<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137</id><updated>2011-07-25T04:17:11.669-06:00</updated><title type='text'>saturday mornings with josiah...</title><subtitle type='html'>and other wonderful life adventures...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>49</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-1081837853106967473</id><published>2008-11-05T09:22:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T07:36:03.254-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet land of liberty...</title><content type='html'>I am an American. I want to get that out there first and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;foremost&lt;/span&gt;. I am not a Republican, not an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Independent&lt;/span&gt;, not a Conservative, not any kind of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;hyphenated&lt;/span&gt; American. I am American, period, and proud of it. I am only 3 generations off the boat, within the past century, parts of my family have come to this country. Ellis Island... I can only imagine what joy they experienced.&lt;br /&gt;Today, is what we as a Nation are about. I am conservative in my views on life, so needless to say, you may know who I didn't vote for. I have heard it all about conservatives, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;niave&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, Bible &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;huggers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, narrow minded, uneducated, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ect&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. (The one thing I will debate is the uneducated. I have spent more time studying this election than most &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;libral&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; people I know.) &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;That's&lt;/span&gt; not what this is about. THERE WILL BE NO &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;PITTY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; PARTY THAT I WILL BE ATTENDING.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe in the Bible and the Constitution. I believe the Original Constitution and Declaration of Independence of this great Nation was inspired by God through men that were in tune with God. Sound familiar? You can make jokes about our Founding Fathers actually being "Founding Fathers" and their beliefs on slavery or what have you, but they were still in tune with God. The same holds true with the Bible... David had a man killed to take his wife, but God still called him a man after his own heart. Peter denied Jesus, not once but three times publicly, yet told him he is the rock and the gates of hell will not prevail against him. I am not saying that the Constitution is equal to the Bible, just that I believe that it was a gift that God gave us. I am just saying that God can work through anyone or anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the time as a Nation and as an individual, we need to roll up our sleeves and get dirty. This great Nation is a gift from God. I know that we have steered far from the course of our founding fathers, but this Country is still a gift that we need to defend. Those of us that are Christians, believe that God will provide and His will be done. We believe He answers every prayer, some yes, some no, and some now is not the time. We as Christians have all prayed the prayers for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;life's&lt;/span&gt; necessities at one time or another. We all have stories of how He has provided.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My question to you is...When God gave you that car that you so desperately need to get to work,when you didn't think you had a chance, do you not check the oil or put gas in it? When you thought you couldn't have children and you were blessed with a child through some miracle...Did you not feed that child, clothe &amp;amp; bathe it? When you didn't have money for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;groceries&lt;/span&gt; one week and someone dropped some food of at your house...Did you not have to cook it or put it on a plate and feed yourself?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God gave us this country with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;responsibilities&lt;/span&gt;. We do not get to worship, when we want &amp;amp; how we want, just because. WE STILL HAVE TO WORK FOR IT. Will it end? Sure someday, the Bible says so, but Jesus, himself, told the parable of the man who put hid his talent under the rock and did nothing with it. He called the man wicked and lazy. We were put here for a reason. We still render unto &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Caesar&lt;/span&gt; what is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Caesar's&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, just like the Jews did. Our country, just like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Israel&lt;/span&gt; was a gift to the Jews, is a gift to us. I believe in power of faith &amp;amp; God, but I'm not going to walk out in front of a bus on the interstate. There is a fine line between stupidity and pure faith, but the one thing I know is that if we do nothing...we will be judged wicked and lazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. -&lt;/em&gt; Declaration of Independence&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These words should still ring true to our hearts, just as the day they were written. Notice Creator is capitalized, just like God is capitalized? Coincidence, I think not. Today, though, we need to pay attention to the last sentence. These men in power have derived their powers from the PEOPLE that they govern. If WE the PEOPLE, stand up for what WE believe, then WE as a nation still have a chance. If WE the people are strong in our FAITH, then WE shall prevail for as long us God wants us to prevail. When the Jews were in slavery in Egypt, did they just give up? Imagine if the Jews just quit during the times of the Roman rule. We are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;promised&lt;/span&gt; our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Promised&lt;/span&gt; Land, but we need to take care of what our Creator has given us now. I just warn people of "putting their talent under a rock" because we all know that someday this will come to an end. Lest we be judged, just like the wicked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-1081837853106967473?