Today, I saw a sign in the coffee shop that read, “Make Time for Silly.”  Hum, I’ve never had a problem with that.  I wonder if the trait has been passed down to my kids.  Let’s look for proof.

Exhibit A – We went to Mall of America for lunch.  Stopping by LEGO Land, I saw an opportunity for a photo.  Ugh.  Smudged camera lens, courtesy of children with sticky hands playing Pokemon Go on their father’s phone.

Exhibit B – After cleaning off the lens, I wonder to myself why in the world they cannot look at the camera even when I say repeatedly before a photo, “Look at me!  Look at me!  Look at me!”  Ugh, a split second later, they looked somewhere else.

Exhibit C – Hearing me complain over and over again about their troubles in looking at the camera.  The next photo actually proved that they were listening to me.  Ugh, thanks guys.

Exhibit D – Returning home, it was perfect snowman snow.  An opportunity not to be missed.  After repeated attempts, I finally got all of the smiles that I wanted and eyes looking at the camera.  Everything in its place, except poor Kirby the Beagle photo bombing from the window.  Nice move, little dog.

Yep, I think it’s safe to say that I did a pretty good job teaching my kids to “Make Time for Silly.”

You know that when a man who has a blog entitled “Cookies by Dave” receives the following item in the office White Elephant Gift Exchange, the gods must be smiling.

Today, I spent a few hours, well actually all day, baking cookies.  As a result, I was behind on my blogging, but that’s a small sacrifice to make something as incredible as a beach ready gingerbread man…

As I baked, my 9-year-old son Sam entertained himself by reading my cookie cookbook, “Today is a Great Day for a Cookie.” Since Sam seemed to enjoy a day reading the old stories (mixed in of course with the cookie recipes), today I pass them along to you.  Hey, some reruns are worth another go.  Enjoy!

When it is so cold that…

Your oatmeal gives up the ghost.

When it is so cold that…

The phantom footprints of your child’s friend haunt the front walk.

When it is so cold that…

Your child dresses like this…  inside the car.

When it is so cold that…

The car’s thermometer reads negative 23 degrees.

When it is so cold that…

Captain Morgan’s Egg Nog advice tastes pretty good.

That’s when your soul needs just a little boost.  An extra shot of warmth to keep it going.

As for me, I’m blessed beyond measure.  This morning during church, all that I needed was right by my side.

The smiles of my family looking back at me (some even adorned in Christmas Program costumes).  Enough to keep me warm through the winter and plenty busy until spring.

For a long time now, I have had a bum toe.  A two weeks ago, I finally decided to get it fixed once and for all.

Sounded like a good idea.  Fix the toe, while it was cold out and I did not want to be real active anyway.  Have the toe fixed so that I could start exercising all fresh and vigorous during the New Year.  Yes, this may even be an actual good plan.  The problem is that it hurt awfully bad getting it fixed, but hey, no pain, no gain.

After several days, the pain started to die down and the toe only hurt, when touching the stitches.  Plus, I only had four days until the stitches would be removed and I would be a new man.  Almost there.  Ugly toe almost fixed.  Plan almost successfully enacted.

Well, as I hobbled around the house, I thought I would be a good man and help carry a storage bin downstairs for my wife.  It was a simple task.  Take a light box full of old gift bags, tissue paper, and wrapping paper pieces that she had been using to wrap gifts in the bedroom and carry it downstairs to the storage room.  A simple task.  A good deed.  The right thing for a home bound man in a toe recovery unit to do.

Carrying the box down the carpeted stairs, I saw a piece of blue tissue paper float out of the box and land gently on the stairs.  Being all, “I Could Participate in a Decathlon” confident, I started to turn around to pick up the paper.  Then in a blur, my feet took flight, I mumbled something like “This is what death looks like” and I crashed simultaneously on the bottom stair, as well as into the wall at the bottom of the stairs.  My right elbow hit the stairs, my bandaged toe hit the wall, my much in need of exercise body struck the Earth with tremendous force, and the box of wrapping paper seemed to be just fine.

Staring up at the seldom viewed ceiling above the bottom step, I let out a sad groan.  Less out of pain and more out of prolonged agony.  Ugly toe was so close to having been fixed.  Ugh, when the ugly toe.  So close, but some might say, just a foot short.

Postscript – No worries, faithful readers (all eight of you).  Ugly toe continues to be on the mend and Operation “Make Dave Great Again” (patent pending, gosh I hope no one has used a similar sounding phrase in the recent past) continues toward 2017 Exercise Resolution glory.  Farewell ugly toe, you sure know how to go out with a bang.

