Meltdown on Aisle 4

Almost daily God shows me something about my character through the actions of my 22-month-old son. The tantrum he threw at the dinner table today is a perfect example, but I won't go into details about that one. Let's just say that we'll be discovering discarded chunks of green beans for quite some time.

The story that I actually want to share starts with a pink baby doll stroller (thankfully, I don't have many stories that start like that). This stroller is Elijah's favorite toy to play with at his Aunt G's house in Virginia. Almost immediately upon arriving for a visit, he begins the search for that miniature stroller and after locating it, you don't see him without it for the duration of the stay. He pushes it through the house. He pushes it outside in the driveway. He pushes it through the mulch and over Aunt G's flowers. He never stops pushing that stroller. And when it's time leave, it's us that's pushing it by asking him to leave that stroller behind. After a recent visit to Virginia, we had the bright idea of buying Elijah something that he could push around the house. He has a little lion with wheels, but it's a crossover--serving as something you push and something you ride--so it's confusing to him and definitely a far cry from that pink stroller. So we knew we needed to step up our game to trump ol' pinky. Sarah had the wonderful idea of a toy shopping cart. Elijah had seen her use a real one plenty of times, it would be the perfect height for him, and the basket would facilitate his newfound desire to hoard things such as his stuffed animals and our remote controls.

After a quick search, we found one on sale and were on our way home with the new purchase in no time. So excited to see his reaction, I went to work assembling it as soon as we got back to the house. Either my excitement was contagious, or Elijah could tell that the big box meant something big was headed his way. He barely let me remove all of the contents before he started grabbing parts of the stroller and asking his infamous question, "Wuzzat?" Sadly, I couldn't answer most of the "wuzzats?" because I had not yet found the instructions. It didn't matter because he was quickly drawn to the largest item that I pulled out of the box--the cart's frame, which thankfully was in one big piece instead of 10 smaller pieces! Before I could answer the "wuzzat" for that piece, my ambitious toddler was halfway across the living room pushing the large, plastic frame as fast as he could go. It was upside down and sliding across the floor, collecting every bit of toy debris in its path. Since the frame played a critical role in step one of the assembly, I quickly chased him down to retrieve the piece. I was not prepared for the response I got. Complete meltdown. My son went straight to the floor, rolling around and sobbing like a French soccer player. Somewhere between horrified and amused, I sensed the urgency to get this cart assembled ASAP. When the sobbing spell was over, Elijah immediately ran back over to the assembly line and tried to pull the frame out of my hands again. I didn't let go. Floor. More rolling. Even more sobbing. Fifteen minutes later, I had the cart together, and, having recovered from meltdown numero dos, Elijah was pushing that cart through the house like it was his job.

As Sarah and I watched him thoroughly enjoy his new toy, God saw a perfect opportunity to reveal a similarity in my own character to what I just witnessed with my son. So many times in my life, God will be building something awesome before my very eyes, and I'll recognize that it's for me and that it's going to be good. But my impatience consistently gets the best of me, and I'll grab it from His hands and take off running--with only a semi-functioning piece of the bigger plan. Sure, the piece I have will slide when I push it, but that's not how it's intended to work; instead the portion that I'm running with becomes more work for me because I don't have it facing the right way, I'm pushing the wrong end and collecting unwanted debris every step of the way. When God steps in and pulls the pieces back out of my hands, He will inevitably be greeted with a meltdown of cosmic proportions, and yes, I too have been known to sob like a French soccer player. All too often I lose sight of the fact that God ALWAYS sees the bigger picture and the finished product, while I only see the pieces most appealing to me and within my grasp. Too unwilling to wait and see what perfect gift He's building, I take whatever piece I can get my hands on, and I run with it.

Just as Sarah and I knew that toy shopping cart would bring Elijah such joy, God wants to introduce things in our lives that will do the same. And often, He'll build it before our eyes, not to tease us or tantalize us through every step of the building process but rather to get us to trust in His timing and develop patience, perseverance and even joy in the waiting and watching.

"Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart." Psalm 37:4

The BlueTruth

I was on my way back to the office from my semi-daily lunch run to Bojangl...I mean Subway...the other day when a commotion in the parking garage caught my eye. A well-respected leader from my organization was standing outside of his car pacing back and forth, making rather erratic movements (imagine the drunkest guy at a wedding trying to do the Electric Slide and the Macarena at the same time). Conflicted by my desires to help him, restrain him and pretend like I didn't see him all at the same time, I kept going thinking that he would instead see me and stop. He didn't. I got to the door and took one more glance back in hopes that the combination of the 110-degree day and the aroma of the cajun chicken sandwich I was carrying was causing me to hallucinate. It was then that I realized this individual wasn't in fact having a breakdown, he was just having a conversation...on the phone...using that wonderful piece of technology we know as Bluetooth.


