10 Things Grateful, and a new plan

Hey guys.

I did it. I found my way back. Like, in a real way. I keep hearing and reading about doing what we love and loving what we do and you know what? Me, not writing, was kind of like me not thinking about tacos. Only, kinda worse, you know?

Anyway, I’ve found a way to schedule writing and reading and commenting.

I promise it’ll be better than the new Full House or even slicker than those Detroit Lions throwback jerseys, which actually look like a kid just peeled all the Lions stickers off. I’m grateful for a chance to breathe some new life around her.

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Where We’d Build a Tunnel to, in 6 Words

Sometimes you get to storm a castle at the church yard sale. #truecrusaders

I’m all for being in the moment.

But sometimes, you just want to tunnel your butt someplace else. Not always even to a churro factory after hours, although … well, we all have aspirations. And I’ve asked several strangers, bloggers, friends, and a few strange blogger friends this question:

If you could build a tunnel from your house directly to anywhere in the world, where would it go? And why?

That’s a lot to get into six words, but it’s possible.

10 Things Grateful, Even When Aldi’s Out of Naan Bread

‘sup cat?

So I’ve got these systems.

Some are working. Some aren’t. I’m in that journal nearly every day. The 30-day pushup challenge? Well, it might have been 30 days since I’ve done it. I’m sticking to the systems, though, and have found a couple new ones that I know will help.

One is the productivity planner.

I have a lot going on. I can handle it. When I don’t deliver, though, people get ticked. And I don’t sleep so well. I’m having trouble getting the time to do it, though, and that’s problematic. After I post this. I’ll get to it

#AtoZChallenge: K is for Kids’ Questions (Which Can Lead to Go Ask Daddy and Other Posts)

Just checking in on the sugar-bearing Santa, while waiting for Madison to get out of work.

Let’s get at this.

It’s not like the girls’ questions have ever stopped. No, dad just doesn’t answer them on the internet like he used to. He’s all … responsible. Writing stuff for his job, journaling, sitting perfectly still in his recliner, silent.

It’s different from when he does this after eating pizza.

At that point, he’s reclined and grinning like a baby with gas. No, he’s actually meditating. That’s fine and all, but Go Ask Daddy posts don’t just write themselves.

#AtoZChallenge: I is for It’s Not Always Racism (Even When Pizza is Involved)

Two girls walk into a pizza parlor.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one. It’s kind of late for a school night. They’ve just lost a playoff soccer game. Thoughts turn from how to build an attack, to where can we load up on pizza. As a team, we just want a place to sit and eat and be together.

The internet says the place is open until 10.

It’s almost 9. Only, the person behind the counter asks the girls, are you going to order? We close at 9. The girls tell them the door says 10, and so does the internet. It’s wrong. So are you going to order?

Guest post: Emily(2) Fundraising for Leukemia & Lymphoma Society

It’s like, still cold in the Carolinas.

Finding the time to blog lately hasn’t been easy.

Sometimes, you have to rely on friends to pick up the slack. I’d intended to publish a #GirlsRock interview with Emily Meintzer, whose sister plays on Camdyn’s team at Lake Norman Soccer Club.

Emily and I have become sideline friends, watching her sister and my daughter mixing it up on the soccer pitch.

Today, I’m featuring a cause Emily and her friend, Emily, are working to raise money for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Many of you know my father died nearly 18 years ago of leukemia.

Go Ask Daddy about education, aviation, and chocolatization

C’mon. Christmas can last all year. Especially when you take a boatload of Christmas-themed photos for your blog and then don’t write for a month. Happy Holidays, y’all.

I’m grateful for dreams.

No, not the ones with January Jones and bacon cheeseburgers, although those are also everything. I’m grateful for my kids’ dreams, the ones of becoming a vet tech or playing college soccer or getting a kickass role in the school play.

Hayden has a chance to play at the next level and is fortunate enough to have choices.

We visited Wingate University today and I think there were some love sparks. They invited her to an ID camp this summer. She’d stay on campus for several days and be immersed in college life there.

Go Ask Daddy about thrills, bling and perils to the family jewels

You know how some things go really well together?

Like, my mouth and enchiladas, for instance. (Why must it always be about food?) Every Friday, I write the Go Ask Daddy post. It’s five questions, picked at random, from a list of nearly 300 that my girls ask through the course of a day.

Lots of my blog friends write their gratitude posts on Fridays.

I’m grateful, too. Just because I spend the day answering questions about Jimmy Hendrix, finances and firefighters, it doesn’t mean I’m not eternally grateful for lots of stuff. In fact, I’ve started a gratitude journal, and it’s got stuff in it.

Go Ask Daddy about quarterback uncertainty, poultry designations and what to bury in the ground for posterity

The Broncos might have missed the playoffs, but Von Miller is still the best. (Plus, we’ll get a good draft pick.)

Jersey numbers mean a lot to me.

I can see a number on a back and think immediately and randomly of favorite players, from teams I’ve loved or coached or both, who wore that number. It’s especially common when the Denver Broncos wear their orange jerseys.

I see 80 and think of Haven Moses, of Joe Dudek when I see 32 and, at seeing 43, remember Steve Foley.

Those who wear a number belong to the team in the moment. There were 33s, 29s, and 5s before them, and after they’re gone, someone else will suit up in that number. While you’re in our colors you’re loved; after you’ve moved on, you’re remembered.

Go Ask Daddy about tracks, infamy and the colors nature uses for cool stuff

I have all these stormtrooper pictures I hoped to use around Christmas, but I didn’t blog much then! This one is in Madison’s Christmas village. At the library, presumably to check out a book about shooting straight. Also, note: I’m back, you dirty animals. No more blog droughts, dammit.

The place I usually play disc golf is the place I used to run.

Running has been the struggle I’ve kept returning to grapple with. (That, and sugar cookies.) I’ll download Pandora on my app-strapped phone, jot down the intervals on a piece of paper, and hit the trail at Veterans Park in Mint Hill.

I’ve jogged and huffed and warmed up and cooled down for laps and laps there.

The figure-eight loop I’d run engulfs two soccer pitches. One is the place a middle-school girls team I coached years ago called home, shabby grounds that were mostly dirt and pebbles when we played there. A rival once scoffed at it before a game.