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/1081837853106967473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=1081837853106967473' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1081837853106967473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1081837853106967473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2008/11/sweet-land-of-liberty.html' title='Sweet land of liberty...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-374447306949627000</id><published>2008-11-04T13:33:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T14:59:14.307-06:00</updated><title type='text'>milestone...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ux8-J4JC5tk/SRC3TfHnOdI/AAAAAAAAAAM/U5Tm5NQGoxk/s1600-h/Picture+201.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264909509794937298" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 177px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ux8-J4JC5tk/SRC3TfHnOdI/AAAAAAAAAAM/U5Tm5NQGoxk/s320/Picture+201.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm back from my blogging hiatus.&lt;br /&gt;The events of this past weekend, I can't contain myself. This weekend was a dream come true and so far in life I have learned these events do not happen very often. To most people from the outside looking in, the events of this weekend as no real big deal. This is for those parents that have lived life with a personal passion, maybe something you wish you would have pursued or something just because of age you had to give up. Face it, we're not getting any younger. At least I'm not.&lt;br /&gt;Rewind the clock to February 19th, 2001 in Fairfield, Ohio. More exactly, Mercy Fairfield Hospital around noon, my wife was asleep (thanks to the power of medicine) and I was sitting alone in the hospital room. About eight hours from one of the greatest moments of my life, I sat there pondering what this little boy that we were about to be blessed with, will be like. A moment I will never forget. I sat in the chair, feet hanging over one end of the chair &amp;amp; my head hanging over the other arm gazing up at the ceiling with an occasional glimpse over to my wife when she moved. I sat thinking about what he was going to be like. Will he be into sports? Will he like the same things I like? Will he even like me? What is life going to be like 2 months from now? 5 years? 10 years? 20 years?&lt;br /&gt;I grew up loving sports. I loved playing them; watching them. I had talents in all major sports. I could hang pretty well in football, basketball, baseball &amp;amp; soccer. My first love, though, was soccer, the beautiful game as it is called. It is a sport that isn't appreciated by many, unless you really understand the skill involved to be GOOD at it. I have been playing since I was in 2nd grade. It wasn't until I was in about 4th / 5th grade that I became really good at it and realized I could have a future in it. Enough about those details, that's not what this is really about. Sitting in that chair, I hoped, almost prayed that he would love soccer. Selfish, I know but what Dad hasn't done that, right?... hoped his son would be as talented or more so than themselves in something they have done.&lt;br /&gt;I am fortunate. My son is more talented than I am. I have had the blessing of coaching him five of the six soccer seasons that he has played. I didn't coach one season and mid way through the season I told my wife "I quit doing this parent thing, I want to coach again." I love coaching the game and my son loves me coaching him. The staying after practice and working on drills, just the two of us. Going up to the fields in the summer just to kick around, just the two of us. The drive to and from the field talking about the game or how to do something better. He actually looks up to me (not much longer though). This is the one thing that the two of us have poured a lot of time in effort into.&lt;br /&gt;This weekend we were in a big tournament. This is the first team that has been good enough to make it to a tournament. The first two games were awesome. Josiah scored the first goal of the first game. They came back and scored two more. It was 2-1 going into the forth period. We scored in the forth to tie. Josiah shot on goal, the goalie dived on the ball and then it squirted out from under the goalie, Josiah took it and shot...GOAL!!! The ref then blew the final whistle...we won! The next game Josiah scored the only goal in the game &amp;amp; we were guaranteed a spot in the finals. We lost our third game, playing shorthanded, but we still qualified for the Final game. The final was a nail bitter, but we won 2-0. We had won the Championship! At 7 years old my son accomplished something that I had never. I had played on all sorts of sports teams from football, basketball to soccer, but never had I been on a Championship team. I won awards, myself, but never as a team to be called the Champions.