Friday, July 16, 2010
Chocolate and Bacon
Esther just made toasted coconut cupcakes with a chocolate-bacon buttercream frosting, topped with toasted coconut and a piece of perfectly cooked bacon. I don't get it.
Maybe you are up to speed with the new bacon craze. Candied bacon, chocolate bacon, bacon ice cream, bacon pudding, bacon doughnuts, and probably way more than I've heard of. I must begin by asking the obvious question. Who in the world started this? Hopefully it was discovered by a starving man. You know, the kind of guy that set out to camp by himself for the weekend, got lost in the woods and had to survive for seven days on the meager provisions that he had packed in his backpack. I imagine him reaching the point when he has nothing left to eat but a few leftover scraps of bacon that had melted into one of the last ill-fated marshmallows which had originally been intended for campfire smores. I can see the disappointment on his face as he notices that his main course has been ruined by his dessert, and his dessert ruined by his main course. He may even have decided to pass on this miserable last supper, until the hunger won out that is. He grimaces, takes a tentative bite and his face does the classic transformation from expecting something awful to a tiny, glimmering hint of hope to the dawning of full blown enjoyment, tinted slightly by a garnish of surprise. Of course this man would have to be rescued, and in his prime-time news interview, he tells the world that he had survived on marshmallow-bacon and it was surprisingly good. The bacon community would never be the same.
I doubt it happened that way. More than likely, it was discovered by one of those freaky people that think cooking is a hobby and the scientific method is to be applied to the world of food. I assume the thought process goes as follows:
Current facts- Bacon is good. Chocolate is good.
Question- Since bacon is good and chocolate is good, would chocolate bacon be good?
Hypothesis- Chocolate bacon would be good.
Experiment-
1) fry bacon
2)melt chocolate
3)dunk fried bacon in melted chocolate
4)let chocolate cool
5)try chocolate bacon (for description of facial expression during initial test, please read paragraph from earlier)
6)repeat steps 1-4 and have about 100 other people try chocolate bacon
Theory- Chocolate bacon is good. Therefore, bacon should be blended with all good things to make them better.
I'm sure that many of the culinary delights that have brightened my life were discovered in this way. But I have to ask, what is the dietary laboratory going to come up with next? White Chocolate Covered Hotdogs? Sushi Smoothies? Buffalo Flavored Breakfast Cereal? Tofu Pad Thai?
Maybe this is a pointless rant about weird people trying weird stuff in the kitchen. Or, maybe it strikes a nerve because in a big family like ours, we sometimes feel like God's Test Kitchen. What happens if you put a "night owl" with a "morning person"? What do you get when you put a practical thinker right in front of a deep conceptual thinker? How would it look if let a guy have five boys, (my prayers began to sound a lot like the pharisee from the Gospels, "Thank you Lord that you have not made me like the pathetic saps that have girls"), then throw him a girl. Would the house explode if you put four girls in the same room (for the record, the answer is yes. No chocolate covered bacon in that experiment). What happens if you fill the kitchen with a bunch of cool blooded Germans and a bunch of hot blooded Irish. In short, with 14 people living in the house, the pantry is full of possibility.
OK, so the bacon flavored cupcakes are good. Great in fact. Likewise, I love most of the dishes that God has created with the ingredients that He's thrown into my house. Believe me, your life might not always make sense, but neither does Chocolate Bacon. Sometimes it's best to just let God cook, sit down at the table, try everything he puts before you, and be prepared to be pleasantly surprised.
