Sign that your mind really wants you to stop dieting – You receive a text from your wife that reads, “Can u get hamburger out 4 dinner?”  Your mind initially reads the text as, “For dinner, u can go out for hamburger.”  Your mind continues to race, as it thinks, “Sure ‘hamburger’ was singular, but I’m sure she meant plural.  Applebee’s would be nice.”  Then you come to your senses, oh yeah, the ground hamburger in the freezer.  Yup, I’ll get that out to thaw.  Sad mind, sad hungry mind.

Sign that you really should try staying on your diet, even though your mind is lobbying otherwise – You put on a pair of jeans that you purchased before the holidays.  You swear that you once were able to fit into these without hoisting them up, holding your breath, or sucking in your gut.  Then you actually think, “Oh, maybe I put them on backwards.”  Sadly, that was not the problem.

We had spent the night singing and dancing in the kitchen.  Just being silly.  Playfully fighting over the radio dial.  Enjoying life.  I sent my three boys upstairs to get ready for bed, with the promise that I would come up to say goodnight.

A few minutes later, taking the final batch of cookies from the oven, I walked upstairs and was struck anew by a sight that I had so often seen.  Three doors at the end of the hall.  The rooms where my three boys sleep.  The rooms that hold so much happiness.  So much promise.  So much brotherly conflict.  So much brotherly love.

Seeing those three doors.  Their appearance plain, but so deceiving.  For behind those three simple doors are blessings beyond measure.  Blessings so far beyond anything I deserve.  Blessings for which I would do anything.  Blessings of pure joy and daily wonder.  My three sons.

So there I was doing dishes, while the boys searched the radio.  Eventually they came across a catchy little tune and that’s when I started dancing.  Yep, I was shakin’ my groove thang.  Turns out it was a Taylor Swift song that I had never heard before, but don’t judge me, it’s not my fault that she pens peppy little numbers and I have a need to embrace the beat.

It was while I was dancing, shakin’ all that I got (and I got a lot), while doing the dishes (a multi-tasking Renaissance Man, that’s me), that’s when my 12-year-old son walked by.  He walked by and glanced my way.  He walked by, glanced my way, and said with all the smuggy smugness of a preteen, “Sad.”  And that my friends was both the beginning, as well as the abrupt end of my promising career as a pop star’s backup dancer.  Shake it off, indeed.

Every night, our fun loving and carefree first grader Ben does his homework of reading to us a “Book in a Bag.”  It is what it sounds like, since he carries home the book, in a bag, reads it, we sign off with comments, return the book, and the next day Ben brings home a new book.  In a bag.

Ben does a good job with his reading and after a while, I was getting a little silly with the comments section and taking the opportunity to review the books.  One evening, I was cleaning dishes, so Charlene handled the Book in a Bag duties.  I listened from the kitchen.  It was a book about large animals and at the end of the book, it asked the question, “What animal is larger than you?”  While Charlene filled out the form and Ben traveled into the kitchen, I provided my input, “Gorillas are bigger than me.”  To which, I thought Charlene responded, “Your comments aren’t helpful.”  Confused, I clarified that gorillas are indeed larger than me, but she meant the daily comments I had been filling out about the books.  Well, okay, they probably aren’t that helpful.  So for Ben’s next “Ten Book” sheet, I tried to turn over a new leaf and add a constructive comment.  Therefore for “Shapes to Go,” I added, “Plus, Ben did well sounding out words.”  After that, I lost interest for the most part in providing feedback on my child’s education and returned to reviewing the books.  Here is a sampling, just in case you are into first grade literature…

Harsh review of “When a Storm Comes” – “I expected more topics than just erosion.”

Nugget of wisdom observation from “The Pancake Party” – “Plus, it also showed that flowers are a great way to say, ‘I’m sorry.’”

Truth based confession from “Peanuts” (not the comic strip, but rather non-fiction) – “I have never seen a peanut removing machine before.”

Follow-up anecdote from “You Can Recycle!” (yes, the book title included an exclamation point) – “After reading the book, Ben recycled a cream cheese container.”