&lt;br /&gt;OK, I know, it was a U8 Tournament, not the World Cup or Olympics or something, but he has a taste. At 7 years old he has a taste of what its like to be a star of a team, but not only just the star, but a Champion. He ran to the side lines jumping up and down, headed straight for me and he hugged me exclaiming "We are the Champions!" "We did it, buddy, we did it." I responded. This was a season of hard work by both of us, and I couldn't have been prouder of the boys. Coaching this age is fun...and I'm sure I don't have much longer to coach him. Dealing with the "politics" of coaching older kids, doesn't interest me. So this is a moment I have to savor with my son. I am sure I will have moments like this with my daughter. As a matter of fact she ran across the field after the game was over all I heard was her little voice yelling like she does after every game "DADDY, DADDY" Then I get a big hug. At that moment in life, I don't think I have ever felt that good. I'll let you in on a secret...I stepped away from the crowd for a moment to pick up the water bottles and trash on our sideline...I was trying hard not to get choked up. I wasn't just proud of my son, but all the boys. If my son keeps going in soccer, that won't be his last, I'm sure. For some of those boys, that may be the only time...and I helped them get there. Living vicariously through each one of them, I guess. Every season, I get attached to each team. Next season will be hard...because this will be a hard team to forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Josiah is so proud of his trophy, he took it to school today. To be honest, I am proud of my trophy too, I think I'll take it to my office tomorrow. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-374447306949627000?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/374447306949627000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=374447306949627000' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/374447306949627000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/374447306949627000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2008/11/milestone.html' title='milestone...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ux8-J4JC5tk/SRC3TfHnOdI/AAAAAAAAAAM/U5Tm5NQGoxk/s72-c/Picture+201.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-3657116604245042413</id><published>2008-01-28T12:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T12:12:52.717-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Daddy's little girl.</title><content type='html'>I have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;eluded&lt;/span&gt; to Ella's sense of humor before.  We went for a "Sunday Drive" yesterday and on our way home I caught the end of Ella &amp;amp; Josiah's conversation in the back.  Josiah responded to whatever it was that she had said with " So you think you're funny..."&lt;br /&gt;"Yep, I am funny." She replied.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-3657116604245042413?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/3657116604245042413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=3657116604245042413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/3657116604245042413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/3657116604245042413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2008/01/daddys-little-girl.html' title='Daddy&apos;s little girl.'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-1759448361749059807</id><published>2008-01-28T11:40:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T11:59:58.718-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I wanna giggle...</title><content type='html'>Just a thought.  I came home the other day, my daughter was waiting for me, just like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;any other&lt;/span&gt; day.  Today she had this little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ornery&lt;/span&gt; grin, that I love so much. This started a game of me chasing her down the hallway (making funny noises and looking equally stupid, I'm sure). She thought it was funny.  The chase ended on the little love seat she has in her room, and like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;any other&lt;/span&gt; chase I was concluded with me tickling her.  She was just giggling up a furry.  I concluded the tickle fest with a kiss on the forehead &amp;amp; I started to walk out of her room.  She blew by me giggling and yelling "tickle me again."  It hit me. Growing up stinks and at what point and time is giggling and being tickled no longer fun.  I'm sure it was somewhere in the teenage years.  I'm not very &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ticklish&lt;/span&gt;, but I can remember being a kid and being tickled.  It was quite a rush.  Now I can't stand it.  Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want that reckless abandon, I guess. Where you face everything as an adventure, instead of just going through the motions of everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a pretty busy night a week or so ago. We were going through the normal bedtime routine. Josiah had his PJ's on and was sitting on his bed with a discouraged look on his face. I asked him what was wrong. "I didn't get to play today" he responded.  I immediately went into the life isn't "all fun &amp;amp; games" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;speech&lt;/span&gt; that every kid gets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I was wrong.&lt;/em&gt; Why can't life be fun &amp;amp; games? I know we all have responsibilities that need to be met &amp;amp; we should step up to the plate so to speak.  We have to be the responsible adult, but what happened to the part of us that runs down the hallway, just wanting to have some fun with people we love.  What's wrong with the parent that chases there kid down the hall making weird noises while making funny faces.  Why can't we be more like the kids, I just wanna giggle again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-1759448361749059807?