn't even offer her a chance. If I had, Bekah would have given me a funny look that says 'You're the strangest individual to ever grace this planet, but I love you anyways.'


* Although, I still find the trend to wear socks with Birkenstocks to be completely daft.

Mr. Mom

It's Fripay! (Friday + Payday - any sense of shame) This is usually one of the happier days for office morale.

And I was not in the office to enjoy it.

I stayed home.

Bekah had a work function to attend, so it was my turn to play stay-at-home dad. Today was a day for just me and the kids. This is not the first day I've spent home with the kids, and it won't be the last, but every occasion makes me appreciate my wife.

Here are a few reasons:

* We have too many clothes. The laundry beast has escaped the darkest chambers of hades and invaded out living room. I feel small when attempting to slay that dragon.

* The kids are bottomless pits, but they eat at varied speeds. While they will all want second helpings, they'll ask for round two at staggered intervals.

* Why do parents ask kids to clean their rooms? The moment each toy has been safely returned to its proper home, the kids turn into a savage toy-tossing force like a tornado in a trailer park. Their playroom was picked up three times today (and could have used a fourth cleaning).

* Christian is in his learning how to tell the truth phase, or as I call it - he lies a lot. This is frustrating but manageable in small doses, like the few hours between work and bedtime. But for a full day? It's a wonder more parents don't check themselves into mental health facilities when the kids finally leave the nests.

But it wasn't all bad. The younger kids had a wonderful nap time and Christian helped me clean the living room and kitchen. Days like today me me happy to have an office away from the house, and grateful for an amazing wife.

On a side note, Christian like to incorporate whichever adult is in the house into his art projects. Today, he colored a portrait of his daddy.

Upon completion, Christian ran up to me, grinning like a proud monkey. "Daddy," he said, "look, I drew a picture of you. And you have a BIG belly."

And this is why I go work out.

p.s. The laundry monster still has not been conquered.

Livin' on a Prayer

A wise theologian, a Mr. Em Cee Hammer, once said, "We got to pray just to make it today."

OK, Hammer wasn't much of a theologian, and I'm not sure anyone would consider him wise. But there is a bit of truth in Hammer's 1990 single. Prayer is important. Today is a day were that importance is recognized on a national level.

Let try something different. Instead of sitting down at the end of the day to tell you what and how I celebrated, I'm giving you the opportunity to dictate how I spend the National Day of Prayer.

If there is something that you've been praying for, and you'd like someone to come along side to pray with you, leave me a comment below. Or if you'd prefer something more private, send me a message on facebook.

And if you don't pray or believe in the power of prayer, don't feel left out. Today is also Beverage Day, which I will be observing by drinking a lot of water.

Olé!

How did I celebrate Cinco de Mayo? Quite literally.

Just kidding. We had a taco salad dinner with corn bread. We made it a family dinner. Bekah chopped the produce and the kids helped me prep the corn bread. (Yes, we used a box mix. I'm not brave enough to make it from scratch.)

Zu and Christian took turns stirring. And Zu really wanted to taste the batter.

The kids love family dinner nights. And surprisingly, this is the first they've ever (to my knowledge) eaten corn bread.

Christian wanted to know what Cinco de Mayo meant. I know the story, but I'm not sure how to explain how France and Mexico got in a fight over money and that that war helped divert French military support away from the southern states during the American Civil war. If you can't explain all that in a way that makes sense to a five year old, the notion of the Mexican army beating the larger, stronger, and better trained French forces would be as foreign a concept as quantum fluctuation.

Maybe next year.

May the Fourth Be With You

I got my inner geek on today. Well, my inner half-geek at least. See, I appreciate and enjoy the Star Wars movies, but I'm not an obsessed fan. I'm not brave enough to walk around public dressed like Obi Wan Kenobi, but I might toss a few movie quotes into conversation.

And today happens to be International Star Wars Day. While I'm not down with public humiliation, I can't resist a few shameless pop-culture references. So, if you've been following my facebook updates today, you probably notices a theme. It started early this morning. And by "early" I mean before I went to bed. The updates are as follows.

* It's after midnight, do you know what your ewok is doing? I hope it's sleeping; unrested ewoks are cranky in the morning.
* I think Yoda knew something we all didn't. When he said, “Soon will I rest, yes, forever sleep... Twilight is upon me, soon night must fall,” I think he was warning us about about Stephanie Meyer's writing; it would be so atrocious that a mere reading of Twilight could be fatal. If only we had listened.
* Ugh, I hurt from last night's workout. The downside, I'm walking around with C-3PO's awkward gait. The plus side, I don't have his shiny golden complexion.
* There's a girl at my office (and I'm not making this up) who looks like a jawa but talks like Jar Jar Binks.
* I'm pretty sure that when Luke found out Vader was his dad, his first thought was "him chopping my hand off makes so much more sense."
* I think I need a haircut. I'm starting to look like a scruffy looking nerf herder.

I've discovered something today. It is impossible to be grouchy when pondering how storm troopers spend their free time. But do you want to know what I enjoy more than talking about Star Wars? Watching other people talk about Star Wars.



And I'm not kidding about walking around like C-3PO. I think I strained something while working out last night.

So I'll let you depart with the shortest synopsis you'll ever see of the original trilogy. Hopefully this will bring a smile to your face.



And if you're a fan of Star Wars, and you like hip-hop, check THIS out.

Freedom!

