I sat in the car after braving the deluge from school to car, my hair dripping onto my face. My head throbbed and my vision blurred from the weight of the work day. Rain streamed down the windshield, creating a soft-focus, water-textured filter over the gray day.
<3
Mostly because a regular haircut (by yours truly) takes so long to get, six-year-old Lucas begged for a buzz.
I didn’t want to see all of his pretty blond hair gone, but I couldn’t argue. It’ll take so much less time to wash, dry, and keep neat.
And he looks cute as can be (catbird!) with it; it really brings out his eyes. ๐
I took the picture tonight at Village’s (with the awesome RetroCamera Droid app).
Tonight we went to dinner with my parents, who are now mostly known as Grandpa and Grandma. Isn’t it funny how that happens after you have kids?
The boys were sweet for the most part, but wide-open. Loud restaurants like the Mayflower are great for masking that sort of thing. ๐
I was playing with my RetroCamera Droid app again.
You never know what’s going to be around that next curve — especially when it hooks into a one-lane tunnel.
You really have to slow down to a crawl to assess the situation.
Sometimes, you have to stop and wait for whatever’s coming through from the other side.
Other times, you can drive right through, slowly, honking to make the kids giggle.
Literally out of nowhere.
Down a few country roads, there’s this signboard.
Over the last couple of years since I noticed it, I’ve seen all kinds of quotations and other messages, most of which blast societal institutions.
It’s like old-school, country-fied Twitter or something.
I’d had this quotation in mind for a long time, but only made a poster of it this past year. It’s what you could call a conversation-starter. And not just with students.
The “witticism” is attributed to Winston Churchill, although there’s a lot of debate over its original form.
“Don’t end a sentence with a preposition” is one of those language rules that we’re taught early on, before we can be trusted with inconsistencies and user discretion. It goes right along with “Don’t start a sentence with ‘because.'” #ugh
This man is a man unlike any other.
He was not only man, but also God.
God.
No matter where you’ve been,
what you’ve done,
or whether you believe it or not,
He died for you.
To say this man was only a man,
but a good man, a prophet,
is illogical. He himself claimed to be
God,
and if it were not so,
he would have been a liar,
a cheat, a blasphemer.
But this man was not only man, but also God.
This man is a man unlike any other.
It doesn’t seem finished. But then, most of my poems don’t. Works in progress, just like me.
Picasso had his Blue and Rose periods; El Greco had his Cretan and Italian periods.
Four-year-old Atticus is now in his “Kids Period.”
Every time he breaks out the paper and markers or crayons, he’s drawing kids. Kids with candy. Kids with bumps on their heads. Kids with one arm. Purple kids. Blue kids. Green kids. Kids under clouds. Kids under the sun.
I asked him why he loves to draw kids.
“Everybody likes kids,” he shrugged.
When Atticus draws a picture, he wants me to write down its name, the date, his name, and the person he’s decided to give the picture to. These two are for Kevin’s aunt Melanie and her daughter Kelsey.