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/1759448361749059807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=1759448361749059807' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1759448361749059807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1759448361749059807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-wanna-giggle.html' title='I wanna giggle...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-5980252194867070522</id><published>2007-12-20T08:13:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-28T11:15:49.308-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Celebrate Christmas?</title><content type='html'>It's the most wonderful time of the year...to quote one of the all time classic Christmas songs. I really do like this time of the year. Sometimes it just gives me the warm &amp;amp; fuzzies. Turn on the radio &amp;amp; catch some of the Christmas classics...Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald &amp;amp; the like. I love it. (I can do with out New Kids on the Block, Mariah Carey &amp;amp; such). I didn't really care much for the whole Christmas decorations until my son was born. He's still upset because we don't have lights on the outside of our house.&lt;br /&gt;I guess the whole Christmas thing has always kind of confused me a bit. It ranks up there with people celebrating their birthdays. I don't really get it. Why do we celebrate our birthdays when we never really had anything to do with the whole birthing process? Kids ask your parents about what I mean. God did the whole creation part &amp;amp; made sure everything went well, while here on earth, your Mom did most of the work, while your Dad had his part. We just felt the pressure to move on out &amp;amp; I know some people that would probably wouldn't have moved out without that pressure. &lt;br /&gt;Getting back to Christmas, no where in the Bible does it say remember my birthday. (Check it out).  It says remember my death, burial &amp;amp; Resurrection.  Hold on. Don't get me wrong.  The whole virgin birth was a wonderful miracle of God.  Most impressive, but when you look over the history of the Scriptures, God was pretty good at the whole miraculous  signs and wonders thing.  After all the world was created by Him, so I think He has pretty good control of the whole earthly realm.  It was a fulfillment of prophecy, I know.  Which makes the birth of Christ very important, but it would have just ranked up there as a great miracle without the death, burial &amp;amp; Resurrection.  That was the purpose of the life of Jesus.  I guess I just wonder why Easter seems to play second fiddle to the birth of Jesus.  Without His death, burial &amp;amp; Resurrection, we would still be sacrificing lambs in the synagogues. There would be no "New Testament" church.  Most people know the holiday was created to counter the Pagan holidays of the Winter Solstice.  Not that it is a bad thing to remember something as Miraculous as the birth of the Son of God.  &lt;strong&gt;JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON&lt;/strong&gt;, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;BUT THE SEASON IS NOT THE REASON FOR JESUS.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merry Christmas to all &amp;amp; to all a Good Night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-5980252194867070522?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/5980252194867070522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=5980252194867070522' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/5980252194867070522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/5980252194867070522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/12/why-celebrate-christmas.html' title='Why Celebrate Christmas?'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-6079983111794556421</id><published>2007-10-28T00:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-28T01:03:38.094-06:00</updated><title type='text'>When I get where I'm going...</title><content type='html'>It's 3 AM on Sunday.  I can't go back to sleep.  I just got the call my Grandfather died.  It wasn't a suprise or out of the blue, we were prepared as much as you could be prepared for something like that.  My mom told me how it happened, and to me, this maybe the greatest story ever told.  I will preface this by saying that my Grandfather has had health problems on and off for the past few years.  He has been in and out of the nursing home, and this past week hospice was able to get him home.  A few years ago, my Grandmother passed away.  Frances was a saint in my life, I loved her so much. That was honestly the hardest thing I have had to face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hospice nurse who was taking care of my Grandpa saw him staring off into the right.  She told my uncle, he sees somebody.  My uncle asked him what he saw.  Grandpa answered "Frances." He died right after that.  Wow. I can only imagine the joy my Grandpa had in seeing her again.  Young and beautiful, perfection.  He now gets to spend eternity with the love of his life.  I can say that makes me want tow the line.  There will come a day when I will get to see them again.  Two people of the most influental people in my life.  Next time, they won't be frail.  My Grandparents will walk along side me, matching me step for step.  Then I 'll get to hug them both and tell them how much I missed them.&lt;br /&gt; My only regret about all this is that I wish I would have been there to tell him how much I loved him and to have him give Grandma a big hug, just from me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-6079983111794556421?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/6079983111794556421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=6079983111794556421' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/6079983111794556421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/6079983111794556421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/10/when-i-get-where-im-going.html' title='When I get where I&apos;m going...