Taking Time to Notice

With all the craziness lately, it can be difficult to appreciate the wonderful things God has to show me.

I took this picture last week while watching Phoebe. Monkey-Girl was at the library studying. Phoebe was still in her carrier just beginning to fuss. Mercutio was doing his thing. I saw this dew-dabbled web and thought, "I should take a picture of that, but there's so much else to do."

Then something else reminded me that the other things could wait.

I'm glad I did.

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Frazz Is Therapy for My Soul

Today's Frazz comic by Jef Mallet is a a perfect example of why I love this strip. I particularly like the one-two punch of the teacher not leaving tips (not an issue here as I'm a former bartender) and riding on a converging train (think about it).

Frazz is a successful songwriter turned janitor at his old elementary school. He is also the school's most respected educator. Caulfield is a precocious young man who always seems to be getting into trouble for knowing more than his teacher. Early on the the series there was an extended period of time devoted to poking fun at standardized testing. Caulfield got a very low score as he refused to take the high-stakes test seriously and used the answer sheet to create pixilated versions of great works of art.

Some teachers love Frazz. Others despise it. They see the jabs at the mentality of the system as pokes at themselves. I say that if you are offended you should examine why. Personally, I see Frazz as a touchstone. I never want to be like Mrs. Olsen.

Why am I a math educator? To get young people to solve quadratic equations by completing the square? I should hope not. I see my time with students as a way of preparing them to solve life's problems. The way through any difficulty can be examined as a series of simple steps and procedures. The challenge comes from going from the concrete (problems in the book) to the abstract (securing a mortgage).

You can check Frazz out for yourself each day by clicking here.

A Little Inspiration

The pun is completely intentional.

I am one of the few people on the internet to have purchased this action figure without any irony. If you know me at all, you know I love toys. A few years ago I was reading through Toy Fare, a magazine devoted to . . . uh . . . toys. I saw this figure and others from the line posed with some sophomoric caption. Looking to my toy shelf and seeing a significant lack of messiahs, I rushed to secure my very own son of man.

I've got to say that even though it isn't the focus of any toy display of mine, my occasional glance this figure's way results in a smile and lightened heart every time.

Train Up A Child, Inc. sells the above Jesus action figure along with a host (again, the pun is intentional) of other biblical action figures. The six-inch scale figures are available in light and dark skinned varieties for $6.95.

There were other Jesus action figures out there, but most of those didn't seem to have the same intentionality. Hopefully your search for a plastic savior replica will offer more variety with the same respect.

Phoebe, Meet and Old Friend of Mine

While Monkey-Girl is hitting the books at the seminary, Phoebe and I are indulging in some quality time. She'll be eight weeks old on Monday. I feel it's high time she was indoctrinated into the ways of that story from a long time ago and a galaxy far, far away.

Today we've seen The Phantom Menace and are currently watching Attack of the Clones. Perhaps we'll continue our personal marathon tomorrow.

Sorry so short, but The Saga calls.

The Legend Begins

I know. I know. It’s been way too long since my last update. I have my excuses, of course. I was violently ill. That’s no exaggeration. I had evil bloodshot eyes from the burst blood vessels caused by throwing up four or five times in less than twenty-four hours. I endured the eternally boring pre-student teacher meetings that come with my chosen career. The Olympics started. I can’t explain my fascination. I’m the least athletic person I can think of (including Phoebe) and I can’t be torn away. School started. I have a new batch of kids to guide through the frightening territory that is Algebra 1. Those are just excuses. I know it. You know it. I know you know it. To make up for it, I’m pulling the trigger on what may possibly be greatest blog entry I have ever composed.

Messieurs et mesdames, je vous présente La Couette!


The Quilt has a more popular name around these parts, but I don’t want to give anything away just yet. The definite article and capitalization will just have to do for now. Let me just say this thing is going to totally live up to the legendary status I’m throwing its way.

First, some history. When Monkey-Girl’s mother (MGM) was pregnant with Monkey-Girl some friends of the family decided to throw a shower. The hostess had the cute idea to give each of the guests a square of fabric to customize. It has been reported that the guests were given a week to do this. The hostess then assembled the above quilt and presented it to MGM. Some years passed. (Let’s say a few more than twenty.) During which, The Quilt was put into storage along with other baby stuff. Mice got in, tried of some bonnets and footies, pooped, and moved on. When MGM heard she was going to be a grandma she uncovered the box containing The Quilt, rescued most of the contents and presented Monkey-Girl and me with The Quilt.

Let’s move on to commentary. First, the hostess of MGM’s shower is a cruel, cruel woman. Maybe it was a different time, but to tell all of MGM’s friends to just toss of a meaningful quilt square in a week is fairly brazen. I can imagine some of the women sweating it out trying desperately to teach themselves to embroider. I’ll bet there were tears. Tears and swearing.

The variation in quality is amusing. I’ll assume some women saw this as a catty competition complete with snide and/or resentful remarks.

“Oh, Hildegard, what a lovely . . . smiley face,” said Gertrude. Her voice dripped with sarcastic venom.

“Thank you, Gertrude, but I thought your pointillist interpretation of Picasso’s The Old Guitarist was a bit much,” said Hildegard through her nose.

At which point the crudités started flying.

This most likely didn’t happen, but a man can dream can’t he? Also, I’m sorry for all of the French. It just flows so well.

On with the highlights!


Say hello to batbear. He’s the singular offspring of two of the north woods' scariest mammals. I personally see a resemblance to a mogwai from 1984’s Gremlins while Monkey-Girl thinks it looks a little like Disney’s Stitch.

I have no idea what was intended for this particular square, but I must say that the result, batbear, is rather cute and very entertaining. That would make the project an unqualified success.

Finally, I can reveal the coup de grace. (Again with the French!)


Just take in the picture above. You will probably notice that one brick spells out the word van and that another sports the word bus. You may think there’s a theme. Perhaps the final brick will spell car. Nope. It’s kirk. Were these people big Star Trek fans? No, they were the Vanbuskirks and, in a forgivable bit of vanity, decided to emblazon Monkey-Girl’s quilt-to-be with their own name. That being said, I’m surprised that it had taken so long for anyone to notice the unintended consequence of Ms. Vanbuskirk’s narcissism.


That's right. The blanket totally says anus! That’s f-in’ gold! Who’d put the word anus on a blanket for a friend’s baby? I’ll tell you who. Ms. Vanbuskirk would do it right after the shower hostess handed her a square of fabric and said she had a week to impress the world. Ms. Vanbuskirk, I salute you.

The Quilt’s true name can finally be revealed. Our house shall always be known as the dwelling of Anus Blanket.

Now you know the story of Anus Blanket. Was it worth it? Probably not. (I totally oversold it.)Was it fun to set down? Absolutely!

Thanks for stopping by. Check out the massive baby picture update above. I promise I’ll try to be a little more frequent with my posts now that my schedule is settling down.

Oh! I almost forgot. I have a perfect coda to the anus blanket story. During the above mentioned teacher meetings last week, the principals from all over the district introduced all of their new teachers. One of the elementary schools has a new teacher, Ms. Vanbuskirk. Needless to say, my ears picked up at that. I wanted to rush over and say hello, but how can you tell a stranger that you really wanted to meet them because someone with the same last name as them helped to create the soon to be famous Anus Blanket?