Heading to the gym’s noon time spin class, I let out a frustrated grunt (a very manly type grunt). I had forgotten my towel. Now, this could either be a convenient excuse to skip exercising, because the world does not need another stinky sweat drenched man, or just be stinky and sweat drenched for the rest of the day, but as previously mentioned the world does not need that. Then I heard the voice of my wife in my head, “Why don’t you rent a towel?” (a suggestion she had made before, in person and not just in my head, so hearing her say this in my head really is not that odd after all). Yes! Charlene’s voice was right, I could easily rent a towel and go on about my day.

Not knowing the cost of a towel rental, I scrounged around the car counsel and found a dollar in change. Approaching the check-in counter, I sheepishly asked if I could rent a towel. The man jokingly said, “No,” but since I was so unsure of myself at that point, I just sort of stared at him. He stared back, waiting for me to laugh. It was a pitiful “not getting it” showdown. I eventually gave up and flashed a nervous grin, which broke the stalemate and allowed for this sad segment of my day to continue (most scholars agree that this was also what brought an end to the Cold War).

Asking how much for the towel rental, he responded “50 cents.” Ah, must be my lucky day. Only half of my change was needed. Finishing up my spin class, I showered off and began to dry off with my rental towel. Unfurling the drying cloth, I soon discovered why it was only 50 cents. That was no normal size towel, but rather sort of an aspiring towel. Graduated from hand towel status, the rented towel would still need to grow a few feet to be considered a real bath towel. Where do they sell these? The “Half Sized Towel Store?”

Trying my best to avoid remaining wet all over, I realized why my wife’s voice in my head had suggested this alternative. She is about 2/3^rd my weight and this towel was about 2/3^rd its proper size. Perhaps I had been given a woman’s size towel in jest. Ugh, serves me right. Always laugh at the front desk’s joke.

Regretting having dried my hair first (that could have certainly dried off later on its own), I slipped on my clothes over my still damp body. Next time, I would be wise. Remember my towel. Then if I happen to forget it, spend my extra 50 cents on a second towel, because the world doesn’t need another damp guy walking around with some spare change.

Last night, with my beautiful wife out-of-town for work, I found myself with the bed to myself. Well almost, considering that Kirby the Beagle always manages to park himself at some point during the night right in the middle of the bed. Always. So ignoring Kirby’s big furry in the middle of the bed butt for a moment, I had the bed all to myself.

Selecting Charlene’s side of the bed for a change of pace, I settled in to read a book. In spite of the fact that the book was starting to get exciting, I kept drifting off. Deciding it was time to call it quits, I reached over, checked the alarm clock, and turned off the lamp (Charlene’s side of the bed has all of the cool stuff. Clocks. Books. Lamps. You name it. What do I have? The door.).

A few hours later, right on time, the clock radio turned on. Sadly, it is pledge week on NPR, so I woke up to a plea for cash. Oh well, we all have our burdens to carry. The pledge drive was not the only thing that wasn’t right. I was on the wrong side of the bed. Well, actually I was on the right side of the bed. My side of the bed, but it was not the side where I fell asleep. Sure Kirby’s furry butt was in the precise middle of the bed, just as he thinks he should be, but I was out of place. Sometime during the middle of the night, I must have sleep walked over to my side of the bed. I certainly would have been unable to roll over considering the immovable object of a dog’s butt was between the two sides of the bed. Yep, my subconscious had relocated me. Something deep inside my brain knew that I should not be there. That was Charlene’s spot. Not mine.

Sure enough, it’s proof positive. There’s only one spot that’s right for me and that’s with my wife by my side (and of course the occasional furry dog butt in the middle, but that goes without saying).

Today was Charlene’s first day at her new job. Naturally, I was very excited to get a text from her during the day. Glancing at my phone, I gathered in the important information. Something about how she wanted me and the boys to be social, when she talked to us tonight. No problem. Check. Next, some details about how she was filling out personnel forms. Typical first day stuff. Sounded like all was well.

Seeing the boys arrive home from school, I sat them down and reminded them that today was Mom’s first day at work. Also, she had a special request that we be social, when we talk to her this evening. This would mean no “yes” or “no” answers. They were expected to carry on a conversation. Tell stories about their day. Communicate. Yes, I was asking a lot of them, but it was a request from their mother.

Fast forward to this evening, chatting with Charlene, she asked if I had gathered up the Social Security numbers for the boys. Oh, that type of social, the type that would come in handy when filling out personnel forms. No worries, I would have a chance to track them down, as the boys told her all about their days.

HONEY APPLE BREAKFAST BALLS

“So I have been using an app for my phone to help me lose weight (I like to call my app, ‘Fred’). As part of the app, ‘Fred’ shows me little articles every day to help me live a healthier life. Well, I usually just ignore the articles (no offense, ‘Fred’) and go on about my day (way to change your ways, ‘Dave’). Any who, yesterday’s article talked about breakfast cookies. Needless to say, I clicked on the article (way to meet me where I am at, ‘Fred’). Sure it is a recipe for a healthy cookie (‘Blasphemy!’ you say, but just wait. They are after all a ‘cookie’ for ‘breakfast,’ so they are certainly worth a try), but I trust ‘Fred’ and so should you.

These little cookie bites have a welcoming Autumn flavor, plus the healthy ingredients don’t make you feel the least bit guilty for eating cookies for breakfast (plus they are only about 50 calories per cookie). Now if you are still offended by the idea of a ‘healthy cookie,’ feel free to sin them up a little with the addition of either white chocolate chips or a complete substitution of semi-sweet chocolate chips. ‘Fred’ doesn’t need to know.”