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-4387773341184804687</id><published>2007-10-23T14:14:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T15:26:21.734-06:00</updated><title type='text'>feeling blue...</title><content type='html'>This isn't the first time I have written about being in a fog, a haze or being just blue. You go through life in a blur sometimes and before you know it your 33 (the same age as Jesus, that's what Josiah says) and you have a couple of young children you've been married for 11 years and you are about 25-30lbs heavier than you were when you got married.  Hair isn't growing where it should grow &amp;amp; is growing where it shouldn't grow.  I have been out of school for more years than I was in school. I am a firm believer that guys have there time of the month, and it gets more pronounced as you get older.  I just get down right cranky at least a few days once a month.  I feel bloated and have head aches.  I think I am approaching a mid-life crisis.  For the record, I believe this my second one.  I went through this a few years ago.  I still have the itch for an Italian sports car.  I have found that I have been trying.  I work out, &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;on occasions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  I have been trying to eat better, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;on occasions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  I take vitamins, &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;on occasions&lt;/span&gt;. Trying to find that fountain of youth.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;You know, sometimes I think guys get the raw deal.  We go through life, we have to be "the Man".  The emotional rock.  Whenever bad things happen to families, the guy is usually the last person to be thought of.  One of the lowest points in my life was when we lost our first baby to a miscarriage. Of course my concern was for my wife, and so was all the people who knew us.  I would go places with out her and everyone would ask how she was doing.  I appreciated that, the concern for my wife. I really did. It wasn't until a month or so later a friend of ours asked me, "How are you doing?"   I was doing pretty crappy to be honest, I second guessed everything.  Did I do something that caused it, should she have just taken it easy.  I should have never let her carry in the groceries, I kept thinking, did I do this? Not to mention I was sad, really, really sad.  I was looking forward to having a child. Would we be able to have anymore? That was the first time someone asked me if I was okay.  To be honest I just I gave the stereotypical, "I'm hanging in there." response.  I didn't go into all the details.  It was just nice to have someone concerned for me. &lt;/span&gt;  Sorry for being such a downer...that's not really what this is all about...I got side tracked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the main reason for my entry today is something kind of funny.  I have gotten to the stage in my life as long as I am clean &amp;amp; don't smell bad, I am good to go.  I spend less and less time on my attire.  I have always been told that in my prime, &lt;em&gt;cough, cough&lt;/em&gt;,  I was a bit preppy.  I have since moved away from that look.  My appearance has been in a metamorphosis as of late, the only hair I can sort of grow is on my face.  We have dressed up as an Amish family for a costume party.  The first time I have dressed up in a costume since I was 10.  It was fun.  I have grown the Amish beard, of which, my sister-in-law has worked into just about every other conversation I have with her.  We went to church this past Sunday.  I wore a pair of jeans and this blue shirt.  Nothing special in my mind.  On my way out of church, one of our best friends stopped me in the hall and whispered, "You look very handsome today."  I can't tell you the last time someone other than my wife or someone of my mother's or grandmother's generation complimented me on my appearance.  It was flattering, cause I wasn't trying to be all that, I just threw on a pair of jeans and a blue shirt.  (She did ask my wife's permission first, before she made the comment, I found out later.)  You know that made me feel good, a shot of confidence in this old dudes arm.  I know I am not as studly as I once was, I'm a realist.  It just made me think, how something so simple can make people feel good about themselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also played soccer this past weekend. My sister-in-law begged me.  Not indoor, not with little kids, actual grow adults on a full size field for a prolonged period of time. The mind is still in the sport.  Coaching the kids helps with that, but the body has long since been passed by the mind.  I know it was the first time I played with these people, so I was bound to be off.  It seemed like my body was always one step behind. Of course, I think my sister-in-law made me out to be the second coming of Pele, with these people.  Thanks &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;a ton&lt;/span&gt;.  During the second half I got off a shot that I honestly can say ways the prettiest shot on goal I think I have ever had.   The ball bent over the goalies head and bent back in the far corner at the top of the goal.  It was a miss, just narrowly.  Had that went in, I think it would have been my prettiest goal ever...at 33 years old.  How 'bout that.  I have scored a lot of goals in my lifetime, but this did not happen when I was 13 or 14 or in my prime when I was 18, but at 33.   I can muster up just enough to be as good once, as I once was.  I think you learn that working hard isn't always the key, thinking harder and working less is best. So I guess some good things do come with age.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-4387773341184804687?