Maybe you are up to speed with the new bacon craze. Candied bacon, chocolate bacon, bacon ice cream, bacon pudding, bacon doughnuts, and probably way more than I've heard of. I must begin by asking the obvious question. Who in the world started this? Hopefully it was discovered by a starving man. You know, the kind of guy that set out to camp by himself for the weekend, got lost in the woods and had to survive for seven days on the meager provisions that he had packed in his backpack. I imagine him reaching the point when he has nothing left to eat but a few leftover scraps of bacon that had melted into one of the last ill-fated marshmallows which had originally been intended for campfire smores. I can see the disappointment on his face as he notices that his main course has been ruined by his dessert, and his dessert ruined by his main course. He may even have decided to pass on this miserable last supper, until the hunger won out that is. He grimaces, takes a tentative bite and his face does the classic transformation from expecting something awful to a tiny, glimmering hint of hope to the dawning of full blown enjoyment, tinted slightly by a garnish of surprise. Of course this man would have to be rescued, and in his prime-time news interview, he tells the world that he had survived on marshmallow-bacon and it was surprisingly good. The bacon community would never be the same.
I doubt it happened that way. More than likely, it was discovered by one of those freaky people that think cooking is a hobby and the scientific method is to be applied to the world of food. I assume the thought process goes as follows:
Current facts- Bacon is good. Chocolate is good.
Question- Since bacon is good and chocolate is good, would chocolate bacon be good?
Hypothesis- Chocolate bacon would be good.
Experiment-
1) fry bacon
2)melt chocolate
3)dunk fried bacon in melted chocolate
4)let chocolate cool
5)try chocolate bacon (for description of facial expression during initial test, please read paragraph from earlier)
6)repeat steps 1-4 and have about 100 other people try chocolate bacon
Theory- Chocolate bacon is good. Therefore, bacon should be blended with all good things to make them better.
I'm sure that many of the culinary delights that have brightened my life were discovered in this way. But I have to ask, what is the dietary laboratory going to come up with next? White Chocolate Covered Hotdogs? Sushi Smoothies? Buffalo Flavored Breakfast Cereal? Tofu Pad Thai?
Maybe this is a pointless rant about weird people trying weird stuff in the kitchen. Or, maybe it strikes a nerve because in a big family like ours, we sometimes feel like God's Test Kitchen. What happens if you put a "night owl" with a "morning person"? What do you get when you put a practical thinker right in front of a deep conceptual thinker? How would it look if let a guy have five boys, (my prayers began to sound a lot like the pharisee from the Gospels, "Thank you Lord that you have not made me like the pathetic saps that have girls"), then throw him a girl. Would the house explode if you put four girls in the same room (for the record, the answer is yes. No chocolate covered bacon in that experiment). What happens if you fill the kitchen with a bunch of cool blooded Germans and a bunch of hot blooded Irish. In short, with 14 people living in the house, the pantry is full of possibility.
OK, so the bacon flavored cupcakes are good. Great in fact. Likewise, I love most of the dishes that God has created with the ingredients that He's thrown into my house. Believe me, your life might not always make sense, but neither does Chocolate Bacon. Sometimes it's best to just let God cook, sit down at the table, try everything he puts before you, and be prepared to be pleasantly surprised.
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Grinch Grows a Heart
It's the last inning of the kid introductions. Hopefully this won't go into extra innings. I actually fear this part. Honestly, I fear it. How do I write about my three youngest daughters? If one of my sons were commissioned to write this post, it would be titled something like, "Introducing The Ones That My Dad Loves More Than Us Boys." This isn't true of course, though I must admit that I fully understand where they get their perceptions.
If you have never seen The Grinch, with Jim Carrey, you probably won't understand the title or this paragraph. There is a line in Seuss' famous poem that says, "And what happened then....? Well, in Who-ville they say, That the Grinch's small heart, Grew three sizes that day." In Howard's movie, The Grinch, played by Carrey, thrashes around on the ground clutching his chest in pain as only a Carrey character could (That was a remarkably fun alliteration). Well, as I'm sure you have guessed, having three girls in a row has caused my heart to grow, and for the record, Carrey did not over-exaggerate the pain that this kind of growth causes a grinch like me. So, though stalling from fear would be nice some might say, If I hope to move on to more blogs some near day, I will have to press on to the end 'fore I leave, and let you meet Gracie, Rebekah, and Eve. My apologies. I am no Dr. Seuss, but I had to give it a shot.
