You stare at me

Piled high

Unless I take action

In the morning, you’ll be there still

Sunday mornings in the Paulsen House involves some critical timing. Let the kids sleep long enough to not be grumpy, but not too long, in order to ensure enough time for pre-church food intake and personal hygiene. A delicate balance.

Turns out that 8am is that sweet spot. Just enough sleep, just enough time to roll into church right as the music starts.

So this morning, I wandered into my 12-year-old son Sam’s room at 8:01. Announcing my presence, Sam slightly stirred awake. Not sure of what day it was, he remarked this uncertainty, “We go to church today?” In my overly chipper morning parental role, I responded, “Yep, God don’t take Sundays off.”

Overhearing me down the hall, my wife chuckled. A genuine chuckle.

After so many years, my poor wife has heard all of my jokes. All of my stories. My delivery is all too familiar. Even new jokes all have their punchlines land in a similar place.

So to get a chuckle, a genuine chuckle, that’s really nice. It means that the material was decent, but above all, the timing was just right. Just like Sunday mornings.

Out for a morning jog, I saw something unexpected, a “Trail Closed” sign. Thankfully, it was accompanied by a detour sign that led through a park.

Figuring that I would take advantage of the park’s amenities, I stopped at the port-a-potty. Never a good idea, but any port in a storm, right?

As I exited, I read a tiny sign on the port-a-potty door, a portion of which read, “Excessive use may result in unsatisfactory conditions.”

Ugh, yep, I should say so. How about, “Any use results in unsatisfactory conditions and excessive use is just plain gross,” instead?

Detour advice – useful.

Port-a-potty advice – extremely understated.

It was a typical day. I was scurrying around the house getting a few things done.

Put away the previous night’s dishes. Check.

Feed the dog. Check.

Pack my lunch. Check.

The morning was humming along as planned.

Oh! I forgot one thing. It was trash day and the recycling bin had probably just been emptied.

I toddled outside and “THUD!”

I glanced down the street to see that my neighbor had backed into their trash can.

I assume they were distracted by my pre-work handsomeness.

Ah yes, everything was indeed going just according to plan.

You know that you are in the midst of a fine string of summers, when all that remains of the Eddie Bauer logo on your flip flops is the “er.”

My job title is “Management Analyst.” Try explaining that to a kid. Well, my canned response is “I help solve problems.”

Earlier today, my son was overheard talking to his friend and discussing what their parents do. My son’s summary for how I spend my days went as follows, “My dad fixes things, like if the furnace breaks at work.” Well, I guess I would call Facilities or Google “Furnace Repair near me.”

The embodiment of “Other duties, as assigned.”

“Pizza Buffet”

So many choices

Pepperoni

Sausage

Cheese

Let’s go shopping

Larger pants

Please

50 years since the Moon Landing. An accomplishment certainly worth remembering.

Well, 50 years from this evening, the nation should pause to remember an equally astonishing feat. An accomplishment that took engineering, bravery, and above all, balance.

Yes, this evening, we raised our backyard basketball hoop 24 inches to 10 feet.

One regulation height hoop for man, one giant test of will, resolve, and questionable strength for mankind.

It was a beautiful summer evening, as my wife sat gently swinging on a bench in our backyard. I joined her on the swing.

It was an older swing. A bit rickety. Certainly not in the best shape. We had discussed how we might replace it someday.

As we sat there, however, with a gentle breeze joining us, the swing seemed to have plenty of evenings left.

Sure it needed some tightening of bolts. Sure it could use a coat of paint. Sure it needed some love, but it was a good swing and we recognized that.

That new found appreciation drenched in the beauty of dusk lulled us. Lulled us so much that we never saw the “snap” coming. It arrived sure and swift in my corner of the bench. A loud crack and a sudden realization that we were partially on the ground.

We had determined that the swing could stay. My girth had other plans.

Tonight’s story was going to be about my failed attempt to rent a stump grinder. Multiple stores. Crappy websites. An afternoon spent driving around. Instead of that failed attempt, this story is about the drive home. A modern Odyssey.

From parts unknown and hardware stores never before visited, we were headed home. I entered the destination and my car offered to steer us clear of traffic jams. Soon we found ourselves on a side street, moving along at a healthy clip.

Stopping at a red light, we saw a jogger headed toward the intersection. The man was very white. An almost shiny version of Caucasian. Plus, he was showing skin. Lots of skin. More than a jogger should in that he appeared to be wearing a Speedo.

As he got closer however, the clothing seemed to get smaller. Coming into view, his abundant whiteness was not covered by a swimsuit, but rather a black thong.

Not a streaker, but rather a nightmarish vision of manhood.

Not to judge, but his body was less than chiseled. Much less. Even chiseled may not have pulled off that look. Nope, dude was in the wrong and also nearly in the buff.

Thankfully, the light turned green and we sped away. Sometimes the road less traveled is not a good thing and a traffic jam would have been better than an unsightly tong.