Welcome to a special collector’s edition of “Where in the world are Jacob’s socks?”  It’s a special edition, because for the first time ever it does not contain a photo of Jacob’s socks.  Why?  Well, it’s because Jacob’s socks are AWOL.  At least, the correct pair of socks.  Allow me to explain.

Without fail, the boys always wait until the last minute to get ready.  For anything.  Always.  (Disclaimer:  I also wait until the last minute, but back off, this post is about them and not about me.  Save that for another day.)  Today, it was swim classes.  I needed the boys to get on their shoes and coats, in order to head to swim classes.  Such a simple request, but yet, so many perplexed stares, as I asked, “Why aren’t your shoes and coats on yet?”  In fact, I now kind of amped up my intensity level of asking, even though I anticipate this happening every time and as a result was not really concerned.

Seeing that Jacob was still walking around barefoot, I asked (in a thoroughly exasperated dad fashion that only comes from years and years of practice) why he had not yet put on his socks, much less the shoes and coat of my original request.  The answer was sort of expected, but surprising to hear from my frustrated preteen.  “I cannot find my socks.  They were on the table, but they aren’t there anymore.”  Okay, my 11-year-old is referring to the dining room table.  Why it should be an acceptable holding spot for socks is beyond me, but something I oddly tolerate.  Strangely enough, I had not moved his socks from the table and could not even remember the last time I saw his socks.  Scurrying off, barefoot Jacob searched for his socks.

As I reminded his 7-year-old brother, who was for some reason slowly spinning around at the foot of the stairs, to get ready, I saw Jacob begin to put on his shoes.  Jacob was now wearing socks, but his choice was peculiar.  My boy was wearing blue dress socks, which did match the color of his blue track pants, but really were not appropriate for any other reason.  Why must I now be confronted with asking him to find a pair of athletic socks?  Why is this my lot in life?  Considering those questions, I also considered the possibility that few people if any would notice his odd choice of hosiery.  Move on and get them in the car.  More important struggles certainly await and more socks will need to be found.

Lunchtime is usually hectic.  A time when people in cities everywhere rush around trying to run a few errands, as well as grab a bite to eat.  Sometimes however, taking a little extra unpaid time for a longer lunch can produce value that cannot be measured in dollars alone.

There I was typing away at my computer.  I was producing engaging emails and astounding documents that would make even the proudest bureaucrat jealous, but even the most efficient mornings can be invaded by pure human desires.  In my case, the basic human need to snack.  Specifically, I had a hankering for gingerbread men.  The kind of gingerbread man where you can unabashedly take out your frustrations by chomping off their delicious head, followed by each of their spice infused limbs.  Sharing my temptations with my office mates, I soon started to contemplate if I could bake some at lunch.  I could satisfy my desires, while also being an office hero.  I could do it all…  over lunchtime.

After a quick search, I found a yummy looking recipe and knew what I had to do.  Racing home, I prepared the dough.  Preheated the oven.  Chilled the dough for an absolute minimal amount of time, while I raced around grabbing cookie cutters, lining baking sheets with parchment paper, and licking my lips in anticipation of the delightful gingerbread men that would soon populate our kitchen.

Rolling, cutting, and baking with the efficiency of a man filled with divine cookie inspiration, I was soon holding a container filled with gingerbread man magic.  There would be no escape for these little cookie delights, they had only one destination.  One fate awaited them, the bellies of my co-workers.

Yes, over my extended lunch hour, I had accomplished kitchen glory.  The hand of creation and the joy of provision.  Yes, sometimes value cannot be measured in dollars alone, sometimes it can actually be measured in gingerbread men.

“In order to maximize your lunchtime, I would recommend preparing the gingerbread dough the night before.  Then you can truly produce a multitude of cookies, without running too much over a usual lunch hour.”

LUNCHTIME GINGERBREAD MEN

½ cup Butter

½ cup Sugar

½ cup Molasses

1 Egg Yolk

2 cups Flour

½ teaspoon Baking Powder

½ teaspoon Baking Soda

½ teaspoon Cinnamon

1 teaspoon Cloves

1 teaspoon Ginger

½ teaspoon Nutmeg

½ teaspoon Salt

Cream the butter and sugar.

Mix in the molasses and egg yolk.  Set aside.

Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, nutmeg, and salt.

Gradually, mix the “flour mixture” into the “molasses mixture.”

Cover and chill in the refrigerator for one hour.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Roll dough out to a ¼ inch thickness.

Cut into gingerbread man shapes.

Place gingerbread men onto parchment paper lined baking sheets.

Bake for 10 minutes or until firm.

Decorate gingerbread men.

Makes about 30 gingerbread men.