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/4387773341184804687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=4387773341184804687' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/4387773341184804687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/4387773341184804687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/10/feeling-blue.html' title='feeling blue...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-3912273440240313724</id><published>2007-10-23T12:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T14:13:59.877-06:00</updated><title type='text'>why in the world do people want to get married...seriously?</title><content type='html'>I know my title sounds funny, if you know me.  I am sure the first time my wife sees the title...I may be in trouble.  (A word of advice for all married guys or guys soon to be married,  my wife knows I love to sleep on the couch...remote in hand.  So for as long as I have been married, I have never been sent to the couch, instead she makes me stay in bed and cuddle.  I'm not a cuddly type person. When they are mad at you already know the cookie jar has been put up out of your reach (you know what I mean), so I figure this is a win, win. One way I have out smarted the female species!)  Anyways back to my point.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt;Why do people get married?&lt;/em&gt;  When you look at the world around you. Why?  The way I figure I would be set up pretty nice if I was a single guy, never gotten married.  I make my choices, no obligations to anyone else.  No kids, which means no crying, nagging, begging or winning.  I clean up after myself, no one else to have to clean up after.   My house would be spotless and so would my cars, no clutter....wow.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Humm&lt;/span&gt;. (If you haven't figured it out by now, I am a bit &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;OCD&lt;/span&gt; when it comes to some things.)  This really isn't for the divorced people or the people that are single, this is really about those of us who are married and have been for a while.   I believe that marriage isn't for everyone, neither is sushi, for that matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, I really don't ask the question for myself, but I ask it for my wife.  I know why I am married, I snagged the first one that could put up with me.  I didn't let go, she had no choice.  I would still be stalking her today if she didn't marry me.  I think it is easy for me to answer the question, but I sometimes ask what does she see in me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I tend to be own worst critic...I am very hard on myself... I get very frustrated with myself... I over analyze the way I play Monopoly or any game for that matter (I suck the life out it)... I am a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;gracious&lt;/span&gt; loser, I am used to losing...I can't stand dust or dirt on anything...I can't stand a dirty car... I do not like lights on... I prefer the dark... I like to sometimes sit in front of the TV, brain dead...I do not like it when people do not dry their feet off when they get out of the shower...I hate finger &amp;amp; toe nails...I hate hair in the drain...Feet creep me out...I have a hyper-sensitive sense of smell...All this and for some reason she still sticks around... Why&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it comes to that question, all the chick flicks tend to have part of it nailed down. Get your answers from Hollywood, that's what I say. It is about having someone who loves you for you.  It is about having someone to talk to, someone to share things with. Not being all alone, Blah, blah, blah... That all has something to do with it, but why would you go through the rut of everyday life for some feelings?  Every marriage gets in a rut.  Get up, wake up the kids, make breakfast, go to work, clean house,have dinner, put the kids to bed, fall asleep on the couch...do it over again the next day. Why go through it? Just so you don't feel cold at night, or that warm and fuzzy feeling that you get every once and a while. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Everyone, from the rich &amp;amp; famous to the homeless on the street, is pretty insignificant.  I know that hurts.  The earth would not stop &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;rotating&lt;/span&gt;, the sun would not refuse to shine, the moon would not quit glowing, if any one of us were not here tomorrow.  It is the truth.  The world would go on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The reason people are married is that we need that other person.  That person knows me better than I probably know myself.  &lt;em&gt;I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;exist&lt;/span&gt; to the human race, because of them.&lt;/em&gt;  They are the witness to my life, that I actually spent time on this earth.  My wife is my journal, she has had a front row seat to all the good &amp;amp; bad, highs &amp;amp; lows.  The fact that someone does care about the good and the bad. God knows why we are here, but it is human nature to feel needed, and it is because of that void we need our spouse. That is why. The warm and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;fuzzies&lt;/span&gt; are just the perks to the job.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-3912273440240313724?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/3912273440240313724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=3912273440240313724' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/3912273440240313724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/3912273440240313724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/10/why-in-world-do-people-want-to-get.html' title='why in the world do people want to get married...seriously?'