Grace Sophia came to us in a time when we needed both Grace and Wisdom (Sophia is the Greek word for wisdom). She was the most beautiful baby girl that there has ever been, and this is coming from one of those men that really can't see why people make such a fuss about new born babies. In my opinion, most newborns look like a miniature of an 80 year old man. Not Gracie. OK, stop that. Stop it! I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that all dads think that their daughters are the most beautiful babies in the world, but I'm not one of those guys. In fact, I don't really base my conclusion about Gracie's beauty on my own opinion. Everyone that held this particular baby remarked about her uncanny beauty. As an infant she was captivating. It was at this point in my life that my chest started to experience growing pains. The only thing that tempered the ache was the realization that this heart-breaker was someday going to be a young woman, and I was most likely going to be an incarcerated murderer. To this day, Grace is beautiful. She knows no strangers. No one in our home makes strangers feel like family as quickly as Grace. She is my girlie girl and through her we have learned Grace and some Wisdom.
I could probably have Rebekah write this paragraph. She is three, but she has a bigger vocabulary than I do in every area other than swear words. She only knows half the swear words that I do. Rebekah is my second chance (there is a long story hidden in that statement, but I will have to save it for future blogs). She is ridiculously smart and is a great communicator. She started talking early and was making short sentences when most babies are starting to talk. She has a gorgeous round face, with perfectly chubby cheeks, crazy blond curly hair, and a smile that drops this Grinch to the pavement. Honestly, I used to have a picture of her on my phone that actually caused pain in my chest when I looked at it. PHYSICAL pain. I can't explain it, but it was affection so deep that it hurt. I'll try to post the picture if I can find it, and figure out how to add pics to the blog. It was incidentally this picture that gave Esther the idea that my chest pain was my heart growing like the Grinch's. Rebekah has changed our house. She adds light to every room she is in.
Eve is a tiny little squirt of a girl that channels the spirit of Dennis the Menace on a good day, and Adolf Hitler on a bad one. She has straight bleach blond hair that hangs just into her eyes. She has clear blue eyes, and a adorable little smoker's voice. As far as we are aware, she has never been a smoker, though we bought her a nicotine patch just in case. Eve snuggles me. If you have never been snuggled by a blond-haired, blue-eyed, mini girl, I strongly recommend it. I actually managed to make it to my 11th child still impervious to the power of the snuggle. It was simple. Mom was for snuggling. Dad is for wrestling. Now, please know that I rocked my share to sleep, and I comforted the scraped knees, and gave the hugs and kisses. It's not that I am unaffectionate. I'm actually quite affectionate. But I'm talking about deep in the evening, drawing towards bedtime, drag in the blankie, purposefully climb into bed and curl up into a ball with dad's big arm protectively covering the little turd, type snuggling. Yep, you got it; nightly chest pain. Eve also has a temper. It's her mother's temper and it is barely counter balanced by how stinking adorable she is.
Isaac makes it a dozen. His name means "laughter" and you have never met a baby that smiles more easily. At the time of the writing of this blog, he is five months old. Just in case you have no children, five months is more than enough time to fall completely in love, especially when the object of you love is wrapped in baby fat. Isaac is a boy. This is not just an anatomical statement. He really is a boy. Even at five months old, he doesn't cry as emotionally or scream as ferociously. He loves being wrestled around and at five months old, he is beginning a rudimentary crawl. I have got to tell you, it feels good to have a baby boy in the house again. Isaac is incredibly easy. If you have to have 12 kids to get an Isaac, I recommend it for everyone.
So there they are. My kids. There are 12 of them. Josiah, Matthew, Elijah, Joshua, Zechariah, Hannah, Noah, Samuel, Grace, Rebekah, Eve, and Isaac. And for those of you who are wondering, yes it was as difficult to put down my feelings for my girls as I had feared it would be. If I was more comfortable with those emotions, I probably wouldn't be having these chest pains. Until Next Time...
