I have a sin to confess.  When Charlene has a night meeting, the boys and I eat at the kitchen counter and watch ESPN.  I know, minor sin, but I still feel better getting that off my chest, especially since I have no plans for changing my sinful television ways.

So there we were.  Eating.  Watching TV.  Sinning.  Jumping channels between ESPN and the Amazing Spider-Man.  Apparently, I was a little slow reaching for the remote, during a commercial (additional sin of slothfulness), and my son reached behind the TV to change the channel manually (sinful impatience).  We never change the channel manually.  Apparently for good reason, because suddenly the TV went “blue screen” and showed a message that said, “No Signal!” Perhaps, a bit of devine punishment in action.  Only reasonable explanation.

For the next five minutes, which felt like an eternity in Purgatory, I tried every button and every solution that came to mind.  No luck.  None at all.  More devine punishment.

Then in an attempt at redemption, my son asked for a try.  A Hail Mary, of sorts.  He pushed the “3” button and a miracle occurred.  The TV sprung to life!  The 3 button?  Why the 3 button?  The Holy Trinity, of course.  No better explanation for such a moment of grace.

I turned off my cell phone and entered church.  Immediately upon entry, I was greeted by friends, who I responded to loudly, but with genuine enthusiasm and pleasure.  Sitting in church, I smiled as I saw that my son had escaped the house in sandals and socks on a 39 degree day.  The music started playing and I happily sang along.  As I missed a word, here or there, I grinned, playfully nudged my son, and shared in the humor of my missteps.

There, in that one hour, I was reminded of so many that I love.  My mother in the joyful greeting, my father in the pleasure of an observed wardrobe blunder, and my grandpa in the joyful and imperfect singing.

I am a unique blend, the perfect version of me.  A blend of all those who love me and I in turn help shape the beauty of those I touch.

We are all part of a fabric.  We are all shaped by each other.  Our beauty is a reflection of those around us and we create a light in them, as well.

Today, help build someone up.  Share the love that has been previously given to you and can help make someone else an even better version of themselves.

I used to think I was an Introvert.  Yep, an Introvert with Extrovert tendencies.  The kind of Extrovert tendencies that surface for say ten years or so, go dormant for a day, and then resurface for another ten years or so.

Well, at work they offered a training class that clearly showed that I was indeed an Extrovert.  Yes, I was the last to find out.  Turns out, I am an Extrovert with Introvert tendencies.  Really, tendencies that are more hobbies or habits than tendencies, like blogging my thoughts (after rehearsing them verbally all day or week or something Extroverted like that) or preferring to eat an entire pint of ice cream alone instead of going to a party (that’s really more of a personal problem than any sort of Introvert tendency).  So there it was confirmed.  I was indeed an Extrovert, but I needed proof.  I did not have to wait long.

At the Friday night Spin Class, there I was attending class and I did not know any other soul in the room.  Sort of an isolated bear-sized man on a tiny bike trying to work it hard.  So our instructor has this interesting physic, smaller, but with biceps like Linda Hamilton from Terminator 2.  Yes, all awesomely ripped that way.  When she says “pedal,” you pedal.  Sort of like Linda Hamilton kicking the butt of a shape shifting robot sent from the future.

So Linda Hamilton is making me and my fellow classmate strangers sweat really hard, when “Don’t Stop Believin'” by Journey comes on the speakers.  In a joking fashion, but sort of like a Linda Hamilton command, our instructor says, “Feel free to karaoke to this song.”  The words start, “Just a small town girl livin’ in a lonely world…” and there I am trying to stay conscious and keep up with an instructor who is sculpted movie star style.  So I follow the command of Linda Hamilton (now fully in the role of Sarah Connor) and I start singing along with Steve Perry.  The only one in the room singing along.  “Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit…”  I was the only one singing along.  I look up.  Linda Hamilton points at me and gives a thumbs up of approval.  Keep singing, Dave.  Keep pedaling.  Don’t stop believin’.  She was going to let me survive spin class.

Now you are saying to yourself, “Dave, what is the point?  Other than of course, you have some unresolved movie star crush on Linda Hamilton from the early 1990s.”  Well, the point is, if you ever find yourself singing along to a song out loud in a room full of strangers, who are not singing along, you are probably an Extrovert.  Either that or you are trying to impress Linda Hamilton, but you are probably just an Extrovert.  Case closed and as for spin class, “I’ll be back.”

At work, we had gathered around the coffee pot.  Time for a fresh cup.  Time to get the day started right.

Not too long into our cups of coffee, it was observed that there was a smell of Lucky Charms cereal in the air.  Strange, there were no Lucky Charms to be found.  In fact, there was no cereal to be found.