This is going to be awkward. How do I explain it? Um...

First, I need you to listen to a few songs to get in the mood. Go look up these songs, youtube them, dig them out of your iTunes library. There are four of them: Freedom 90 by George Michael, We're All Dudes by Less Than Jake, Earthquake by Family Force 5, and Free Falling by Tom Petty.

Done?

Good.

Moving on. Facebook is a funny thing. Remember when women everywhere started posting colors as their status update - men completely oblivious to the purpose that the color posted was the color of the woman's bra? It's like a cyber flash mob.

Then a couple weeks ago, an Iranian cleric (who's name is only slightly easier to pronounce than the Icelandic volcano) stated that scantily dressed women lead young men astray, spreads adultery, and is the reason for earthquakes. Now the first two claims are debatable but they have merit. But that last claim is a whopper. Attractive women in skimpy clothes might case a few car accidents, but earthquakes? Really? Even people who believe that Obama was born in Kenya would call cleric Hockaloogie Shazam a kook. Last I checked (and a fact that even the most uneducated human would admit) cleavage and plate tectonics are two very different sciences.

In protest, a snarky feminist college student started a viral event that spread through facebook and other social media sites. Viola... we have boobquake. The hypothesized formula proven: women - modesty + less clothes than normal does not = earthquake.

Unless you live in a one room cabin miles away from civilization without internet and TV access while growing a unibomber beard, you've probably heard this story. If you are that bearded shack dweller willfully cut off from society, you couldn't possibly be reading this as you do not have access to the web.

I feel I've elaborated on recent history enough. Besides, boobquake was a week ago, so what does this anatomy/geology/theocracy lesson have to do with today?

So far, it's the women who have been able to properly exploit the infectious powers of facebook. When is it the dudes' turn? If there is a boobquake, shouldn't there be a male equivalent? OK, maybe not... but just for the sake of argument, there is such a day. You can read about it HERE.

If you're horrified by what you just read, stop now. Go scrub your brain by watching videos of puppies. Come back tomorrow.

If you're morbidly curious, the answer to your question is 'yes.' Yes, I did. And it was surprisingly comfortable.


p.s., I stopped celebrating and changed before going to the gym. There's no way I'm working out unsupported. There are lines I refuse to cross.

p.p.s. Jennifer McCreight (organizer of boobquake) would probably disagree with me, but modesty isn't a bad thing. While hooker-chic won't cause any earthquakes, it's not appropriate. There is a big difference between being dressed to kill and being dressed to be undressed. Big difference. A tad more modesty could make this a healthier, happier world. Even with non-cleavage induced earthquakes.

I did it!

Today, I celebrate achievement! Is it weird to be talking about accomplishment 0.5% into a year-long project as if you have completed some momentous task? If it is, too dang bad, because that's what I'm going to do.

Sundays are going to be rough. Unless there is some sort of obvious occasion to observe (yay - Mother's Day is next week!), I am going to have to get creative with my Sundays. Trust me... I can't wait for False Confessions Day.

But a typical Sunday in casa Casey is the honey-do day. It's the day we clean house, do yard work, wash laundry. All while trying to entertain four kids. After church and lunch, that pares time for celebration down to little more than a passing thought.

And the lawn was on my honey-do list today. Meet my nemesis:
An hour and a half later, and we had a presentable lawn. Hooray for accomplishments! Now that might not sound like a big deal, so please consider a few facts.

1) We have a smidge over a half acre of uneven grass in an nonsymmetrical polygon lot. With two apple trees, a few birch trees, some evergreens, and a handful of stumps to mow around.

2) I never mow the whole lawn in one shot. It's usually a two day undertaking. Not because it's difficult, but because I'm lazy. Just being honest.

3) It's been raining all week. That made the grass thick and wet. And it's supposed to rain more this week. Mowing today was a now or never option. To make it more urgent, the heavens looked as if they might open at any moment with me and my mower out in the open.

But it's done. So I celebrate achievement. I celebrate that feeling of accomplishment.

The Saga Begins

My memories of May Day celebrations are hazy. It's not what I (or any normal person) would consider a faithfully observed holiday in America. But my intentions didn't start with May Day.

It started with swim lessons. This is usually a "Bekah task." Bekah is the one who takes the kids to the doctor, to appointments, to activities. Unless it is a family excursion, I usually (unless working) stay home. Instead I made the trek to the Krock Center with Cristian and gave Bekah little more time to sleep.

After Christian's swimming lesson, the two of us boys went to Hastings to hang out. I though they'd be observing Free Comic Book Day (since they were advertising it) but there was not a comic book to be found. Scratch that occasion of my list.

Back to my original plan: May Day.

The last I remember celebrating (or hearing of anyone else celebrating) May Day was back in the 80s during my elementary school days. 20 some odd years later, those memories are not the sharpest in my recollections. As vague as those fuzzy memories may be, I do recall three prominent details: flowery art projects, leaving flowers on neighbor's doorsteps, and something involving ribbons and flagpoles.

Now I'm not one to dance with ribbons, and I don't have a flagpole in my yard, so that narrows my options down to two choices.

I delegated the art project to Christian.

And Zu went with me to get flowers. Two bouquets - one for Bekah, and one for my neighbor's door.
Side note: The weather spoiled my original plan: to take the kids out for a walk and pick flowers. Sadly, I had to succumb to retail. On the upside, I am contributing to the economy.