Revised Source:  “Eileen’s Spicy Gingerbread Men” on allrecipes.com

Over the past weekend, the offices at work got new carpeting.  Today (yes, considering it’s Wednesday, I’m not that observant), I realized that two file cabinets got switched around in my cubicle.  The shorter edge of my desk used to contain a long file cabinet underneath and the longer edge used to contain a short file cabinet underneath.  Logically, when they returned the furniture to the cubicle, they put the shorter file cabinet under the shorter length of desk and the longer file cabinet under the longer edge of the desk.  Probably the correct thing to do and all well and good, right?  Well, if I was a normal person with a normal sense of space, it would be fine, but since I am a little off, I found that I accidently rammed the toe of my shoe into the place now containing the longer file cabinet not once, not twice, but three times.  Yep, it took me three times to register that a longer file cabinet was now in that space and to quite kicking it every time I got up to get coffee.  Perhaps, my multiple trips to the coffee pot contributed to the problem.  Perhaps, but maybe not.

Why was I getting up so frequently for coffee?  Well, I suspect that I was somewhat worried about the sloshing sound coming from the cubicle behind the adjoining cubicle wall.  No, really, it was a genuine sloshing sound.  The kind I imagine would be generated by someone exposing film in one of those shallow dishes of chemicals or someone soaking a bunion in a bowl of warm water.  Yep, that kind of sloshing.  I was just hoping it did not slosh under, over, or through to me on the other side of the wall.  I guess I could have checked to see what the sound was or even asked, but this makes it more exciting doesn’t it?  Perhaps, it was just someone pouring soup from a thermos (although there was no smell of soup drifting through the air).  Perhaps, but maybe not.

Well, on one of my return trips with coffee, I was gleefully sipping away, but apparently, I was more like chugging the coffee, because I suddenly found myself choking on it.  Not the, “Oh no, I am in danger, I’m choking” kind of choking, but rather the “I’m really pretty stupid for choking on coffee” kind of choking.  I should have banged on the cubicle wall for help, knowing Morse code certainly would have come in handy.  Perhaps, a coworker would have put down their soup and come rushing to my aid.  Perhaps, but maybe not.

Life can be uncertain.  Many things can cause stress.  Well, I’m here to tell you, “Don’t be scared, because things aren’t always as bad as they seem.”  Now, I know you’re saying, “Dave, what a hill of beans” (or perhaps you are thinking something worse), but I have photographic proof.

Take for instance, this creepy bag that I discovered in the kitchen the other night.  When the lights are on, everything appears normal.  When the lights are off, an eerie glow appears.  What is it?  Smuggled uranium?  Zombie generating ooze?  Some toxic spill?

Nope, just some free glow-in-the-dark silly glasses that my kids got at the annual holiday parade, modeled below by my three sons, who are shown being appropriately silly.

Now, I know you’re thinking, “Dave, that’s stupid and doesn’t prove anything.”  Well, you are sort of right on both counts, so let me try again.

Take for instance the photo below…

Am I scared of walruses?

Or worse, am I seeking protection from the momma walrus, as something far more sinister from the artic approaches?

Or even worse, did I hit my head and begin to believe I was part of a walrus family?

No on all accounts.  The person who is actually frightened in this photo is my wife.  Yep, her fear was that I was going to spend the rest of the day making her take pictures of me with animal statuary.  Well, she really did not have to worry.  Although I thought about it, I love her and therefore resisted the temptation and this was the only animal statue photo that I requested during the entire day.  I even displayed super duper willpower and did not even mention the possibility of a photo with a cool metal T-Rex skeleton statue.  Ha!  Proof positive that things are often not as bad as they seem.

Today’s edition of “Where in the world are Jacob’s socks?” reaches new heights, as my 11-year-old’s socks were spotted on top of our basement bookcase.

What’s next?  The ceiling fan?  Stay tuned to find out.

At least he had enough holiday sense to place them next to the snowman coasters.

Martin Luther best observed that in each of us dwells a saint and sinner.  Our soul is in a constant struggle and sometimes those two sides meet.  Mine did so the night before Thanksgiving.

We had gone to the pre-Thanksgiving church service and I was enjoying the annual post-pre-Thanksgiving church service pie fest, when my middle child, 7-year-old Sam, approached me with great excitement.  “Dad, there is something really gross that you will want to take a picture of.  Come with me, quick.”

Hesitant, but intrigued, and against my better judgment, I followed Sam.  Looking back, I should have asked a few questions.  I should have given it some thought, but instead I followed.  Curious, just like a cat, but instead I saw a bat.

Yes, up a flight of stairs, a brown bat was perched against a wall.  Passing the dozen or so onlookers, I knew what had to be done.  Three years ago, we had some bats enter our home, so I knew the adversary and I knew how to defeat him.  I was not looking forward to the moment, but rather I knew I could get the job done.  The bat would need to be stunned and removed from the building.  Upon its exit, it would be up to the bat’s survival skills and chance to determine its fate.  One thing was for sure, no one wanted that bat to stay put and start a family.

Hurrying into the church kitchen, I grabbed a grocery sack.  Between the sack and my size 11½ dress shoe, I had all I needed.  With Sam following close behind, I ascended the stairs to meet the bat.  Then I remembered Sam’s request for a photo and this is where the worlds collided.  Rather than simply take a picture of the bat, I positioned myself into the picture.  A sort of Batman in the literal sense selfie.  This my regret.  This my sin.  My sinful goofy nature prompted me to yuck it up.  Rather than just get the job done, I reveled in the moment.  I had become a nuisance ridding jerk.  A sort of Orkin Army wanna be comedian.  A pitiful shell of humanity versus a creature that had stumbled into the wrong place.