If you have never seen The Grinch, with Jim Carrey, you probably won't understand the title or this paragraph. There is a line in Seuss' famous poem that says, "And what happened then....? Well, in Who-ville they say, That the Grinch's small heart, Grew three sizes that day." In Howard's movie, The Grinch, played by Carrey, thrashes around on the ground clutching his chest in pain as only a Carrey character could (That was a remarkably fun alliteration). Well, as I'm sure you have guessed, having three girls in a row has caused my heart to grow, and for the record, Carrey did not over-exaggerate the pain that this kind of growth causes a grinch like me. So, though stalling from fear would be nice some might say, If I hope to move on to more blogs some near day, I will have to press on to the end 'fore I leave, and let you meet Gracie, Rebekah, and Eve. My apologies. I am no Dr. Seuss, but I had to give it a shot.
Grace Sophia came to us in a time when we needed both Grace and Wisdom (Sophia is the Greek word for wisdom). She was the most beautiful baby girl that there has ever been, and this is coming from one of those men that really can't see why people make such a fuss about new born babies. In my opinion, most newborns look like a miniature of an 80 year old man. Not Gracie. OK, stop that. Stop it! I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that all dads think that their daughters are the most beautiful babies in the world, but I'm not one of those guys. In fact, I don't really base my conclusion about Gracie's beauty on my own opinion. Everyone that held this particular baby remarked about her uncanny beauty. As an infant she was captivating. It was at this point in my life that my chest started to experience growing pains. The only thing that tempered the ache was the realization that this heart-breaker was someday going to be a young woman, and I was most likely going to be an incarcerated murderer. To this day, Grace is beautiful. She knows no strangers. No one in our home makes strangers feel like family as quickly as Grace. She is my girlie girl and through her we have learned Grace and some Wisdom.
I could probably have Rebekah write this paragraph. She is three, but she has a bigger vocabulary than I do in every area other than swear words. She only knows half the swear words that I do. Rebekah is my second chance (there is a long story hidden in that statement, but I will have to save it for future blogs). She is ridiculously smart and is a great communicator. She started talking early and was making short sentences when most babies are starting to talk. She has a gorgeous round face, with perfectly chubby cheeks, crazy blond curly hair, and a smile that drops this Grinch to the pavement. Honestly, I used to have a picture of her on my phone that actually caused pain in my chest when I looked at it. PHYSICAL pain. I can't explain it, but it was affection so deep that it hurt. I'll try to post the picture if I can find it, and figure out how to add pics to the blog. It was incidentally this picture that gave Esther the idea that my chest pain was my heart growing like the Grinch's. Rebekah has changed our house. She adds light to every room she is in.
Eve is a tiny little squirt of a girl that channels the spirit of Dennis the Menace on a good day, and Adolf Hitler on a bad one. She has straight bleach blond hair that hangs just into her eyes. She has clear blue eyes, and a adorable little smoker's voice. As far as we are aware, she has never been a smoker, though we bought her a nicotine patch just in case. Eve snuggles me. If you have never been snuggled by a blond-haired, blue-eyed, mini girl, I strongly recommend it. I actually managed to make it to my 11th child still impervious to the power of the snuggle. It was simple. Mom was for snuggling. Dad is for wrestling. Now, please know that I rocked my share to sleep, and I comforted the scraped knees, and gave the hugs and kisses. It's not that I am unaffectionate. I'm actually quite affectionate. But I'm talking about deep in the evening, drawing towards bedtime, drag in the blankie, purposefully climb into bed and curl up into a ball with dad's big arm protectively covering the little turd, type snuggling. Yep, you got it; nightly chest pain. Eve also has a temper. It's her mother's temper and it is barely counter balanced by how stinking adorable she is.
