#AtoZChallenge: E is for is he EVER going to catch up?

It’s never too late to be thankful, right?

I’ve tried to tie my weekly Go Ask Daddy posts to the Friday gratitude attitude going around the blogging world. The combination ranks higher than, say, those KFC-Taco Bell duos you find sometimes out and about.

It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to jot the good stuff in my notebook, though.

I’ve been thankful for, you know, a job that offers benefits and enough dough to get my kids off free lunch. This feels like the American dream to me. But I want to make this list not just about that because I’m almost kind of tired of writing about it.

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#AtoZChallenge: C is for Courtney Wright, guest blogger

I’m gasping for air a bit in all this #AtoZChallenge hubbub.

Hypothetically, of course. While the entire universe shares its tales of the letter E, I toil away, seeking bits of time to steal to write my C post. And it’s essentially written for me, thanks to today’s guest poster, Courtney, of Blog Me This.

Thanks for the lift, C.

So Courtney is along for the ride as my C-train ticket. She writes a wonderful blog, but even more crucially, she’s an unshakable blog friend who will shine through for you in your darkest or most blog-less and snack-less moments.

#AtoZChallenge: A is for Approachable

Easter, baseball, the Final Four, disc golf weather. Clearance Easter candy. Life is good.

The #AtoZChallenge snuck up on me.

Like, big-time. Like heartburn after 1 a.m. hot wings. Like your first gray eyebrow hair. Not that I know anything about that. One minute, I’m searching for Tums, and the next, I’m reading my friend Tamara’s Facebook post about her first post.

Ah, hell.

So, without officially signing up, and without a theme reveal post, and without, really, anything that even smells like a plan, I’m off. Two hours, 15 minutes from Day 2 of the challenge (it’s already tomorrow in Australia, so I’m way behind already.)

Who we’d pick to take our place, in 6 words

My actual shelf with getting-ready stuff. The badge has since been retired. The Star Wars figures never will be.

It’s not easy to be me.

It’s hella fun, as the kids used to say. (Some kids. Somewhere.) So, when I shot out the prompt for this month’s 6 Words post (which actually went out in 2017, but it’s taken me a while to post), it wasn’t easy to come up with an answer.

Every month, I ask friends, bloggers, strangers and strange blogger friends a question that they will answer in exactly six words.

Ernest Hemingway inspired it when he asserted that any story could be told in six words. The prompt for this month: If you had to pick someone to be you for a day, who would you want it to be, and why?

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 penalties, pucks and pills

Yeah, I know it’s past Christmas. But do Baby Jesus and camels really ever go out of style? This stormtrooper just discovered this isn’t the camel they’re looking for. Move along.

It was *such* a great interview.

I am hoping just as hard as I do about the Colorado Rockies or free pizza or running into Hope Solo in the self-checkout at the Harris-Teeter in South Park. (I will come up with something witty to say. I just know it.)

I’m grateful for the chance to interview at this awesome company and I have some good news to share soon about it.

After my 10 things to be grateful for, I’ll answer some of my daughters’ random questions. Three deal with sports, which is a monumental surprise. One could have been a blog post on its own, and the last one is one of those, “huh, so that’s why” sort of deals.

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.

Dads: Don’t let a big cheesy burger get the best of you

A T-rex is mighty, yes. Sometimes it pays not to take the biggest bite of your Jurassic loved ones.

I hate when I’m boorish.

It doesn’t happen often. But when it does … I mean, it’s lowkey. Well, okay. Not lowkey. But not extra, as the kids would say. Somewhere between lowkey and extra. Yes, it’s come to this. (But definitely closer to lowkey than extra.)

The funny thing – and it wasn’t really funny at the time – was that it all happened because of juicy Lucy cheeseburgers.

Juicy Lucies are Minnesota delights. Manna of Heaven. They’re huge burgers with a treasure trove of cheese inside. I made one for everyone, the biggest – the juiciest, cooked a beautiful shade of medium rare – for myself. So go the benefits of a dad with a skillet.

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.