Me: You wanna be a blogger when you grow up?

Orison: No, I don’t wanna blog. I’m gonna play piano and preach.

Lovely graveyards, like kindly spoken curses, attempt comfort by discrepantly wrapping sadness in beauty.

But I am grateful for the pretty package.

1. She loves Jesus.

2. She likes planting trees and flowers.

3. She laughs like a crazy woman at Orison’s goofiness.

4. She tolerates my goofiness.

5. She grieves Felicity openly.

6. She doesn’t begrudge pregnancy.

7. She reads to Orison.

8. She teaches Orison to sound words out.

9. She knows that discipline is loving.

10. She makes plenty of spaghetti plenty often.

11. She freaks out for cream-filled donuts.

12. She supports me (mostly) in whatever this week’s idea is.

13. She brushes Orison’s teeth more carefully than I do.

14. She’s undecided about how we’ll school our kids.

15. She always puts my hand on her tummy when she’s pregnant.

16. She doesn’t undermine me with Orison even when I’m disappointing.

17. She happily postpones her fantasy minivan.

18. She washes the dishes and picks up all the time.

19. She does our family paperwork perfectly and without complaint.

20. She comes home from errands with presents.

21. She knits us slippers, booties, scarves, sweaters, mittens, socks, and hats.

22. She sings constantly.

1. She loves Jesus.

2. She loves my dad.

3. She’s always happy to see us show up randomly and maybe raid the fridge.

4. She offers advice when asked.

5. She offers advice only when asked.

6. She doesn’t guilt-trip.

7. She loves taking and sharing pictures.

8. She can’t help buying little things for preborn grandkids.

9. She adopted my favorite sister.

10. She prays for us every day.

11. She’s thrifty.

12. She always strives to be a better parent (though she’s as good as they come).

13. She watches Orison at a moment’s notice.

14. She crocheted Felicity a blanket that wouldn’t get used and gave it to us anyway.

15. She’s always on my dad’s side as far as I can tell.

16. She sort of squeals when she finds out about a new grandkid.

17. She doesn’t look down on us when we make decisions she wouldn’t.

18. She corrects my grammar (too strictly sometimes, but oh well).

19. There’s always room for one more at her table.

20. She calls when Orison should quick come over to see the men using chainsaws.

21. She remembers Felicity.

22. She knows adult kids still need a mom.

1. STDs
2. Philosophy
3. Freeloading
4. Incarceration
5. Vagabondage
6. Whiskey binges
7. Illegitimate children
8. Pack-a-day smoking
9. Successful rockstardom
10. Getting run over by a train

What’s your list?

Me: What did mama say about Mother’s Day?
Orison: It’s for doing Mommy’s favorite things.

Right. But did she give any specifics?

Yeah. I like bags. What’s it to ya?

Salvation Army, $4.00—How could I resist?

Hey, at least they’re satchels…not purses:

“Treasures” from the netherworld:

a bust (literally) of Lincoln;

a “banjo” I made circa 1988;

and (naturally) a whopping painting of…

…me!?

My friend Jamsco collects aphoristic nuggets from eclectic sources and lists them in his “Friday Everything” series.

Today we learn from Orison.

Game requirements: helium balloon, ceiling.

It’s especially fun because dad can’t win. There’s no way for him to score.

Them’s the rules.

I’m in a marriage of convenience.

I love Molly. She loves me.

It would be terribly inconvenient to be with anyone else.

We teach Orison to always mention something that’s amazing about God during mealtime prayers. So, today:

You made my drum set.

Amen.

Here’s one of the last pictures of us all—from a vacation most memorable for Molly’s being almost too pregnant for vacation.

Tony Kummer of Said at Southern posted an interview with me that we did before the Band of Bloggers meeting in Louisville.

24 hours isn’t enough time to get through a movie with a near-narcoleptic.

We just finished one we started 3 days ago.

Regularly, when I tell Molly, “I love you,” there’s a “too” tacked on the end.

I should say it first more often.

I just leaped out of a shaking bed. No killer was in the room. I checked.

Apparently, I experienced my first earthquake.

6:02 AM Update: It was 5.4 on Richter scale.

6:12 AM Update: Epicenter was over a major fault line near West Salem, IL, 130 miles west of Louisville.

6:33 AM Update: The newsroom is perseverating about the “first reported damage,” some broken ornamental concrete in downtown Louisville.

6:40 AM Update: This is fun. I should be a meteorologist or something. But to get a job, I think I’d need to get better at mongering fear.

6:55 AM Update: Here’s the area that felt tremors as best as I can figure:

7:31 AM Update: OK, all good things must come to an end. I have to go do real work now.

So I thought, Louisville… horses… horseracing… hats… hmm….

This is the best I came up with:

Also, the boy thinks he’s coming:

The first thing Orison said to me today:

I made a video of a fun, clappin’ song, daddy.

You can post it.

Never mind that cell phones are beyond ubiquitous—recently I almost got caller-ID…

…but neither of our home-phones have has a digital display.

(Thanks, of course, to my mom for the grammatical correction.)

My wife is writing a series of posts on how to care for a grieving friend.

I guarantee it will be helpful.

Orison: What are knots?

Me: Strings that are tied up.

Orison, holding a shoestring: Here’s another knot.

Me: Nope, that’s an aglet.

Empty hangers, empty closet, empty clothes.
Empty crib, empty bath.
Empty bottles, empty breasts.
Empty lungs, empty blood, empty heart.
Empty grave.