One annoyance that I have is children that place their laundry in the hamper inside out.  Really, kids.  Please, please, please save your old man a step in the burdensome laundry task and put clothes in the hamper like you would want to wear them.

My favorite (well, least favorite) is when they seem to have jumped straight out of their pants and underwear all at the same time.  There are the pants with a pair of underwear tucked perfectly inside.  How they do it, I really don’t want to know.  Why they do it, all I know is that I wish they would stop.

The other day, my 8-year-old son Ben was trying to earn some money by doing extra chores around the house.  He offered to sort the laundry.  Great way for him to earn money, help out, and learn what a pain it is to turn everyone’s clothes the outside in again.

As young Ben sorted away, I went out to the garage to fill up the snowblower with gas.  After a few minutes, Ben came calling for me and soon marched proudly into the garage.  In his hand was a sweater, my sweater.  On his face was a smile.  Handing the sweater to me, Ben announced with glee, “Dad, your sweater is inside out.”

Turns out, my hamper self righteous was inside out all along.

At work, they recently held a reception in the atrium outside our offices.  The especially good news was that after the reception, employees like me descended upon the leftovers like vultures.  Vultures that left with delicious cheese cubes and fruits.  My tummy was pleased.

Unfortunately, in order to make the atrium work for the event, they moved a huge potted plant tree in the path to the restrooms.  Every time an employee would head to the bathroom, POW!  There was the huge potted plant tree ready to knock you down.  Careful kids, huge potted plant trees kill.

Well, after a day or two, everything returned to normal.  The huge potted plant tree danger had been removed.  Our route to the restroom was safe again.

Ah, the huge plant tree returned to a “safe zone.”

Knowing that the danger was gone, we resumed our usual route to the restroom.  Today, I looked down and there was one lonely leaf.  Hardly threatening, but a small leafy reminder that the danger once posed by the huge potted plant tree was no longer there.  We were safe once again.

Even the leaf that was left behind is now a small afterthought, soon to be swept away.

The leaf, just a small reminder to no longer be haunted by the past.  Let go of past troubles.  Let the past live in the past.  Whatever huge potted plant tree that once stood in your way is long gone.  It’s time to sweep away whatever leafy reminder was left behind.

Over lunch, I needed to stop by the house and let in the plumber.  The Powder Room sink needed help before Christmas and I was just the man to call.  Yep, just the man to call in a professional, that is.  The most powerful tool in my home repair arsenal?  The telephone.

Needing to isolate the dog from the plumber, I set up shop on the porch.  Laptop, my dog, and snacks (Mounds, the little coconut covered candy bars, were that afternoon’s bite of choice).  What more would a man need to weather a plumbing storm?

Before I knew it, lickety split, the plumber was done.  Bing, bang, boom, the sink was fixed.

Heading to pay the plumber, I left our pup on the porch.  A quick transaction and I was ready to head back to work and release our dog for his scheduled 1PM to 5PM nap on the couch, with the occasional bark at a neighborhood squirrel.

Looking up and much to my dismay, I saw our dog digging into a Mounds candy bar on the porch.  As he struggled with the wrapper (after all, he does not have any opposing thumbs), I knew it would be hard to wrestle away from him.  Remembering that some much more appropriate dog treats were within arm’s reach, I considered an exchange, the candy bar for a Beggin’ Strip, bacon flavored dog treat.

Thankfully, our pooch accepted the terms of the candy bar’s release.  I was especially thankful, because I was really not in the mood to snack on a Beggin’ Strip.  I have my standards, you know.

Watching the end of the church Christmas Program rehearsal, I had two observations regarding my son’s performance.

1. He would do much better, if he sang louder.
2. He would look a lot better, if he stopped putting stickers on his face.

Okay, I will be fine, just as long as he takes the stickers off his face.

Playing the role of Joseph is important, but so is being a member of society.  Last I heard, Jesus did not put stickers on his face, at least not around the disciples.  Really son, WWJD?

One benefit about living in Minnesota is the diminished need for a refrigerator.  You see in the winter, our unheated garage is the perfect temperature for storing beer.  Ice cold goodness, just a short stroll away.  No fridge required.

This strategy normally works like a charm.  Unfortunately, a really cold spell has hit.  Temps regularly hovering at or below zero.  The garage is getting pretty cold.

As part of the Paulsen Family Quality Control Team, I decided to Google a simple question, “At what temperature does beer freeze?”  The answer was surprisingly high.  27 degrees.  Oh dear, that poor beer in the fridge must be on edge.

Only one solution remains, drinking a sample beer every few hours to ensure that they are not freezing.  Hey, self sacrifice in the defense of quality beer is no vice, no matter if the bathroom scale says otherwise.