I've drawn a line in the sand when it comes to technology, and that line is the miniature device that we can place in our ears enabling us to talk on the phone completely hands-free. This device also enables us to make innocent bystanders feel very uncomfortable as we carry on our phone conversations in public places. I can't tell you how many times I've been in a store or standing in line at Bojangl...Subway...and have attempted to interact with someone who wasn't talking to me. Hear me on this, I'm one who takes social etiquette very seriously, and I'm proud of my ability to detect clues that tell me when something is or isn't socially acceptable (my wife will more than likely disagree with that statement). But how am I supposed to pick up on a clue that I can't see? When I'm standing shoulder to shoulder with someone looking at diapers in Target, and they say something like, "So what are you doing later today?", I'm naturally going to respond with something like, "Put all of these diapers on my son at one time to see if it can be done." Oh, but wait, they weren't even talking to me, and now I've put myself out there to look like the weirdo. Sure, I have my moments of weirdness, but they have a piece of metal attached to the side of their head wirelessly transmitting a signal to the phone in their pocket, and I'm supposed to recognize what's going on while avoiding eye contact and risking an awkward situation in the diaper aisle? Well, Bluetooth, you just made the situation awkward because now I have to rescue the situation by whispering "sorry" and pretending like I'm ashamed of myself for not respecting the technology. We didn't have this problem back when mobile phones were tethered to bags that plugged into the cigarette lighters of cars. For my younger readers, yes this was once a reality--cars had cigarette lighters and mobile phones were for the elite...mainly because the service plans cost $200/month for 15 minutes of talk time. But back then, if I was addressed in the diaper aisle it was because someone wanted to share a conversation with me or, more than likely, was trying to get me to sell Amway.


Maybe my line in the sand is unreasonable and it's time to rethink it. I vowed that I would never relinquish my VCR for a DVD player, but after a visit to Blockbuster one day back in 2002, I realized how much of a social outcast I had become. After winding my through the rows and rows of DVDs, I found the 10 VHS tapes they still had on the shelf. They were pretty much all movies that I owned, except for one that I believe to have escaped from the naughty room of Roy's Video Warehouse two doors down. I received my very first DVD player a short time later. I'm wondering if it's time to redraw my line in the sand of cell technology and face the BlueTruth of Bluetooth. 

A New Look at Tree Hugging

I'm the self-proclaimed king of ridiculous analogies. I usually start with a harmless little metaphor, and then I stretch the heck out of it, often until it becomes unrecognizable as a cohesive thought and eventually just falls apart, leaving me scrambling to remember why I went down that path to begin with. This post is NOT going to go like that. Oh, who am I kidding? It probably will. Just consider yourself warned.


Over the past couple of weeks, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to believe or trust in God with your head and not your heart. And yep, you probably guessed it, I've come up with one cheesy analogy after another to express those thoughts. The one that I keep going back to in my mind has to do with gravity. Ok, I'll be honest, I Googled gravity, and I didn't understand anything I read, so I'll just sum up gravity as the force that keeps us from floating into the atmosphere (And with that summary, I'm pretty sure I just offended my 11th grade physics teacher and the descendants of Sir Isaac Newton. Awesome.).


So, what's the difference between believing in gravity and trusting in gravity? Here comes the analogy. Imagine walking through your neighborhood one day and seeing your neighbor in his front yard holding on to a tree. I'm not talking about one arm slung around a branch here; he's down on the ground with his arms and legs wrapped around the tree, holding on for dear life. Intrigued by the sight of this, you walk into his yard and ask him why he's hugging the tree. Here's how that conversation goes:


You (if you don't like your neighbor): "What's up, weirdo?"
You (if you do like your neighbor): "What's up?"


Your neighbor (if he doesn't like you): "Get out of my yard."
Your neighbor (if he does like you): "Please get out of my yard."
Your neighbor (if he likes you; me being serious this time): "Hey neighbor! Nice day, huh?"