Then came the observation.  Odd, but true.  I smelled like Lucky Charms.  Considering that I am not a leprechaun and considering that I did not have cereal for breakfast, I searched for answers.

I was not wearing cologne.  I was not wearing any scented spray.  No, instead I appeared to be an accidental science experiment in action.  My deodorant, plus my morning shower sudsiness, appears to have equaled sugary cereal.

Not a bad affliction, but certainly not my intent.  All things considered, it could have been much worse.  Much worse than smelling magically delicious.

There it was all along, but we never noticed.

The most perplexing and underutilized button ever on the office microwave.

A button offering “0%” power…

Strangely enough, I can cook food at this level with the microwave off.  Gasp!  I know, it’s true.  I can also cook food at this level in a cardboard box or a shoe.

Call me an efficiency expert, but I think there’s button saving potential there.

I am usually a proud parent.  Good kids.  Nice manners (most of the time).  Smart.  Clever.  Common sense.  No, wait.  Let’s reexamine that last one.

This weekend, as I opened the car trunk, I noticed a disturbing tendency.  Whenever the trunk is opened, my kids look in by leaning into the trunk head first.  I have not called them there.  They just do it.  It’s almost as if there is an invisible bag of candy drawing them in.  Strange.

What’s worse is that this trait seems to have no associated benefits.  I suppose if you are practicing to become a mob informant or a bag of groceries, it could come in handy.  Sadly, that’s all I’ve got for associated career paths.  Sadly, it’s what they do.

Tonight, I was running on empty.  For whatever reason, my energy was drained.  I was pretty sure that I would be lucky, if I could drag my tired butt to bed.

Then I heard from upstairs a scratchy tune.  My Fourth Grade son Sam was practicing “Hot Cross Buns” on his viola.  I walked upstairs, sat in his room, and listened as he played for me.  A beautiful concert for one.  Just what my tired soul needed.

I have often joked that our house is like a playground for boys.  Three built in playmates, Nerf guns, Hot Wheels, lightsabers, video games, anything a boy would need or want.

Same goes for vacation time.  Need a playmate?  Just stop by, we have three to choose from.  Such was the case last night, our three boys were the only ones in the hotel pool, wrestling, playing catch, having a good time.

Sure enough, out the pool entrance, I could see a boy arriving with his family to the hotel.  The boy looked into the pool and you could see the excitement in his eyes.  Playmates.  Three of them.

Well, about five minutes later, the kid arrived at the pool and jumped in.  Inexplicably, two of my boys, in short order decided to head back to the hotel room.  Whatever the reason, tired of swimming, antisocial, sick of their brothers, whatever, that left only my middle son Sam and the visiting child in the pool.

Motioning Sam to the edge of the pool, I suggested that he ask if the other kid wanted to play catch.  Of course, the visiting child readily accepted the offer and they had a great time.  Another half hour of pool time and a new friend.  Certainly qualifies as a good day.

We have all been there.  The new kid.  Not knowing anyone.  Just needing an invitation or a friendly gesture to help fit in.  I was so proud of my Sam.  He had helped bridge the gap and make someone feel welcome.  Social win.

Sam and his new friend.  Two heads happily bobbing in the water.

Soon it was time for dinner and I told Sam it was time to exit the pool.  Getting ready to leave and not seeing any other parents around, I figured I would check to see if it was okay to leave the other kid alone in the pool.

I asked him, “Are you staying at the hotel for more than one night?”

Much to my surprise, Sam’s new friend responded, “No, I’m not staying here.  My parents own the hotel.”

Well our new little friend, in that case, I would say that you are safe swimming to your heart’s content.

Three day weekends are a rare opportunity.  A rare opportunity to sit back and take a breath.  Take a breath and look around.

What did I see?  My beautiful, smart, and talented wife taking a moment.  A rare moment to read and relax.  A moment just to be.

That’s when I smiled.  I smiled a realization that she was there to share this journey with me.  Roads we never guessed we would have traveled together.  Joys and challenges we never could have predicted.

A perfect three day weekend.  A perfect time for a break.  A perfect view of the only companion for me.

Out shopping with the family, Charlene went ahead of us to visit a clothing store.  I trailed along with our three boys.

Out of the blue, our teenager asked a question that has stumped the mystics for thousands of years, “If you had to eat one, which would you choose, ‘poo’ or ‘barf?'”

Well son, that answer is actually very easy, “Barf and never ask that question around your mother.”  Plus in the future, if you ever want proof that your father is a wise man, reference this post.