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-1912181179846073109</id><published>2007-10-11T10:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T11:24:37.681-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Life's list...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://a766.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/86/l_7739ebc9f4ba1b487fc4dc0ec41caf5d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://a766.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/86/l_7739ebc9f4ba1b487fc4dc0ec41caf5d.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://a766.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/86/m_7739ebc9f4ba1b487fc4dc0ec41caf5d.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;You hear it a lot when you are in High School... "Have goals, have dreams. Some of the most accomplished people have made lists of dreams &amp;amp; aspirations, then have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;methodicaly&lt;/span&gt; checked them off through out their lives." We have all heard the stories and I am sure most of have the "list." It may not be written down or posted to your refrigerator, they may just be listed in your head. Many of them, I believe, have to do with accomplishment. Owning a house by my twenty-fifth birthday, married by twenty-six, or retired by fifty. The older I get the shorter my list for accomplishments becomes, sometimes I just want to survive 'til I am fifty. There are certain things I will not be doing,&lt;em&gt; for sure&lt;/em&gt;. I will not be making any professional soccer team and I will always be any Indy Car driver trapped in a mini-van. These things are just not going to happen. I have done some things on my list... married my high school sweetheart, spent the night in a lighthouse, visit the beach at least every-other year, owned a few of the cars on "my list of favorites."  Things like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you get older your list starts to change, or evolve.  The funny thing is it has less &amp;amp; less to do about you or what you want.  It has more &amp;amp; more to do about what you would like to accomplish for or with your kids, family or spouse.  I guess they call this maturity.   There are many memories of special, memorable places that I have been with my wife &amp;amp; kids.  When I found out I was going to be a father, after the initial &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;freak&lt;/span&gt; out of raising a child, I started thinking about the things and events that we would get to share together.  When I found out it was a boy, after the skipping down the street like Gene Kelly in &lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Singin&lt;/span&gt;' in the Rain... &lt;/em&gt;my mind started to wander off...playing catch, first baseball game, first time driving a go-cart...stuff like that.  This was all brought about by the events of October 6&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;, 2007. Again another date that will be forgotten, but an event I will never forget.  This was Josiah's first trip to a College Football game.  We have been to many Cincinnati Reds games, a few with Mommy &amp;amp; myself, and a few with it being just the two of us.  We have had the father-son baseball experience.  This was Big-time.  A bar &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;mitzva&lt;/span&gt; for a Michigan fan, his first trip to The Big House, Michigan Stadium.  Just the two of us, father &amp;amp; son time.  As you may know, I am not a tall man, but I was walking pretty tall the five blocks to the Stadium.  When I saw his smile when the players ran out, jumped up to touch "the banner"  while "Hail to the Victors" was being played by the marching band.  I'm pretty sure a tear rolled down my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;cheek&lt;/span&gt; (it may have been sweat, after all it was 90degrees in Ann Arbor in October,  but I'm in the moment of the memory).  I have been to many games not sure how many, the first time with my wife was pretty cool, but this was awesome.  Next time we watch the game on a Saturday afternoon, he can say he has been there...pretty cool.   These are the things you dream of as parent, check one off my list.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-1912181179846073109?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/1912181179846073109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=1912181179846073109' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1912181179846073109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1912181179846073109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/10/lifes-list.html' title='Life&apos;s list...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-6917571268069381486</id><published>2007-10-08T13:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T08:43:32.586-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I watched Spiderman...</title><content type='html'>"&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;With power comes great responsibility"...a quote from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Spiderman&lt;/span&gt; - the movie. This isn't some great proverb that was just established by some Hollywood writer in the late 90's or whenever that was...this is something that has been handed down from generations. I have been thinking about this for a while. A beer company just recently had the same idea...MAN LAWS. I love this idea. There should be some form of unwritten, or maybe even written code. Because I don't want to be sued when I make N.Y. Times best sellers list, I have decided to name mine...Man Code. There are different by laws, orders &amp;amp; stages of the Man Code. The one I want to introduce today is the "I Have a Daughter Order" of the Man Code. The "I have a Daughter Order" of which I am a card carrying member, allows you to certain inalienable rights that other Men in the Man Code are not privy to. First off you must have a daughter...duh. Please understand that first off, I am going to be really hard on my son when it comes to dating &amp;amp; relationships. More &amp;amp; likely harder than I will be on my daughter. That's for a later discussion, coming up very soon.  