You: "Are you tied to that tree?"
Neighbor: "No, I'm holding on so that I don't float away."
You: "Are you full of helium?"
Neighbor: "No, that's ridiculous."
You: "I'm not holding on, and I'm not floating away. Yay gravity!"
Neighbor: "Don't take this the wrong way, but that's just your opinion."
You: "It's not an opinion, it's the truth."
Neighbor: "Well, it might be true for you, but it's not for me."
You: "Do you not believe in gravity?"
Neighbor: "Sure, I believe that there is something called gravity, I learned about it in school, and for the most part it's proven to be real, but I don't think we can know everything there is to know about it--just what we've been told."
You: "Haven't you been told that it will keep you from floating away?"
Neighbor: "Yes, and I believe that, but I'm still not letting go of this tree."
You: "Then you don't really believe that about gravity, because if you did, you would let go and trust it to do what you believe it will do."
Neighbor: "Get out of my yard."


Recently, I had a conversation with someone very close to me. She had made a big mistake and felt like God could never forgive her. However, she truly believes that God exists, that He loves the world and sent His Son to die for our sins. But when it came to her situation, she feels that she has messed up so badly, God couldn't possibly offer His forgiveness. I took that opportunity to share a little bit about my life, and how I related to God for the first 23 years. I shared how I believed all kinds of things about Him in my head but none of those things were real in my heart. Just like me, she was struggling with the same disconnect. It was no different than a person who believes in the existence and principles of gravity but who refuses to let go of a tree in fear that he'll float away. I explained that there is a big difference in believing in things with your head and allowing them to transform your heart. And I went on to share that God placed His punishment for every sin--past, present and future--on His Son, Jesus, and that when Jesus died on the cross, the debt of all mankind was paid in full. When we confess our sins and ask for His help in turning away from our sinful life, and ask for forgiveness and a new life in Jesus, we can have assurance that that God hears us, forgives us and makes us a new creation by His grace through faith. You can read more about that in 2 Corinthians 5:17-21 and Ephesians 2:1-10.


I see the same analogy working for those who've become new creations but still have trouble trusting God and taking Him at His word. We're still clinging to trees, but we're doing it as children who struggle to believe that their Father is everything He says He is. He says that He'll provide for our needs, but we cling to the tree until we're absolutely sure that we'll be able to provide for our own needs. He says that hard times and tough circumstances will come our way but to not lose heart because He's with us every every step of the way. But we remain wrapped around the tree during the storm, unwilling to endure a little wind and rain as we run to a more secure and permanent shelter. He says that letting go and following Him wherever He leads us is the most important thing we can do in this life, but we cling to the safety and security we have found from years of holding on to the same tree. Each day, the Holy Spirit prompts us to let go, get up and move forward in trust, obedience and worship. We can do it, we just have to let go of the tree. You can read more about that in Luke 9:23 and Philippians 3:7-14.


Whether you're still questioning what it means to truly trust Jesus as your Lord and Savior, or you received Him long ago and have trouble following Him daily, ask the Lord to help you let go of your doubts and fears and instead walk confidently in the things that you've always believed to be true but have a hard time trusting in your heart.

Rescued from Religion

I'll never forget, it was the night before Easter of 2008. My wife was working feverishly in the kitchen preparing to host our first Easter dinner the next day. I, possessing not a drop of culinary talent, was supporting her from the other side of the counter--a safe distance away from all things breakable, burnable and prematurely eatable. Staring blankly into space, which is often what I do the closer it gets to midnight, I was hit with a thought that I've not forgotten since that very night. It was the realization that six years earlier, I had been rescued from the very religion that I thought would save me. This gave me a perspective on the first 24 years of my life that I never had before. 


From as early as I can remember, I was told that there was a God, so I believed it. I was told that He had a son named Jesus, so I believed it. I was told that His son died on the cross for my sins, so I believed it. I was told that the Bible was my instruction manual for living, so I believed it. But I had no idea how any of that actually applied to daily life, other than the fact that I was guaranteed a spot in Heaven when I died if and only if I agreed to all the above. So, I proudly carried the title of Christian with me until the day came when I realized I had no idea what it meant to truly believe in God. That day was September 11, 2001. A year prior, I had turned down a job that would've had me working in the Pentagon when America was attacked. Instead, I was safely watching the unforgettable scenes on TV six hours away. It was at that very moment I realized that God only existed in my head and not my heart. I had no idea what it meant to need Jesus as a Savior, even though I could tell you that He did in fact save me from my sins. There was a disconnect, and I didn't know what to do about it. So, I said this to God, "If You're real, show me what You're all about." Over the next year, He did. With every passing day, He opened my eyes to see my need for salvation; He opened my ears to hear His voice all around me, and He opened my heart to receive the love, grace, mercy and forgiveness that He offers to all those willing to ask for it. And what I came to realize on the night before Easter six years later was that He had rescued me from religion and saved me with a relationship.

