Some would say that an espresso and fresh chocolate chip madelines are the perfect start to a three day weekend.

Some would say they’re right.

(Spoiler Alert – Yep, they’re right.  Perfection.)

That moment, when the toy that your 8-year-old ordered online direct from China three weeks ago finally arrives.

Yep, that moment.

That moment, exactly three minutes later, when the toy breaks.

Yep, that moment.

A 3-3 game is usually a tie, but when you spend the night having fun with your boy, I call that a win.

Reviewing my Second Grade son Ben’s homework, he answered the question, “What are the four life stages of a cricket?”

1) Egg

2) Larva

3) Adult

4) Dead

It may be an incorrect answer, but somehow it perfectly fits my boy.

My sister once observed that the busier I am, the shorter my blog posts.  Turns out that it is a valid observation.  The End.

If you will forgive me for shamelessly sharing a year-end elementary school orchestra concert photo, I  promise to give you a special treat.

Yep, that’s my boy Sam warming up his viola.  Oh and while we are at it, here’s Sam post-concert.

Okay, you’ve been good and have even read through an extra photo, so here’s your treat…

That’s right!  Rare footage of Sam’s squirrely brothers during the concert.  Wiggling here and there, as a bit of culture seeped into their very beings.  In Ben’s case, it appears to have entered through the back of his head, while brother Jacob received culture via his exposed slider wearing toes.

Who said it was easy being high brow?

When the Paulsen Family has a weekend where…

the amazing mom runs a Half-Marathon in 2 hours and 7 minutes…

our teen strokes a nice hit on a rain soaked field…

two boys each take 3rd in their racing series age group, and their dad comes in fifth in the Parents One Mile Race (yes Smarty Pants, there were more than five parents running) with a time of (drum roll, please)…  7 minutes and 18 seconds!  Not bad for an old man and what a weekend for our family.

Now, I would say that justified purchasing the bucket sized popcorn at the movie theater.  Well, almost.  Let’s just call it a draw.

Picking my son Ben up from a friend’s birthday party, the friend’s mom asked, “Is Ben a jokester?”

“Yes, he is,” I answered with a bit of hesitation.

“Well, I went to introduce him to some of the adults and he said, ‘Hi, my name is Bob.'”

I suppose it’s never too early to develop an alias.  Good job, secret agent son Ben, if that really is your name.

Next time I am running late, but arrive with cookies in hand, remember the timeless words of Ben Franklin…

“Better late with cookies than on time without.”

Well said, wise founder.  Well said.

This afternoon, Charlene and I enjoyed a performance fest from 2nd and 4th Graders.  First, we attended our son Ben’s 2nd Grade class musical about bugs.  Well, actually it was a story about how the Stink Bug was getting picked on, but eventually the other bugs worked together to help the Stink Bug smell better through the use of flowers.  It was cute and well done.  Plus, our son Ben played a key supporting role as a problem solving Praying Mantis.  It was a nice lessen in working together and reassuring to hear a crowd so saddened by bullying.

Next, we traveled down the hall for our son Sam’s 4th Grade class poetry reading.  One by one, the kids took turns first reading a poem from a published poet (Shel Silverstein’s presence was felt over and over again) and then an original poem from each 4th Grader.  It was refreshing.  Different.

I found myself surprised.  Not surprised by the works, but rather surprised by how hopeful I felt.  Here were my kids actively engaging in the arts.  Actively working their creative minds.  Actively enjoying new and different experiences.

Someday, I will be long gone.  The world I leave behind will have plenty of problems and challenges.  Our kids will need vibrant imaginations to tackle these issues.  Fostering that creativity.  Nurturing those different approaches to thinking.  That’s where the hope for our collective futures resides.  The singing voices and creative writing of our youth, a light that hints at a brighter tomorrow.

Our 10-year-old son Sam holding up his left index finger to silence his classmates, who were quietly chanting his name, before he read his poetic tribute to his dog, Kirby.

“Ode to Kirby” by Sam Paulsen

Oh, Kirby!  I love you.

You are always there for me on those cold nights.

I know you wait for those walks.

You love it, when I pet your soft fur.

Your kisses are wet, slobbery, and great.

Thank you, Kirby.

Thank you for being my great and joyful puppy.

Oh, Kirby.