Isaac makes it a dozen. His name means "laughter" and you have never met a baby that smiles more easily. At the time of the writing of this blog, he is five months old. Just in case you have no children, five months is more than enough time to fall completely in love, especially when the object of you love is wrapped in baby fat. Isaac is a boy. This is not just an anatomical statement. He really is a boy. Even at five months old, he doesn't cry as emotionally or scream as ferociously. He loves being wrestled around and at five months old, he is beginning a rudimentary crawl. I have got to tell you, it feels good to have a baby boy in the house again. Isaac is incredibly easy. If you have to have 12 kids to get an Isaac, I recommend it for everyone.
So there they are. My kids. There are 12 of them. Josiah, Matthew, Elijah, Joshua, Zechariah, Hannah, Noah, Samuel, Grace, Rebekah, Eve, and Isaac. And for those of you who are wondering, yes it was as difficult to put down my feelings for my girls as I had feared it would be. If I was more comfortable with those emotions, I probably wouldn't be having these chest pains. Until Next Time...
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Onward
It's been a long time since my last, and first, post. The reason for this is quite simple. I read my last post to children. Immediately upon doing this, I started getting suggestions about what I should say about each of the nine kids who's abridged bio didn't make it into the first post. The entire evening was full of, "When you write about me, make sure you say...", and "don't forget to say how Noah ...", and my favorite, "just make sure I sound cool." I learned two things from this barrage of advice. First, I'd have to let the water settle before I could finish my introductory post, and two, I'd have to finish the rest of the kids in this post lest I get bombarded again. Therefore, I invite you to meet the next nine kids. Forgive me if this post gets a little long.
Joshua is my fourth. He's always been one of those kids who can not resist a "don't touch". Even as a small toddler, if you told Joshua that something was a "No, no", you could actually see his little toddler brain start to process, in a very cognitive way, I might add, "Wow, there must be something really good in there if they don't want me to touch it." He's gotten a bit better at controlling this, the power of the rod I guess, but you can still see those gears turning deep down in his pre-adolescent brain when you tell him not to do something, and the look is remarkably similar to the one on the toddler of old. Joshua loves to write, has a great imagination, and I can't wait to someday walk through the worlds that he creates.
Zechariah talks too fast. I could stop there, but my fear is you won't be able to read into that statement all of the truths about Zechariah that are hidden there in. I'll make a list.
1. Zechariah is relational. He loves people and can not resist a conversation, which he will usually dominate.
2. Zechariah thinks all the time. You know how people get that look on their face that shows the world that there is not a single thing going on in their head at the moment. Zechariah doesn't get that look. The gears are always turning and most of it comes out of his mouth at some point or another.
3. Zechariah is smart. He remembers the little facts that most of us have been taught, but quickly declare useless and therefore ejected. When a topic enters a conversation, Zechariah supplies all of the textbook details at 110 mph.
4. Zechariah fits well in a big family. In our family, it can be a little tough to "get the floor" for any length of time. Usually, we all wind up talking at the same time until the volume reaches the point that blood starts to trickle from the ears some of the youngest at the table, at which point dad yells or whistles, which incidentally completes the auditory damage suffered by the little ones, and the decibel level drops for about 30 seconds from where it starts its climb back to damaging levels. I have found that no one can say more in a limited window of opportunity than Zechariah.
Incidentally, I only catch about one in five words that Zechariah says.
