Sunday Reads V: Authentic Living, Savvy Writing and Cookies You Won’t Believe Actually Exist

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photo credit: chris favero StormTrooper Bucket shot via photopin (license)

Never raise a hand to a child, I read once – it leaves your midsection unprotected.

Comedy writer Robert Orben said that. I’ve never raised a hand to any of my children. I have, however, left my midsection – from the bottom of my rib cage to my upper thigh – vulnerable. I’ve been kicked by kids in shopping carts a thousand times.

I should be writing this post in falsetto.

There are better, healthier ways for a dad to remain vulnerable. It’s crucial for us to exude strength to our kids; we often want to take it to the extreme, though. There’s a balance to discover, between The Terminator and The Cowardly Lion.

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No More Waiting for My Real Life to Begin

IMG_20170709_170402I’ve been hiding a long time.

I had to go with that opening line, because I’d promised someone I would. I’m glad, though, because this friend suggested it as we talked about how things are going for me now, and it perfectly tells the story.

No, I’m not coming out of the closet.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. You might have noticed more of a mindful bent on Mondays around here. I can’t help it. Between meditation on Wednesday, yoga on Friday (something old and new), and prayers for world peace on Sundays …

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Sunday reads III: Indulgences, Kindness, and a Voice Against More Toys (Here, Here)

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I was in an outlet store with Hayden and Camdyn shopping for school shoes.

As I walked past the back aisle, on the clearance rack, I saw some nondescript black and gray Nikes. “Try them on!” Hayden said, and I did. They fit wonderfully, and I felt an inch taller because they actually had soles.

“Get them!” Camdyn said.

I couldn’t bring myself to. My current sneakers didn’t even have holes in them yet. That was my reasoning. The girls hounded me until I took them to the register. I kept thinking, “I’ll pack a lunch for 17 weeks … I’ll sell a few golf discs … I ‘ll skip meat this month …”

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Go Ask Daddy About Scholastic Schedules, Commemorative Symbols, and Picking Nits in Our Language

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This week, it’s all academic.

GAD GRAPHICMeaning, there’s some deep philosophical questions here. Well, one at least. And one about cheese, which to me is a sign of higher intelligence. Although, when I was in college, it didn’t really feel like a haven of higher learning.

Was it just me?

I once got an 8 – yes, e-i-g-h-t – on a science test. I stayed after to ask, “is there any mathematical reason I shouldn’t hit drop-add after this?” My prof, he of feathered hair and a beard before beards were cool, simply shook his head.

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Sunday Reads II: Records, Discomfort, and Mama’s Boots

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It’s actually Sunday morning, now.

My goal for this Sunday post feature is to finish it before midnight Saturday night, so i can go to bed and hope for those of you so inclined can open a link or three and read something good I discovered during the week.

Not to be up another night of the week fending off sleep to finish a post.

(Did you know that sometimes, I read my posts the morning after, and it feels as if that’s my first go through? It’s true. I’ve found the same photo in twice, or sentences that jumble together, and once I even found that I forgot to title the damn thing.

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Go Ask Daddy About Fish Identification, Amphibian Adolescence and the True Nature of Natural Speed

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I did it.

GAD GRAPHICI powered through my first book reading/book signing. It was kind of unexpected, but a wonderful experience. I wasn’t sure I’d go through with it, honestly. I won’t bore you with the grim details. Let’s just say I made a well-informed conscious decision.

I vowed I would just show my appreciation for all who showed up!

A funny thing happened. It wasn’t just the cup of wine I had before, or the fact that Christine from the blog I’m Sick and So Are You showed up (how badass am I that my friend who showed has a blog name like that?)

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Our Fortunes, in 6 Words

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Fact: I’ve never read the last page of a book first.

6 words graphicWhy would I? I know some of y’all do. I can’t do it. I want to experience the story as it unfolds. This is why I wouldn’t ask a fortuneteller anything. You think I want to know if the Colorado Rockies will ever win a World Series?

Heck no.

Part of the beauty of experiencing anything – even the agony of being a Rockies fan – happens to be the prospect of hope. Not its guarantee. Knowing that the Rockies won’t win it all until 3023 would ruin baseball for me forever.

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Always Enough Happy to Tell You Something Good, Guaranteed

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I can make my famous brown and white sugar pancakes by heart now.

I save time. And a great way to avoid leaving out key ingredients – such as baking soda – or doubling key ingredients – such as baking soda. I’ve flipped these classics – this same recipe – for years, probably since the Milwaukee Brewers (or Jewel) were any good.

I looked Saturday at the dry ingredients in the bowl, mostly white even with the brown sugar integrated, and it started the wheels turning.

Not of Hispanic America’s integration or dispersion into modern caucasian culture. I thought of how sugar – brown and white – mixes with salt, baking soda and flour, to become greater than the sum of parts. To become something delicious.

And if you were forced to choose a single grain of that to eat, you’d wish for sugar, right?

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Sunday Reads No. 1: Routines, Reviews, and Roadblocks

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I wish I had more time to read.

I wish I had more time for other things, too. Like, watching Elizabeth Banks commercials, or melting cheese on anything, or eating cheese with Elizabeth Banks. I somehow manage, during times I should be doing other things, to read a little every day.

(Don’t tell my boss.)

Actually, tell my boss. Reading’s essential to be a writer. I think Stephen King or Steph Curry said that once. Lots of my blogging friends put together a list of favorites every week, and I’m honored they have the misguided tendency to include me sometimes.

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Guest Post: Katherine, of Welcome to the Nursery, on How Her Kids are Slowly Destroying Their House

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photo credit: Chris Blakeley that’s some hat, stitch via photopin (license)

Want to know if a guy is a parent?

guest postTake a look at his face, his car, or his home. All will have sustained some degree of damage in the process of fatherhood. Worry lines, spray stains on the ceiling of his car, and a host of tell-tales in his place of residence.

Busted furniture, chipped wall paint, crayon marks on … everything. Markers, too, and stray bits of strawberry, Goldfish crackers, and even beef jerky, in a man’s car, behind a man’s couch, and stuck in a man’s hair.  That’s just the beginning, as any of you who parent know.

Katherine writes a blog called Welcome to the Nursery.

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