Are You Pollen My Leg?

So it appears that my blog has become a place where I come to air my grievances with life's little annoyances. I didn't intend for it to be that way, it just happened. And it's happening again...right now. I know I'm taking the risk of decreasing my readership from four people down to one (I'll always have my wife pretending to support me while really only looking for typos), but it's a risk I'm willing to take.

Depending on how familiar you are with the South, you may or may not be aware of what transpires in the early days of April each year. No, not Easter--that's not just a Southern thing, although we do give it Southern flair by saying things like "He is risen, ya'll." What I'm actually talking about is the delightful process of natural selection that springtime in the South brings with it. You see, I have allergies, and every tree in Charlotte, NC is trying to kill me right now. And I'm not alone. I find the easiest conversation starter in Charlotte during the month of April is, "Do you take Zyrtec or Claritan D?" Pollen settles on this city like nothing you've ever seen, making us a community united--by the yellowish tint of our vehicles, the disgust on our faces and the eagerness for May's arrival.

But it's not all bad. In fact, I found ways to have fun during the pollen-soaked days of early spring. For example, earlier this week at the young adult Bible study that I lead on Monday nights, we decided to hold our discussion outside since the weather was so beautiful. By the the time we closed in prayer, we were all coated in pollen. I just pretended it was the powdery sugar from a lime Pixie Stick--a favorite from my childhood! So, I licked the table I was sitting at. Okay, I did not lick the table I was sitting at, but I did draw a heart on the outside cover of my Bible, which also had a coating of pollen on it. Drawing in pollen, now that was fun. In fact, it was so fun that I decided to write a message on the hood of my sister-in-law's car (see picture above). Yes, I sprayed the car off after I graffitied it. However, the pollen will return tonight, and I'm excited to write a new message tomorrow.

It's funny how God will use simple, everyday things like pollen to shed light on "stuff" inside of us. Every winter, I wait in desperation for the warmth and beauty of springtime, but when it arrives, I grow frustrated and inpatient with the not-so-pleasant aspects of this long-awaited season. Inpatience has always been a major character flaw of mine, and it seems like I'm taught this lesson every April--that enduring the unpleasantries of life is a big part of what makes the wonderful things so...well...wonderful. I'm counting down the days until the pollen has stopped falling, and I'm able to hang our hammock between the two beautiful hickory trees in our backyard. I love getting home from work and taking my son out to that hammock, stretching out and swaying back and forth as we watch the planes and clouds pass by overhead. Those two hickory trees could very well be culprits in the annual pollenfest, but I need to remember that soon they'll be giving me their full support as I spend precious time with my son. And as I wait for that day to get here, I'm going to try and maintain that perspective! I have a feeling that the beauty found in waiting for that day to arrive will only add to the reward that comes with its arrival.

Salutation Reform

So now that healthcare reform has been checked off the list, I'm hoping the government will focus on a piece of legislation that I've been waiting on for decades--salutation reform. Our culture has come so far over the past couple of centuries, yet we're still living in the Dark Ages when it comes to how we greet one another. If you know me, you know where I'm going with this. If you don't, then I'll spare you the guessing game. Let's do away with the handshake. In fact, let's make it downright illegal. I believe with all my heart that we can find another gesture to accompany the phrases "pleasure to meet you" and "hey, it's nice to see you again" than by offering an open palm. There are tons of options out there, ranging from ones I can support (the ever-so-slight bow used in some Asian countries) to those that I won't even consider (a kiss on each cheek).

From what I can tell, the handshake is the international standard, but I don't know why. I did some extensive research on the handshake...just now...on Wikipedia. While it appears that the origin is unkown, some think that it was first used as a sign of peace to show that the hand held no weapons. Well if you don't think millions of microscopic killer viruses qualify as a weapon, then shake on--I'm obviously from a different school of thought. And when was the handshake agreed upon as the accepted greeting?? Oh that I could've been present eons ago at the Global Salutation Summit where it was decided that an individual is rude unless they extend their unwashed, germ-coated hand to embrace yours. I don't know who they were, but I can only surmise that the decision makers were a group of filthy men with little to no respect for the perils of infectious disease. What they didn't know is that their descendants would someday become the same men (and women, or so I'm told) that have the audacity to visit the potty and then bypass the sink or Purell dispenser on their way out the door. Those men (and their potty-tainted ancestors) were (and are) completely oblivious to the existence of people like me who genuinely need therapy and/or medication to help deal with the reality of germs (important note: while I'm not currently receiving therapy or taking medication, I am confident that I am a strong candidate for both).