1 Apple (in order to make the cookie more worthy of the “honey” name, I used Honeycrisp apples)

1 cup Unsweetened Applesauce

1/3 cup Vegetable Oil

¼ cup Honey

½ cup Flour

½ cup Whole Wheat Flour

½ teaspoon Baking Powder

1 teaspoon Cinnamon

½ teaspoon Nutmeg

1/8 teaspoon Salt

1 cup Quick Cooking Oats

½ cup Craisins (or if you want to indulge, feel free to substitute Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Grate the apple and use a strainer to squeeze out as much juice as possible.

Mix together the grated apple, applesauce, vegetable oil, and honey.

Mix in the flour, whole wheat flour, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt.

Mix in the oats.

Stir in the craisins.

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

Bake for 10 minutes or until the cookie bottoms have lightly browned.

Makes about 46 breakfast balls.

Revised Source: https://blog.myfitnesspal.com/apple-cinnamon-breakfast-cookies/

Today, as my fingers and brain thaw from sitting through a chilly first grade football game (oh yes, you can just imagine the intense first grade football action that took place, as hypothermia began to set in), I present a highlight (highlight is perhaps a stretch) from the first month of school.

Going through the mountain of papers brought home during the first week of school, I posed the following question to my 6^th grader Jacob.

Me, referencing a school fundraising activity flier: “It looks like fun, but what are they raising money for?”

Jacob, my ever observant son: “I’m not sure. They had an assembly about it.”

No word on it he left his brain in his locker, while the rest of his body attended the assembly.

11-year-old Jacob had just returned from school. Chatting with him about his day, I witnessed my boy remove his socks and walk into the dining room.

After we had finished talking and Jacob went off to do the things that 11-year-olds do, I sensed an opportunity for blog fodder. Jumping into action and grabbing my camera, I was not disappointed. There on the dining room hutch was Jacob’s pair of socks sitting by the decorative wooden church cut-out.   Snapping a photo, it all became obvious. Jacob had sent his socks to church on his behalf. A plea for forgiveness. Forgiveness for the sin of leaving socks randomly placed around the house.

Thankfully not a deadly sin, just a stinky and annoying one.

Next time, the socks should select a larger church.

There I was preparing for a work presentation that I had done at least a dozen times. I had handouts. I had the map to my destination. I had it personalized, just a tad (by the way, what a great word, “tad”). I had this in the bag.

Heading out from work, I figured that I would stop by the restroom. Washing my hands, I glanced up into the mirror and that’s when my world fell apart. There looking back at me was my face (I know, bad enough, but wait there’s more) and smack dab in the middle of my eyebrows… an extra hair. It was as if 1/1,000th of 1% of my right eyebrow had drifted off. The start of a unibrow.

Mind you, I groom myself. Extra hair, be gone! But this startled me. It was just not right.

Fear not, I soldiered on, but not as self-confident bureaucrat Dave, but sadly as a life size clone of the Muppet “Beaker.”

You be the judge. I just pray that I didn’t sound like him, too.

Me (posing in another public restroom setting, so as not to scare or scar the good people of my workplace) and Beaker. I’m on the left, no the right, oh no! See I cannot even tell which one is the real me. This has gotten bad. Very bad.

As if you could not see it, here is the unicorn-like “extra” hair highlighted. Now feel free to look away in horror. It’s alright. I understand.

(Sung to the tune of “Zaccheus was a Wee, Little Man”)

Macaulay Culkin was a wee, little cardboard cutout,

And a wee, little cardboard cutout was he.

He was placed up in a random tree,

For a baseball game he wanted to see.

And the crowd said (well okay, no one really said this, but play along),

“Macaulay, you come down.”

For (as a result of our house cleaning), you will be leaving our house any day.

You will be leaving our house any day.

(Please, note that no cardboard cutouts of child stars were hurt in the production of this blog post. He actually liked it up there.)

After I said goodnight to the boys, I walked through the living room on my way to curling up with a good book. There on the floor beneath me was one of my 8-year-old Sam’s socks. Letting out a sigh (a sigh that only a father can utter, when discovering his child’s clothes randomly strewn about the house), I went to get my camera. Picking up the sock would be one thing, but getting good material for my blog, well that takes priority.

A sock belonging to the boy they call Sam.

Immediately after taking the picture, our beagle Kirby ran up, grabbed the sock, and proudly displayed his find. Then I remembered Kirby’s suspicious behavior at bedtime, how Kirby slinked out of Sam and Sam’s younger brother Ben’s room. All of the stuffed animals were present and secure, so I figured there was no need to panic. Well, it turns out that Mr. Kirby had retrieved a sock from their floor, as a bedtime snack.

Kirby with his trophy sock.

Reaching down to get Sam’s sock, I saw two holes worn into the sock. Not holes recently made by Kirby, but rather holes made by an active young man, who tends to shuffle his feet. Kirby had actually done me a favor and weeded out a worn sock. Good dog, now if you would only learn how to darn a sock, instead of spending your free time chasing squirrels.

Today, I continued a project that has long been a victim of my neglect, cleaning the desk. Tackling a pile of papers that were mostly obsolete, I came across a gem (well, that might be granting it too high of a status, but still it was pretty special among the old insurance documents and children school papers).

I had jotted an observation on a scrap of paper. A quick review of the extensive “Dave Paulsen Archive of Randomness” revealed that it had never been used. I had indeed found a nugget from the www.CookiesbyDave.com Cutting Room floor. Trust me, you will soon see for yourself why it was left on the Cutting Room floor or in this case buried in a large stack of soon-to-be meaningless papers.

Now, I have the great and questionable pleasure of presenting to you my observation of a universal truth…

“Things Hotter than the Sun”

– a car’s exhaust pipe

– Jeno’s Pizza Rolls

– women wearing baseball caps