Hannah is my sixth child and first daughter. We have my first poetic words to my first daughter captured forever on video. When she entered the world and I realized that I was holding a stemless apple, I said, "Oh no. Now what am I going to do" Before I can truly describe the impact having a girl had on me, I have to tell you something about myself. I'm a man. I'm a dude. I'm a guy. I don't say that as though it were an elevated thing. I am simply stating a fact. I'm dirty, smelly, and gross. I like blood and guts in my movies with a strong dose of masculine loyalty or patriotism or sacrifice thrown in for good measure. I love boxing, MMA, or anything that pits two men against one another in a battle that ends with a clear winner, especially if the two gladiators hug afterward and go have a beer together understanding that violent battle doesn't have to be evil. The feminine form catches my eye. I love John Wane. I'm a guy. I was at perfect peace being the father of five boys. I looked anxiously towards my sixth boy. Then came Hannah, and it looked like someone had vomited Pepto Bismal all over my house. Everything was suddenly pink. Hannah awakened my heart and immediately upon looking at her, i knew that she would break it. And she did. My stony, masculine rock of a heart was shattered, and I was left with this soft, mushy, fleshy thing in it's place. Hannah is a Tom-boy. She has five older brothers and two directly younger ones. She loves the outdoors and no longer likes pink, but she is still utterly feminine. She's is and will always be my girl.
Noah is number seven. He has blond surfer-dude curls that I envy. Noah caught wit, sarcasm, and joking at a remarkable early age, and always gets a twinkle in his eye when he is teasing, which is most of the time. He is very intelligent and hates when he can't figure something out. He, like his father, wears his emotions on his sleeve. When Josiah and I dropped him off for Kindergarten, the first and only of my children to go to public school kindergarten (long story), the teacher started by putting the kids in a circle and having them give their name, and favorite color. Noah was not at all happy about having to be there, a fact that was clear by the look on his face and posture of his body. Each of the new Kindergartners proudly stated their names and rattled off a barrage of "pink, blue, pink, red, purple, blue, green, pink, blue." Then comes Noah's turn. Incidentally, he was the last one to go as the teacher had sat him next to her since his mood radiated "I'm not digging this new arrangement". With all eyes on Noah and silence in the room, Noah says with obvious resentment in his voice, "I'm Noah, my favorite color is black." How he knew that black was both the appropriate color to fit his mood, and that it was also the perfectly rebellious response to the "cheesy" opening activity, i have no idea. But that's Noah.
Samuel is the family pet. He's my eighth child. I will fill many blogs with Samuel stories before his childhood is finished I have no doubt. We bought him a t-shirt that says, "I do my own stunts" and that is probably the best description of Samuel. He is high energy, all boy, and only has two speeds, 1000 mph and sleep. He is a practical joker, a clown, and he's that one little kid that ALWAYS catches the one mature joke that Disney sneaks into every movie to keep the parents laughing. Incidentally, he catches that joke and then repeats it frequently. Despite this, Samuel has an innocence that catches you off guard and he gets along with absolutely everyone. He loves people and they love him back.
OK, so I lied. I will not be able to finish the last four children in this post. It is getting to long, and I need to let my brain rest. Besides, I will need to gear up for the next phase because it has a remarkable feminine tilt (three out of the next four are girls), and as you can see by my paragraph on Hannah, the girls pull a lot out of me. So, until next time...
Joshua is my fourth. He's always been one of those kids who can not resist a "don't touch". Even as a small toddler, if you told Joshua that something was a "No, no", you could actually see his little toddler brain start to process, in a very cognitive way, I might add, "Wow, there must be something really good in there if they don't want me to touch it." He's gotten a bit better at controlling this, the power of the rod I guess, but you can still see those gears turning deep down in his pre-adolescent brain when you tell him not to do something, and the look is remarkably similar to the one on the toddler of old. Joshua loves to write, has a great imagination, and I can't wait to someday walk through the worlds that he creates.
Zechariah talks too fast. I could stop there, but my fear is you won't be able to read into that statement all of the truths about Zechariah that are hidden there in. I'll make a list.
1. Zechariah is relational. He loves people and can not resist a conversation, which he will usually dominate.
2. Zechariah thinks all the time. You know how people get that look on their face that shows the world that there is not a single thing going on in their head at the moment. Zechariah doesn't get that look. The gears are always turning and most of it comes out of his mouth at some point or another.
3. Zechariah is smart. He remembers the little facts that most of us have been taught, but quickly declare useless and therefore ejected. When a topic enters a conversation, Zechariah supplies all of the textbook details at 110 mph.