With the help of the federal government, we can do away with this culturally mandatory exchange of germs. The legislative process is my only hope at this point. Nothing else is working. I've tried the fist bump, but that went out with the 90s. I've tried the business-casual hug (using only one arm and initiating the hug sequence from the side instead of straight on). I've also tried the "I'd shake your hand but..." approach in which I finish that sentence with a semi-accurate word or phrase such as, "...I have something on my hands" or "...my hands are wet, dang bathroom didn't have paper towels." My guess is that you've tried some of these things too. Oh sure, they may work for a while, but you can only half-hug someone so many times before they start getting the wrong impression or before you forget that you've half-hugged them in the past and you inadvertently revert to a hand shake, which they interpret as a step backward in your relationship. This isn't working people. We need reform. And I'm willing to go bi-partisan on this. We don't need the help of the Tea Party, we just need enough people to take a stand against the Pee Party.

If you're with me, give me Faux Five--it's like a high five, but our hands stop short of touching.

Techno-Shock

Sarah and I took a giant leap forward yesterday, technologically speaking, and according to my estimates, we’re about five years behind everyone else. After some intense number crunching and smooth talking, I was able to convince Sarah that by switching satellite providers, I could save us money each month and propel us into the 21^st Century with a nifty little invention called digital video recording, or DVR. I stayed up way too late a couple of nights ago implementing my master plan, which included lengthy phone conversations with my former satellite provider, whom I’ll refer to as NeglecTV, and my new provider, whom I’ll call Wish Network. I’ll save my rant against poor customer service for another post.

The installation happened yesterday, but being too tired to dive in last night, I waited until today to give it a try. After sleeping in until 10 a.m. and waking to the smell of fresh-baked muffins and the sight of my son successfully changing his own diaper, I ran into the living room to play with my new toy like a child on Christmas morning. Okay, that’s not at all how this morning went (I got a little carried away with my Wish Network metaphor). Actually, Elijah thought it would be awesome to wake up at 5:40 this morning and pull my hair until I got out of bed to fetch him a bottle. After feeding him and changing his diaper—myself—I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. I digress.

So after glancing over a quick reference guide and familiarizing myself with the remote (I’m a nerd like that), I was ready to try it out, but much to my surprise, my response was not what I expected. I went into full-blown techno-shock. I now had power like never before. With the push of a button (or several pushes of many buttons—learning curve), I had the ability to record two programs at one time, fast forward through commercials and…and...PAUSE LIVE TELEVISION!!! I did, I paused live television several times this morning, not because I needed to, but because I could. For 31.5 years, I’ve been at the mercy of how television wanted me to watch it, but now the tables have turned. Over the next 15 minutes, I managed to pre-select three movies and four shows to record, and I found myself looking for commercials to fast forward through. All of this brought about a sense of guilt, like I was I was doing something very illegal, for only $6 more per month. This is all wrong. Commercials are made to be watched, not skipped. They’re made to inform, promote, inspire and convince. I know this because that’s what I do for a living—I market. In fact, my colleagues and I just finished creating four new commercials to launch our company’s latest branding campaign. They made their debut just last week! And now, I find myself among the group of ungrateful consumers who have the ability to fast forward right through them like they don’t even matter. They matter alright, but the newest member of my household, DVR, wants to treat them like nothing more than a minor and extremely avoidable annoyance to my television-viewing pleasure. I find this all very ironic because, while DVR is a digital slap in the face to us marketers, it will also prove to be a huge time-saver in my life, which may allow me to spend more time at work, creating things that people are just going to end up ignoring thanks to DVR. My convictions tell me to cancel the $6/month charge and send back the DVR receiver, but then again, I did pause live television today.

Playground Etiquette

The public playground secret code of conduct. Ever heard of it? It exists. I saw it with my very own eyes the other day. I liken it to the guidelines that exist around personal space in a public elevator or the unspoken rules that two male friends adhere to when entering a public restroom at the same time--the one urinal buffer and the pause in conversation until meeting again at the sink.