Stowing my camera and before the crowd of onlookers, I swatted Churchy McBat with my shoe.  Falling to the ground, I hit him a few more times to ensure he was adequately stunned.  Scooping him into the bag, with a sanitary style developed through countless doggie cleanup calls in the backyard, I secured him and headed for the exit.

Overall I had done the right thing (Saint), since very few people want a bat flying over their head during church, but instead of a flawless execution, I hammed it up (Sinner) and brought myself down in the process.  I was not Batman and I certainly did not deserve a cape and cowl.  Humility is desirable in the face of confrontation, even if you happen to be taking on a winged creature of the night.  Saint tarnished by sinner.  Bat confronted by man.

Next time, stow the camera at home, Big Game Hunter.

One of my absolute favorite things about Winter is unsolicited fan mail.

Since the scanned letter is a little hard to read, here is the text,

“Snowman, Inc. – Thanks for the happiness you bring with the snow magic in your creations of the snow people.  (signed) Linda”

As a student, I did fairly well.  Sort of the 3.0 type that had potential, but never really fully applied himself.  Why?  Well, I enjoyed being silly a little too much.  Just sort of clowning around.

This never held me back in life, but somehow it always seems as if a little less clowning and a little more focus might produce some better results for society, as a whole.  I actually sometimes viewed it as an attribute, as long as it was controlled properly.  I was even duly elected “Battle Creek Central High School (Michigan) Class of 1990’s Class Clown.”  Then I had kids.  Sure I want them to be happy and have fun, but avoiding Dad’s over-the-top antics might be a good thing.  As a result, I have had an eye on them.  Constantly looking for warning signs.  On the alert for their inner clown to fully develop and emerge.

Our youngest boy, 5-year-old Ben, has always been the most likely suspect.  The happy-go-lucky baby of the family that prances around without a care in the world.  I have my eye on him.  At one point, we even thought he was going to be left-handed like me (a confirmed warning sign), but he definitely writes right-handed, so I breathed a sigh of relief.  Then came that dreaded day, the day when I learned that he “clipped down” at school.  You see, in his Kindergarten class, they have a chart and kids either “clip up” (a good thing) or “clip down” (a bad thing).  For months, the reports we had received was that Ben was a well-behaved child, who was always ready to learn.  In fact, sometimes he had even “clipped up” one notch.  Was this first “clip down” an early warning sign of more squirreliness to come?  Or as one of my Eighth Grade teachers said (Mrs. Martin said this to all of the kids with my disposition), “Paulsen, you’ve got to have self-control.”  On the edge of my seat I waited.

Heading to a pre-Thanksgiving party, hosted by Ben’s Kindergarten class, I expected to see our little Ben yucking it up with his friends.  Sure he was getting along with the other kids, but he was certainly behaving himself.  Then as I scanned his classroom, I saw a glorious sight.  Our Ben had “clipped up,” not once, but twice for the day!  He had for the first time ever “clipped up” to “Purple” (a very good thing).  Proud, I rested easy for one more day.  Perhaps, my Ben had achieved a something special.  Something just right.  A student “Goldilocks Zone.”  Playful, but not troublesome.  Joyful, but not a clown.  Our Ben, happy in his own.

Ben proudly standing by his “Clip Up” to Purple.

And just to prove that we normally don’t send our kids to school wearing construction paper on their heads, here is a picture of Ben wearing his Pilgrim hat for their pre-Thanksgiving party.

Admittedly I have bad posture.  Plus, it only gets worse, as the temperature dips below zero.  My body kind of curls up into a semi-permanent ball to preserve as much warmth as possible.

Admittedly I have a large nose.  No, it is not like someone stuck half a potato onto my face, but my sniffer is on the bigger side.  Consider it a Darwinistic advantage (although my liberal use of creative spelling most certainly is not).  Eons ago, Paulsens were roving the African savanna in search of their next meal.  Sniffing an injured wildebeest miles away, we began our trek for dinner.  Laugh it up, but my big nose once came in very handy.

Unfortunately, the bad posture combined with the extra large schnoz can make for a dangerous combination.  Driving home from Spin Class (Hey, just maintaining the Temple or in my case, the whole Temple needs to be rebuilt from the bottom up.) in my exercise shorts in subzero temps, I was more doubled over than usual.  Praying for the car’s heater to warm up, I drove into a sunny glare.  Reaching up to pull down the driver’s side sun shade, I felt a swift tap on the tip of my nose.  Jerking back, I realized that I was hunched over so far that the sun shade had clipped the end of my chilled nose.

Considering that Ralph Nader owns a similar sized beak, I am a little disappointed that he never tackled this looming threat.  Fellow folks with generous noses unite, together we can save each other from the elevated sunshade danger.  Consider yourself warned.

In case you forgot what month it is, it’s “Decembrrr.”