Finally, this evening’s well researched via Google review of “Letter to a Friend” – “The letter in the book traveled a long way, over 2,000 miles!”

Yes, my comments really aren’t that helpful, but as Charlene pointed out, “They sure do help explain Ben.”

Here in Minnesota, it has been cold, as of late. Crazy low wind chills.  Temps so cold that I can feel the inside of my nose freezing and that means a lot of real estate with a sizable schnoz like mine.  Yes, very cold.  Last week, the radio announcer was recapping the coming week’s weather and he said, “It’s 22 degrees now.  It’s really nice out there.”  Nice?  When my blood can freeze?  Well, I guess that’s a frozen glass half full kind of guy.

With Charlene having the day off for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I figured I would be sweet and venture outside to get her a newspaper. Getting into the car, the thermometer read -10 degrees, the radio said that the wind chill was -34, mercy it was cold.  With a quick spin around the store, I picked up a few papers and some more firewood (survival mindset) and headed as quick as possible headed back to the car.  Opened the truck, tossed the firewood in back.  Opened the driver’s side door, headed into the car sideways and BAM!  In an out-of-body way, I could see stars and little blue birds circling my head.  In my haste and with a well-covered head, I had inexplicably slammed my noggin into the roof of the car.  Somehow I don’t think that the movie “Concussion” covered this scenario.  On the bright side, there’s nothing like a blow to the head to clear your mind and be less concerned about the cold interior of your nose.

Goes great with a tall glass of milk and your next time you’re stuck in traffic on the Kessel Run.

“Surprisingly, these cookies turned out crispy, rather than ‘Chewy.’ Enjoy!”

½ cup Butter

½ cup Brown Sugar

¼ cup Sugar

1 Egg

¾ teaspoon Vanilla Extract

1 1/8 cups Flour

¼ teaspoon Baking Soda

¼ teaspoon Baking Powder

½ teaspoon Salt

½ teaspoon Cinnamon

½ cup Milk Chocolate Chips

½ cup Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Cream butter, brown sugar, and sugar.

Mix in egg and vanilla extract.

Mix in flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon.

Stir in milk chocolate chips and semi-sweet chocolate chips.

Drop Tablespoon sized balls of dough onto parchment paper lined baking sheets.

Bake for 9 minutes or until light brown.

Makes about 26 cookies.

Revised Source: “Wookie Cookies” recipe in “The Star Wars Cookbook” by Robin Davis.  Recommended to me by fellow cookie baker and my good friend, Carrie Jordan.

My 12-year-old son Jacob and I have come to an understanding regarding my annoying behaviors, when he plays baseball. For games I am coaching, on the way to the ballpark, we would scan the radio for a “closer song” to pump us up.  You see in Major League Baseball, usually the closer runs to the pitching mound to an intense rock anthem.  It is intended to strike fear in the opposing team, pump up the closer, and get the crowd on its feet.  The most prominent example was probably Mariano Rivera entering New York Yankee games to Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.”  Since I liked to use Jacob as my closer, I encouraged him to use Fall Out Boy’s “My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light ‘Em Up).”  The song has nothing to do with baseball, but oh what a rock anthem to use when coming in to shut the door on your opponent.

For games where I was not coaching, I preferred playing head cheerleader. This role developed over time into a standard set of cheers for the crowd, in addition to one of my favorite rituals, teasing whatever player was assigned to stand in foul territory and warm up the Right Fielder.  My favorite cheer, [one side of crowd] “Let’s Go” [the other side] “Red Sox!”  My favorite teasing moment, which I only used once to perfection, where I belted out like Alicia Keys, “That boy is on fire!”  Yes, strange, but very funny in the moment.  Trust me.

Now for today’s dilemma. This Winter, at a new school, Jacob joined the Speech Team.  He really seems to have a knack for it.  He really seems to enjoy it.  Only problem, what to do with his extra extrovert father at the tournaments?  Well, I think we’ve figured this out.  Before the event, I can be a little silly.  Loosen Jacob up a tad.  Get him relaxed and distracted.  Not embarrass him in front of his new friends.  Behave and be normal at the event  (very hard for me to do).  Be silly again afterward.  Ah, a strategy that works for society, as well as Dave.

