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This now leads my Household Tools I Most Desire list. I know it sucks. What are its bad points?

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Gregg Easterbrook, the writer of what is now ESPN’s Tuesday Morning Quarterback column, reminded me why I like his writing so much when he addressed the issues of placing blame.

Revisionism addendum: Suppose Clinton had, in 1998, ordered an invasion of Afghanistan to destroy al-Qaida and Taliban forces there, as the docudrama suggested Clinton should have. Surely the president would have been bitterly denounced by Republicans, and since Sept. 11 would never have happened, today the 1998 invasion of Afghanistan would be spoken of as a pointless fiasco of the highest order. Something to chew on when you think about the Iraq war.

Hit this link and search for phrase “Republican, Democrats Accuse Each Other of Partisanship” within the article. Good stuff.

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I’ll echo the sentiments of the source, this is impossibly cute.

Humour doesn’t need translation.

Two things: I’d love to get a poster of that train for my son’s bedroom. I’ll never look at corn quite the same way again.

I’m fairly certain my wife is familiar with this feeling. I can’t say I’m immune myself.

Thanks to the internet, classic commercials never die.

By way of CNet, I came across some excellent advice for the top dogs of the coporate world. Mrs. Slim also had some good advice for us peons.

Due to some recent events, the item with a #2 next to it in each list applies to me, in a rather positive way in both accounts. Just sayin’.

There are few things in the world I’d like to do less than subject my youngest child to a second eye surgery. That is, however, exactly what I’ll be doing tomorrow morning. I’ll be worrying. I’ll be pacing. And my little one will spend a second morning sleeping soundly on an operating table, oblivious to the pain and discomfort that awaits him when he wakes.

The concept is difficult for me. The surgery itself fraught with uncertainty, filled with much more mystery than I first anticipated. 6 months ago the wife and I went through a similar process. We wondered if we were doing the right thing. We worried that we choose a bad course of action or rushed to action. The consequences weren’t something you could read off a handy list. How well will he sleep? Will the scars forever haunt him?

All those concerns remain. This time, however, we’ve added something significant to our thoughts: will it work?

I hope so. I’ll certainly be praying to that effect.

Reasons 1 – 342 that I didn’t become a doctor, besides all that homework I would have faced. I’d pick a favorite but I need to stop cringing first.

I don’t think I’ve read a better piece of journalism in a long, long time.

As suggested by my source, stick with it all the way to the end.

I’ve got a funny habit. I’ve had it for a while. About three years ago I placed my hand on my first son’s chest while he was sleeping and felt for his breath. I didn’t feel anything at first. My hand was huge compared to his tiny chest. My fingers nearly wrapped around him. I needed to search for breathing and, after a short while, I found it. That tiny chest rose and fell. Relief washed over me. Satisfied, I returned to my bed.

Through the years, that little body has grown larger but that hand continues to chase its sleep. Sometimes that hand finds a back or a side. Sometimes it discovers a forehead or foot, depending on the lighting. A year ago, it found a second companion. My habit gives me reassurance. But, for a brief moment each night — maybe while I search the covers or cautiously feel through layers of warm clothing — I feel a little fear.

I’m certain that my friends, who lost their baby just a short time ago, are familiar with that feeling. Their little one spent his short time on this earth in the hospital. Their hands and hearts spent a lot of time searching, worrying, and praying.

I can’t pretend to understand their grief. As a father, I don’t want to try. But I want them to know they are in the thoughts and prayers of my wife and I. We think about them a lot.

About twice a night.

If, by chance, three men were to head out in the wilderness in the cold of near-Winter, they would need supplies. They’d need the obvious stuff. Beer, for example, comes to mind. And, presumably, they’d need other things as well. If we were to form a list, what would it look like?

Beer (don’t want to forget this)
Macaroni and Cheese
Instant Pancake Mix
Cast Iron Skillet
Pepperoni
Cooking Spray/Oil

Pillows
Blankets
Shower Curtain (to allow washing of stinking butts)

Fire starters
Firewood
Axes
Tarps
Propane
Cooler (for beer)
Ice (for the cooler for the beer)
Pie Iron
Dutch Oven

PSPs
DSs
Classic videogames
Scary movies
Funny movies
Wireless Hub

Beer

Note: Updated per comments.

For those of you who were worried about the breaking news that concerned my hometown from about a week ago, I wanted to put your fears to rest. Weiner man is indeed safe and sound. Shew. I know I’ll sleep better tonight.

The idea of opening my home to bunch of strange folks — not strangers,
mind you; just strange — is not something that comes natural to me.
This may be apparent if you examine the facts. The wife and I now live in our second
home and we just hosted our first open house. The math isn’t
especially difficult.

In a way, I’m surprised it happened at all. In the past, I’ve
thought of an open house as something you postpone until your home is too
old to show off. After all, a new homeowner is incredibly busy after the
big move. We were no exception. Who wants to clean? Who wants to clean
right now?

This was certainly the case the first time around. My
desire to name the delayed party (“Housecooling”, “Houselukewarming”,
“House not quite warm, not quite cold, but somewhere in the middle”)
didn’t help remove the sting of that missed opportunity from my wife.

This time, however, the wife wasn’t about to let me wiggle out of it and,
to tell the truth, my agreement in the matter was more than passive.
Hell, I wanted to show off my new home. I’ll admit it.
Two months later, I’m still incredibly excited about it. I get giddy
when I peer out the front door. I smile when the garage door opens
from a simple button press. I wanted to share. I wanted to show folks what
I’ve been blathering about for the past 4 months. I almost didn’t
mind the cleaning.

It didn’t hurt that an open house was a great excuse to convince the Baltimore natives that we call our friends and family to visit us across state lines. The wife and I are cognizant that we now “far away” in both a geographical (somewhat true) and phycological (more true) sence. Our neck of the woods now includes trees. It was great to see people under them.

I want to thank everyone who came (and sent us yummy gifts — you know who you are). This precious opportunity to show folks our new little world was a lot of fun for us, but ultimately imcomplete. I hope to see folks make a return trip. I need help drinking all the leftover beer.