4. Zechariah fits well in a big family. In our family, it can be a little tough to "get the floor" for any length of time. Usually, we all wind up talking at the same time until the volume reaches the point that blood starts to trickle from the ears some of the youngest at the table, at which point dad yells or whistles, which incidentally completes the auditory damage suffered by the little ones, and the decibel level drops for about 30 seconds from where it starts its climb back to damaging levels. I have found that no one can say more in a limited window of opportunity than Zechariah.
Incidentally, I only catch about one in five words that Zechariah says.
Hannah is my sixth child and first daughter. We have my first poetic words to my first daughter captured forever on video. When she entered the world and I realized that I was holding a stemless apple, I said, "Oh no. Now what am I going to do" Before I can truly describe the impact having a girl had on me, I have to tell you something about myself. I'm a man. I'm a dude. I'm a guy. I don't say that as though it were an elevated thing. I am simply stating a fact. I'm dirty, smelly, and gross. I like blood and guts in my movies with a strong dose of masculine loyalty or patriotism or sacrifice thrown in for good measure. I love boxing, MMA, or anything that pits two men against one another in a battle that ends with a clear winner, especially if the two gladiators hug afterward and go have a beer together understanding that violent battle doesn't have to be evil. The feminine form catches my eye. I love John Wane. I'm a guy. I was at perfect peace being the father of five boys. I looked anxiously towards my sixth boy. Then came Hannah, and it looked like someone had vomited Pepto Bismal all over my house. Everything was suddenly pink. Hannah awakened my heart and immediately upon looking at her, i knew that she would break it. And she did. My stony, masculine rock of a heart was shattered, and I was left with this soft, mushy, fleshy thing in it's place. Hannah is a Tom-boy. She has five older brothers and two directly younger ones. She loves the outdoors and no longer likes pink, but she is still utterly feminine. She's is and will always be my girl.
Noah is number seven. He has blond surfer-dude curls that I envy. Noah caught wit, sarcasm, and joking at a remarkable early age, and always gets a twinkle in his eye when he is teasing, which is most of the time. He is very intelligent and hates when he can't figure something out. He, like his father, wears his emotions on his sleeve. When Josiah and I dropped him off for Kindergarten, the first and only of my children to go to public school kindergarten (long story), the teacher started by putting the kids in a circle and having them give their name, and favorite color. Noah was not at all happy about having to be there, a fact that was clear by the look on his face and posture of his body. Each of the new Kindergartners proudly stated their names and rattled off a barrage of "pink, blue, pink, red, purple, blue, green, pink, blue." Then comes Noah's turn. Incidentally, he was the last one to go as the teacher had sat him next to her since his mood radiated "I'm not digging this new arrangement". With all eyes on Noah and silence in the room, Noah says with obvious resentment in his voice, "I'm Noah, my favorite color is black." How he knew that black was both the appropriate color to fit his mood, and that it was also the perfectly rebellious response to the "cheesy" opening activity, i have no idea. But that's Noah.
Samuel is the family pet. He's my eighth child. I will fill many blogs with Samuel stories before his childhood is finished I have no doubt. We bought him a t-shirt that says, "I do my own stunts" and that is probably the best description of Samuel. He is high energy, all boy, and only has two speeds, 1000 mph and sleep. He is a practical joker, a clown, and he's that one little kid that ALWAYS catches the one mature joke that Disney sneaks into every movie to keep the parents laughing. Incidentally, he catches that joke and then repeats it frequently. Despite this, Samuel has an innocence that catches you off guard and he gets along with absolutely everyone. He loves people and they love him back.
OK, so I lied. I will not be able to finish the last four children in this post. It is getting to long, and I need to let my brain rest. Besides, I will need to gear up for the next phase because it has a remarkable feminine tilt (three out of the next four are girls), and as you can see by my paragraph on Hannah, the girls pull a lot out of me. So, until next time...
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