So today on the way to the tournament, we scanned the dial. Even though it wasn’t a save situation, a “closer song” seemed appropriate.  That’s when a musical gift from above came on the radio, Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It.”  Perfect!

Behave at the event. Check.  Even I can do that for two hours.

Go to Mall of America (MOA) afterward, where money tends to vanish and you can feel free to act however you like. There’s so many people, no one will even notice or care.  Perfect!

Venting with a little post speech event silliness in the exorbitantly priced, but still fun, MOA photo booth.

Now I just need to refrain from dressing like Dee Snider at the next Speech Tournament. You can do it, dad.  It’s a brave new world, be strong.

Enjoying dinner, our 8-year-old son Sam posed the following question to Charlene and me, “What was your first favorite song?”  Well, that answer was easy.  The year was 1981 and the song was “Centerfold” by the J. Geils Band.  Really, it was hard to resist their sing along hook that went something like this, “Na na na na na na na na na.”  I loved it.  I even had a 45 record of “Centerfold.”  This, plus Eddie Rabbitt’s “Drivin’ My Life Away” comprised my entire record collection and as you can see, I had varied musical tastes for such a young lad.

As for “Centerfold,” I was 9-years-old and had no clue as to what the song was about.  “Those soft and fuzzy sweaters, too magical to touch.  To see her in that negligee is really just too much.”  Yep, the whole thing went over my head.  This of course begs the question, “How did a 45 of ‘Centerfold’ end up in my sparse record collection?”  Hum.  I think it may have had something to do with my teenage sister, Kathy.  Perhaps some sort of payback for the time I promised to tape all 100 top songs of the year on New Year’s Eve, while Kathy went out with some friends.  I made it to about song number 96 before I lost interest and joined my parents in the living room to watch a bowl game on television.  Epic little brother fail and not to mention all of those cassette tapes that went unused.  What a sad tale.  My guess is that I was never paid for taping those four songs, so in some ways getting that 45 of “Centerfold” was really more than I ever deserved.  “My blood runs cold.  My memory has just been sold.  My angel is a centerfold.”  Yep, all over my head.

So back to the question at hand, the one posed by my 8-year-old son, “What was my first favorite song?”  Looking back at Sam and with all sincerity, I answered, “I was into sports.”

Every night, I go into each of my boy’s rooms and tell them goodnight. Over the last month, 8-year-old Sam and I have developed a routine where I enter the room, close the door, Sam jumps out of bed, I chase Sam around the room, eventually catch him (I’m batting 1.000), pick him up, and return him to his bed.  Consider it as a little pre-bed father-son cardio time.

This evening, I entered the room to see that Sam had already crawled into bed. Closing the door, I gave him a look as if to say, “It’s time.”  Sam exited the bed and then ran straight into me.  Easy pickings.  Returning him to his bed and somewhat surprised, I asked, “What kind of a move was that?”  Pulling up the covers, he responded, “It’s the ‘I’m Tired’ move.”  Ah, sometimes even the gazelle needs a little sleep.

For Christmas, my third grader’s class made ceramic tiles as presents for their parents.  As a result, Charlene and I received some cute decorative tiles under the tree.  Of the three tiles, two had holiday themed decorations and the third showed a charming little picture of our son Sam.

While cleaning up the Christmas goodies, I packed up the two Christmas themed tiles, but left out the other one.  So there is Sam’s face smiling up at me from the side table.  Nice, but the function perplexes me.  Is it a coaster?  I think so.  Is it a decoration?  Certainly.  Am I overthinking it?  Duh, yes.

Heading over to sit down with my cup of morning coffee, I was faced with a dilemma.  Do I see if it really is a coaster?  Do I dare set down a piping hot cup of coffee on it?  Even worse, do I set a burning hot beverage on my son’s head?  Even if it is just the image of my son’s head?  Speaking of…  It’s all in my head!  The whole dilemma is just in my head!  Snap out of it self-perceived bad daddy.  Live life, use the coaster.

Simulated hesitation, while placing a hot beverage on an image of my beloved child.