The Shop-Vac Toss


So I came home early today and thought to myself, I should clean out my fire place in anticipation of my parents coming to visit.  My parents and I have a fundamental disagreement on what constitutes “comfortable.”  With Asher (ironic) by my side cleaning out the ash and soot I decided that most of it was gone so I could put down the shovel and clean the rest with the shop-vac.  About 30 second’s went by before I noticed my ten year old, bottom of the line, shop-vac was spewing ash and soot all over my living room and dining room.

For those of you who think that I am talking about getting a little on the carpet, I wish that was the case.  I could not see half of the room because of the black soot.  By the time the ash had cleared my whole upstairs seemed to have a film on it, and much of the living room had what could only be described as a blanket.  It was at this point that I went outside, cleaned the shop vac, made sure it was working properly, then went back to start to clean up.  The shop-vac failed one more time.  That is when the pastor in me left and I walked out of the house and chucked the shop-vac about 20 yards (I measured later after I cooled off).

After about 2 hours of cleaning I went downstairs to where I had sent my children while my wife and I tried to tackle a colossal mess.  I explained to them that the mess upstairs was much more dire than they might realize and that I needed my boys (the three oldest) to keep and play with their little sister.  While I was explaining this I had a caesar salad in my hand that was prepared before this whole thing began.  When I was finished talking I asked them if they understood and my two year old daughter said “okay dad” as I had given her a role in this whole thing, and my 9 year old son said “can I finish your salad.”

That Ninja is a Cuddler!?


I have four kids, all of whom distinguish themselves in various ways.  My oldest is diligent, active, and a bit of an activist.  My second son is out-going and expressive.  My daughter is articulate and expressive.  Then there is my third son, my intellectual ninja.

So this morning I went through my normal morning processes, letting the dogs out, starting coffee, starting a fire, and trying to get some school reading done before my daughter wakes up.  While I was sitting in front of the fire with my book, Asher, my third son, comes out and crawls into my lap.  The reason this is significant is because he normally has something to tell me.  He learned to read almost before he really learned how to speak so he frequently uses large words and complex phrases.  However many times these words and phrases started off on paper for him so they are frequently stated incorrectly and/or very deliberately; like someone patiently trying to form a piece of clay into a sculpture.

The other reason that this is significant is because he is my ninja, he is the one that runs around our neighborhood with a sword slipped between his shirt and his back.  He is the one that lives life in super hero mode.  Yet this morning he crawled into my lap and clung to me for five minutes, then got down to do something and came back and did it again.