Sarah and I took our 17-month-old son, Elijah, to a public playground for the first time last Sunday. Sure, I've been to public playgrounds before. In fact, I was the self-crowned king of the monkey bars between the ages of 6 and 9, and my wife claims that she was quite a swinger when she was young. I suggested she find a better way to say that. Well, apparently frequenting public playgrounds as a kid and taking your own kids to playgrounds are two very different things. We were the newbies, and it was quite evident. Now, at this point, I could go into the fact that our son has a very serious heart defect, and that, much to his dismay, he lives 95% of his life inside a boring, little antimicrobial world that we've worked really hard to create. But I won't go there because I think it's better that you maintain an objective opinion of our experience and not rule in our favor by default.

So, here we are, the rookie parents rolling up to the busy playground; our plan was to have a quick picnic lunch and then treat Elijah to some normalcy--something he doesn't often get. The park was crowded, really crowded. A birthday party was in its infant stages (I had to) under the shelter off in the distance. Directly in front of us, the sight of children ages 2 to 12 running here and there, trading giggles and germs like it was their job. I first noticed the stares in our direction as we navigated our stroller packed with cargo down the sidewalk toward our grassy destination. Sure, the stroller was full--we were having a picnic. Was it ideal that we had to carry Elijah because there was too much stuff in the stroller for him to ride? No. Hence the staring. After a fast lunch, we headed up to the swing set, which consisted of two big-kid swings and two toddler swings (you know, the bucket seat with leg holes). After parking our baby U-Haul, we proceeded to pull out the Clorox wipes to try and kill as much bacteria as possible before placing Elijah in the swing. We knew that sanitizing playground equipment in broad daylight was a risky move, but there was nastiness on that swing, and it was our job to annihilate it. The Clorox wipes drew some stares, but not as many as what came next in our little adventure. It was Elijah's first time on a real-deal swing set, so of course we had to take pictures--Smith family style, which is more like a Gerber product photo shoot. Sure, we snapped a few more than we needed to, but the sun provided perfect lighting and the smile on Elijah's face was priceless. As for the man pushing his daughter in the next swing over? Well, he was disgusted. His non-verbals almost said it all, and what they didn't say, his verbals did. Caught up in her mission to get the money shot, Sarah inadvertently stepped in the path of the man's swing zone. There was still plenty of room between Sarah, our camera and his little girl's feet, but not enough for his liking. "Ma'am!", he quipped. And that's all it took. That one word quickly made us realize that, between disinfecting public equipment and our mini-photo shoot, we were way out of line. We simply weren't adhering to the same code of conduct that the other parents were. We were rattled. After a couple more pushes and some retaliatory snapshots, we removed Elijah from the swing and made our way to the slide. Elijah was none too pleased about the abrupt ending to his swinging bliss (the photo with this post says it all). The slide didn't work out, and so we decided to call it a day. We did manage to squeeze in a nice stroll around the park during our stay and that, combined with the enjoyable lunch was enough to make us return someday. Yes, we'll have the Clorox Wipes and the camera with us the next time because we're the Smiths, and that's what we do. As for acknowledging and adhering to the parental code of conduct, we'll see how that goes.

I Think I'll Start Blogging

I'm always thinking about things that I want to do and things that I'm going to do. Unfortunately, these rarely translate to things that I actually do. Need references? Okay. The keyboard in my hall closet, the Wii Fit under my bed, the eliptical machine in my garage, the "Learn Spanish in Two Weeks" book in my nightstand, the leaves in my yard from last November, the plastic guard that I bought two summers ago to prevent birds from flying into my attic through the exterior dryer vent, the dead bird in my attic who flew in from the exterior dryer vent last summer. Can I stop now?

Today, I diagnosed myself as a chronic thinker of the worst kind--one that's way too easily distracted. It happened after an occurrence that has become far too normal for me. I was in the shower, and I'm pretty sure that I washed my hair twice because I was so deep in thought the first time that I don't remember doing it. Snicker all you want, you've done it too. Haven't you? Anyone? Please? My wife once told me that I go through shampoo too fast. Today I figured out why. That's when the self-diagnosis came. The prescription? One more thing that I think I should start doing. So, here I am. And hopefully, here you are (note to audience: if "you" ends up only being my wife, let me know; I'll shut this thing down, and we'll do this at the dinner table). I figure it's time to start letting some of these thoughts out, if for no other reason than to increase the lifespan of my shampoo. And if this blog is headed in same direction as my aspirations to play piano, learn Spanish, exercise 30 minutes a day and keep birds out of my attic, then don't get too comfortable, this ride will be over before you know it.