When all morning, you successfully resist the urge to sneak away and gobble up a Sausage Egg and Cheese McMuffin meal, but end up having lunch at Jimmy Johns. I guess it’s a win. In the weakest sense, a win. Still however a win and that’s really all that counts. Well, other than the calories. They count, too.

Nothing says summer like that feeling of raw desperation, when your lawnmower won’t start. A feeling so bleak that you’d be willing to give the machine mouth-to-mouth if only it had a mouth.

Although the conversation portrayed within this post is real, the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Enjoy!

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The workday was wrapping up and I was chatting with my friends Melissa and Jerry. We were chatting about baseball team chemistry and how some of those same principles translate to the office environment. I was spouting off about the value of the clubhouse leader, that guy who encourages their teammates to do their best. Arrive early, stay late. Hustle.

Melissa suggested that I sometimes play the role of clubhouse leader. I built on her idea and proposed a scenario where I could encourage new employees. We always refer to new conceptual employees by the unisex name of “Jordan.” I suggested that my encouraging conversation with Jordan would go as follows, “Jordan, time to stay late for some extra BP (batting practice).”

My friend Jerry looked confused and a bit shocked, “Did you say, ‘Jordan, time to stay late for some extra DP (Dave Paulsen)?'”

Oh my, no. That would be the worst employee incentive program ever. Time to turn in my keys for everything, especially the clubhouse.

As I wielded my chainsaw and made short work of a fallen tree, my 15-year-old son had an observation. “Dad, we are spending our night cutting up a tree with a chainsaw. We are the Minnesota stereotype.”

Um, sorry about that fellow chainsaw wielding Minnesotans.

As the game neared its conclusion, I kept barking out orders. I kept scrambling the defensive assignments. I sent runners. I tried anything that I could to help the team of 10-year-olds that I was coaching win.

Problem was, I just didn’t work. Nothing worked. Some days your playoff run simply comes to an end. Sunday was that day for my team. Our season was over.

Walking back to the car, I was tired and defeated. My sons walked by my side. My 15-year-old son, who had helped coach and watched the playoffs in their entirety, pleaded with me in very simple terms, “Dad, this should be your last year coaching.” Confused, I asked why. “You were so stressed,” he explained, “you looked really bad.” From his eyes, the game was beginning to take a psychological, as well as a physical, toll on me. Not what I wanted to hear, but sadly what I needed to hear.

Perhaps it was time to retire. Apparently, this Little League coach’s love of the game had turned into a bad relationship.

It’s not the fact that I say, “You don’t have to shovel sunshine,” when people complain about the heat.

No, it’s the fact that I think it’s true AND the saying makes me chuckle. It’s that double fact that confirms my old man status.

16 LAYER S’MORES CAKE

“This one is messy to make, but soooooo worth it. Also, you will have extra chocolate left over, but no worries, because remember that it is soooooo worth it. Enjoy!”

5 cups Semisweet Chocolate Chips

4 cups Heavy Cream

1 jar Marshmallow Fluff

2 Tablespoons Whole Milk

2 boxes Graham Crackers

Line two 9″x5″ loaf pans with parchment paper and make sure that the paper goes up and over all four sides of the pan. Set aside.

On a stove, bring the heavy cream to a boil.

In a bowl, pour the heavy cream over the semisweet chocolate chips. Stir until melted. Set aside.

Stir together the marshmallow fluff and whole milk, until smooth. Set aside.

Create one layer of graham crackers. Break crackers, as needed.

Top with a layer of the marshmallow cream mixture (about 4 Tablespoons, give or take a few Tablespoons).

Top with a layer of graham crackers.

Top with a layer of chocolate mixture (about same amount as the marshmallow cream).

Repeat until you are satisfied with the cake’s height and end with a layer of graham crackers on top.

Refrigerate for a minimum of four hours.

Remove from pan and cut into tall pieces.

Makes about 24 pieces of cake.

Revised Source – “16-Layer S’mores Cake” recipe in “Parade” magazine (07/14/19).

Watch out, because according to my car, I’m about to take flight!

I talk with my hands. It’s just something I do. If I have a point to make or something to describe usually my hands help do the talking.

Well yesterday, I was at the gym. I headed to a locker and began to unpack my bag. Unfortunately, I could not find my deodorant. I thought to myself, “Crap, I forgot my deodorant” or something likely harsher than that. As I cursed myself, I raised my left hand in disgust. Mind you, I THOUGHT this. I did not say it to another. I didn’t even say it to myself. I THOUGHT it and my hands still went to emphasize the point.

Nice going, mind. Appears as if you have some sort of thought / hand coordination down. Next time, just remember the deodorant (as I slightly raise my hands in exasperation).

Finishing the final chore of the night, I wearily glanced over my right shoulder. There he was, waiting to help.

“See you tomorrow morning, Coffee Pot.” Your help will be very much appreciated.