My wife recently convinced me to join Twitter. I relented, but with a smirk. I already own a blog with tons of dust and a Facebook account which, if it were leftovers in the fridge, would be getting all blue-green and fuzzy by now. Oh, well. It’s easy to collect things if all you need to do is throw the collection on a shelf somewhere. Making a collection work takes work – and time. And, I have commitment anxiety. But in this new atmosphere the air is heavy with stress. It works its weight against the vessel in which fear is contained.

The door is stuck again. Warped. Must be hot outside. Already?
I turn the handle and brace for the hot, white light before it beats down on me. The package greets me with a crooked smile.
“Jack,” it says. “I thought I said to hurry.”
“You said get over here now. Why you here?”
“Because you didn’t show. You coming, or what?”
The door is getting heavy, so is my head. Throbbing headache shows for a visit. Nausea escorts him in.
“Kitchen,” I say through gritted teeth and swerve back inside.

To help kick-start some activity around here, I commissioned Samuel to write an original story (more on his stories in another post). Here it is…

A long time ago, an evil bowl of hot sauce ruled a living room, but one day it all changed. It started on a fightful day. A pizza was drinking his friend, Grape Juice. Until the bowl of hot sauce and his army of nachos came charging in their way. The grape juice said, “STOP DRINKING ME AND LETS GET OUT OF HERE!!” But they were too late. Now they were as flat as a pancake. Speaking of pancakes they hired a army of pancakes. Now they held a war called the Great War of Macaroni and Cheese. Three years later, the war still continued. More than 3,000 foods had died. Until a huge shadow came upon the city, “We’re doomed,” said Pizza. It was a huge, giant person!!! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everybody[food] screamed and the giant hand of the huge person picked up the bowl of hot sauce and licked the bowl clean.

FIN[THEE END][THE END]BLA BLA

Two guys. One cold night.

Sammyball and I started another year of Colorado Rapids soccer tonight. Bundled tight in snow pants, coats, hats, and boots, the excitement of a home opener win kept us warm and happy. Honestly, there wasn’t a big crowd, but most of the fans seemed to be glad to be at the game. Even the the chatty women from California and Texas who sat behind and next to us had fun. (Though I don’t know why they were actually at the game). They spent all but a minute or two talking talking about everything but soccer to actually notice anything but themselves.

Luckily, we managed to cope by quietly keeping to our own communication – giving and taking fives. And we actually managed to see all the goals (both good – us, and bad – them) despite the vendors stopping frequently, just between us and the pitch view, for no apparent reason other than to make us bob and weave to keep our blood flowing. It must have worked. We stayed warm.

2-1 Rapids. Great

Good Sammyball and Dad time. Perfect.

My wife, Gretchen, posted an accounting of her day. I read it and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to jump start my posting. (Or more appropriately, raise my blog from the dead.) I was ready to publish my exceedingly witty post when she called from the school to ask about my day.

“I read your blog,” I said, thinking how great it is to be caught up on at least one blog.
“Oh,” she said.
“I liked, it.” She didn’t sound all that impressed and I was trying to be encouraging.
“That’s from yesterday.”

Oh well here’s my brilliant post, edited for humility’s sake:

1. I read Gretchen’s new post today.

I am a lonely blog searching for an author who doesn’t neglect me in favor of his other “projects.” (Like – working, watching movies, playing with his children). Please, if you’re someone who enjoys writing about life instead of getting so caught up in it you can’t type a few words, contact me.

*Written in extreme sarcasm, with the full understanding I am not the most regular blogger in the world. But if I were could I really keep the title “The Reluctant Blogger?”

Joel turned the corner from 4 years of age to 5 like a track star rounding another turn. He didn’t slow down a step. But as he passed us, perched to watch his race, he yelled, “Four is going to miss me!”

I think it’s more likely 4 is letting out a huge sigh of release as it collapses into a heap of exhaustion on the floor among other discarded years. Five is probably standing frozen, struck with awe over the monumental task of being dragged along by an ambitious Joel. (I expect future years, if they are paying attention, are white with fear).

Happy Birthday, Joel!

Beautiful Beatrix tumbled into the terrible twos today. (She had an early, running start a couple months ago).

I guess it was a quiet day (as days go for a toddler). The hardest part was giving up her pacifier. But she didn’t complain. Not once. She had some tough moments, times when you could see the want in her eyes, but she didn’t even call for her “coo-coo” once. She’s like her mom, a deeply rooted tree once her mind is set. She’ll be ok.

Thankfully, I got to spend a few moments with her. Alone. Everyone asleep, just us two night owls watching the Broncos game, eating popcorn, practicing our illegal procedure calls. Saying, “Go Broncos!” “Touchdown!” “Awe man!” and singing, ABC’s, Itsy-bitsy Spider, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

How blessed am I to have these moments?

Twelve years ago we two became one.
Today, we are one with many blessings. Together counting each blessing with love, patience, and grace.
Not every moment has been perfect, not every day a joy. But each day has made us more perfect for each other while we practice looking to God for our happiness and peace.

She is still my beautiful bride. She still awes me, inspires me, and makes me blush. She tests me and makes me stronger. She corrects me and makes me more tender. She is my pearl. My treasure. And I still long to protect her and share her with the world.

I love her.