Standing in the Target toy aisle, I had that uneasy feeling.  That feeling of being overwhelmed.  Senses assaulted.  A feeling of helplessness normally associated with being strapped into a roller coaster about to start.  Legos, Star Wars, super heroes, games.  All desirable.  All within arm’s reach.  All a bit too much.

I stepped back.  Took a deep breath.  Headed for the exit.  Christmas is coming.  Try to take it slow.

This evening, as a winter storm approached, I could feel myself getting anxious.  Would the snow blower start?  Did I have enough salt?  Were the cars equipped for winter travel?

Then came another wave, the wave of anticipated exhaustion.  How much snow were we going to receive and how much time would it take to clear it?  Would my cold get worse?  What is the minimum amount of snow clearing that would be acceptable?

Under the weight of anticipation, something unexpected surfaced.  Reason, followed by joy.  What is there really to fear?  I have a warm house.  I have time.  Time to enjoy the snow.  Time to enjoy its beauty.  Play.  Sled.  Build a snowman or two.

I would be okay.  I am a Midwesterner.  I grew up in snow.  I live in snow.  I have survived in the past.  I will survive in the present.  Now, it’s time to enjoy.

Let it snow.

I found myself in a familiar situation.  Expressing my opinion and then guessing.

Yes, my wife was picking out her outfit for work and was having trouble with the final piece.  Her jacket.  Did I like the sweater type jacket?  Or the leather type jacket?

She looked great in either.  How about that one you are wearing at this moment?  That one looks good.

My opinion however did not tip the scales.  She responded with a counter argument.  This one (the first one) goes better with the shoes.

Hum, good point.  They both look good, so how about the one that you are wearing right now?

I did not want to take the easy way out.  I did not want to suggest the classic reverse.  I resisted the urge to say, “Well, what do you think?”  That would be dodging the question.  She wanted my honest opinion.  My feedback.

For the moment however, Charlene had moved on from the jacket issue and was picking out earrings.  As she stood there, trying out options, I suddenly knew the answer.  The truth was that anything would look great on her.  My dear wife was perfect.  Just right for me.  The best fit of all.

[Some days, I don’t have much to write about, but I still give it a try anyway.  Compare it to the baseball player who even though he is in a slump still goes up the plate and swings at the pitch.  Cannot succeed, if you don’t try, so here it goes…]

As I did dishes tonight, I listened to world news on the radio, as my 7-year-old son read a book nearby.

[Slow start…  called strike…]

An interview was taking place with an expert talking about the Paris Climate Agreement and potential approaches for curbing greenhouse gas emissions.

[“Whoa, slow down Dave.  You are getting us all excited with this riveting story, not…”  Swing and a miss, strike two…]

Then suddenly, the expert paused to emphasize something important that needed to take place in order to accomplish the slow in global warming…

[Nice, build up…  foul ball…  he stays alive in the count…]

“…but,” the expert continued, “and this is a big but…”

I would like to tell you what she had to say next, but the fact is whenever someone says “Big But” around the boys, any hope for serious discussion is out the window.  Is it getting hot in here?

[Paulsen makes contact!  But, it’s a bad “butt” joke resulting in a weak grounder and an easy play for the second baseman.  Better luck next time, slugger.]

Considering that I am going on Day 436 of being sick at work (actually only the third day, but throw in the holiday weekend and it feels like I have been sick forever), I figured it was time to find some office space far away from my co-workers.  Best not to take down the ship with my unstoppable virus.

What was that?  I’m not contagious?  Sure, two doctors have now confirmed that I am not contagious, but what do they know with their fancy degrees, knowledge, and experience?  All I know is that I look like crap and it’s making me a suspect for any future office ailments.  Therefore, it’s time to find a secluded space, where I can type away.

After consulting with the Facilities Department, we found the perfect spot:  the bowels of the building.

Yes, the perfect space for Dave the Sickly Office Troll to spend his days.  I shall craft memos in a Gothic font and deliver them under the cover of darkness.  My only hope is that one day, my tale of sorrow will be spun into a Disney animated classic.  For now however, I shall spend my lunch hour with Misery (nicknamed “Missy”) the Dungeon Mouse and dream of the world above.

This weekend, I was (hopefully) my family’s final recipient of pink eye.  It sure went out with a bang.  Sort of like, “Take that Paulsen Family.  I own you!”  Yep, both of my eyes a nasty weeping red mess.

Well on Saturday, I finally went to see a doctor, who of course said, “Keep doing what you are doing and it will get better.”  What?  No miracle cure.  No sugar pills.  Something, anything, please.  Oh well, she did say that I was no longer contagious, even though I looked like absolute Hell and she kept cleansing her hands with Purell.

Okay, so not contagious, but I sure looked the part.  Best to stay home.  As a result, on Sunday morning the family went to church, but I could still sense the beast in my house.  On every door handle.  On every bathroom hand towel.  The virus was waiting to attack.  Just waiting to strike another family member.  I had to take action.

So, while my family was praying, I was going to go on a bit of Sunday morning rampage.  Good luck evil virus, here comes a little shock and awe.  I headed to the grocery store with every intention of purchasing the most power cleaning supplies possible and a lot of them.  That bug was going to meet its end.

As I headed into the store, I remembered one thing.  I looked nasty.  Gross.  Hideous.  Eyes glowing red.  I had confirmation that I was no longer contagious, but how would anyone else know?  Only one thing to do:  hide my eyes.

I put on my sunglasses and marched toward the cleaning supplies.  Clorox wipes?  Fill up the cart.  Bleach?  Sure, why not?  Bathroom cleaner?  No use going half way.  Then I noticed something, people seemed concerned.  Other shoppers were holding their children close by their side.  Workers took long pauses, as I passed.  I was no longer Mr. Red Eyes, I was now creepy sunglasses wearing Mr. Either Had A Rough Night Or Should Be A Cause For Concern.  The situation was not what I had in mind.

I hurried with my cart to the Self Check aisle, because the less human interaction at that point the better.  I scanned.  I paid.  I headed out the door.

Taking off my sunglasses, my eyes would now be free.  Free to recover.  Free to see the vengeance that I would soon rain down upon those germs.  My eyes would soon see and I would no longer be creepy.

Saturday morning, our breakfast situation was a mess.  I had pink eye and no one wanted me touching food.  The boys looked hungry, but none of them wanted to prepare any food, because cereal is a lot of work (insert dad style sarcasm).  Charlene was off at the gym getting even more fit.  What to do?

Well, I figured I would make it work.  I could certainly drive the boys somewhere, but I could not go inside, because well, now I look hideous.  We had to go to a place that the boys could navigate on their own to find food.  Ah, ha!  The grocery store.  They knew where the doughnuts were.  They were familiar with the self checkout lane.  We had a winner.

Sure, enough the plan went off without a hitch.  The boys fetched some doughnuts and a newspaper.  The fellow grocery store shoppers were spared the sight of my hideous red eyes.  Win, win.

Heading out of the parking lot, I was gleeful.  We had our breakfast.  We were champions.  I scooted across the lanes toward the exit, when suddenly a car, who was driving the correct way stopped.

Embarrassed, I bowed my head and slunk away.  Sure I had doughnuts, but certainly I was a dope.

Needing a distraction, I turned on the radio and there was my escape.  Prince singing “Raspberry Beret.”  Trying to embrace the moment, I sang with abandon, “She wore a raspberry beret.  The kind you find in a second hand store.  Raspberry beret, I think I lo-o-ove her.”  Continuing on and not worrying about who else was in the car, I soon noticed that my 12-year-old son was also singing along to the chorus.

Thank you, Prince, for the momentary escape.  Thank you, Prince, for giving us a smile, because that’s really the best gift of all.  Passing along joy.  Passing along happiness, because the world can always use a good smile.

After church, our family went out for bagels and coffee.  It was a lovely morning, the sun was shining, it was unseasonably warm, and the patio seating was full of happy customers.

We picked a table not too far from a woman reading the Sunday newspaper and settled in.  Making small talk, my boys asked Charlene if they had heard the story about how I had recently embarrassed myself.

“Oh, the one where I was in the car and waved to someone who I thought was my boss, but it probably wasn’t and I am too ashamed to ask if it was her?,” I responded.

“No, the one where you thought people at Target knew you, but they were waving at someone else,” they requested (see Mistaken Identity).

The woman sitting at the other table overheard our antics and offered, “It sure sounds like you have plenty of embarrassing moments.”

My wife smiled and said with all honesty, “Yes, when he has just one, it’s a good day.”

True, so true.  It’s good to know that your family delights in who you are, embarrassing moments and all.

After taking his “learn to know the Bible” class at church, our 9-year-old son Sam was eager to start reading.

We discussed a few potential starting points in his new Bible.  Old Testament, a little dark.  Revelation, too confusing and super dark.  How about the Gospels?  Perfect.  How about Luke?  It even has a sequel, Acts.  Sold.  That night, Sam and I agreed to start reading the Gospel of Luke together.

Funny how you tend to forget details in books and upon a second read they smack you in the face.  First Chapter, the angel comes to Zechariah, the man who was going to be John the Baptist’s dad, and says, “Hey, you are gonna have a baby!” (I am summarizing here.)  Zechariah is all sorts of shocked and responds, “Wait a second, that’s not possible.  You see my wife and I are really old and we can’t have any kids.”  Then the angel gets all upset (what?) and says, “Since you didn’t believe me right away, you are going to be mute until the baby is born!”

Well, no need to finish that chapter.  Let’s take a break and debrief in the morning.  Good night, sleep tight.  Hey and by the way, if you happen to see an angel in your dreams, it’s best to take their word for it.  Whatever it is.  No questions asked.

[Okay, time for a disclaimer.  Long time readers of my blog (all six or seven of you) know that I was just being silly here.  The message Jesus provides in the Gospels of love and bravery to speak toward injustice is essential for our society moving forward.  I cannot wait to move by this initial speed bump and share that message in depth with Sam.  To share such words of faith directly with a child is a precious opportunity not to be missed.  To help the child better understand how to use that message toward making the world a better place is priceless.  Amen.]

Recently, pink eye has run rampant through our house.  For the last week however, we had it beat.  Then came today…

11:30AM – My eye felt a little scratchy, but nothing too bad.

An hour later – The eye was getting weepy.  I called my wife to confirm that I was not going crazy.  Indeed, time to exit the building with great haste.

5:30PM – My wife arrives home and informs me that I look like Popeye (before the spinach).

Well, you shoulda seen the other guy…