As a part of the "Daughter Code," you have the right to inflict bodily harm to another individual insulting a young woman or girl.  For example the other day, I was in traffic.  Three lanes wide &amp;amp; I was in the middle lane. Off to my left was a motorcycle.  It was sharp...I was totally checking out the bike.  I want one, it was my favorite color of blue &amp;amp; I was trying to figure out what it was.  I noticed off to my left a Dodge pick up truck.   He had stopped about 3-4 car lengths back from the car in front of him.  Then the guy started yelling across my lane of traffic.  All I heard was "Blah, blah, blah, baby...blah, blah."  The "baby" thing threw me a bit.  I looked to my left.  I noticed the blond hair flowing out from under the helmet on the person riding the motorcycle.  The dude I thought riding the motorcycle was actually a young girl ( approx. 20-21).  This made me furious.  Let me preface this by saying, a girl on a motorcycle is pretty cool, but someday that could be my daughter that this overweight, middle aged neanderthal would be "cat calling."  So for the sake of that girls dad, Man Code would have allowed me to get out of my car, walk up to that dude and cauliflower his ear.  Good old fashioned 1920's bare &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;fisted&lt;/span&gt; boxer style punch to the ear.  Free of charge, no fear of repercussions on me.  All I have to do is show the "I have a daughter card."  On a side note...why do guys "cat call"?  Has that truly worked for anyone?  I have never heard anyone say..."Yep, I was just walking down the street &amp;amp; he was with a bunch of his work buddies &amp;amp; he yelled "Here I am, what are your other two wishes"  I knew we were going to be together forever."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;This also leads me to another topic of the "Man Code."  Men have always been &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;mesmerized&lt;/span&gt; by the beauty of women.  It has been man's number one down fall.  If there is something I can not stand, are guys that stare at pretty women.  Not just look at them, but down right ogle them.  I find it almost comical to watch.  Everyone knows what I'm talking about. The one that stands out in the crowd, even the women are looking.  There is a way to appreciate the beauty of the human race, without attaching your eyes to them with Velcro.  After all, it is a sin, if you lust!  The way I think it should be done is with respect.  We have all received the emails, "it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;deosn't&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;mttaer&lt;/span&gt; in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;waht&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;oredr&lt;/span&gt; the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ltteers&lt;/span&gt; in a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;wrod&lt;/span&gt; are..."  THIS IS THE SCIENCE OF ADMIRING THE OPPOSITE SEX, without being an idiot or more importantly doing it with out lusting.  A glance &amp;amp; your imagination puts all the pieces together, no double look, no staring, no dwelling.  Just like that. Not only that with this method, everyone is attractive, well almost everyone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;More Man Code to come...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-6917571268069381486?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/6917571268069381486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=6917571268069381486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/6917571268069381486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/6917571268069381486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-watched-spiderman.html' title='I watched Spiderman...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-1190671434524396405</id><published>2007-10-08T09:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T09:20:22.271-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ella's Imagination...</title><content type='html'>"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Awww&lt;/span&gt;..right" is Ella's favorite phrase.  I love the way she says it.  She has really developed a sense of humor.  We have a Michigan football helmet magnet that usually is on our refrigerator, but for some "little" reason has migrated to the front of our dishwasher.  The magnet is about 8 inches big.  So it is pretty good sized.  Ella, my wife &amp;amp; I were in the kitchen.  Ella pointed at the magnet and said "Go Michigan." It was cute.  She had a squishy ball in her hand.  Ella pulled the magnet of the dishwasher with her right hand &amp;amp; held it up to the side of her head (just about a perfect fit) , and with the ball in her left hand, turned to me and said "Ready, catch Daddy."  My little football player...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-1190671434524396405?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/1190671434524396405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=1190671434524396405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1190671434524396405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1190671434524396405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/10/ellas-imagination.html' title='Ella&apos;s Imagination...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-6247096501642629380</id><published>2007-09-24T11:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T12:17:15.428-06:00</updated><title type='text'>where has the time gone...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;"Kids grow up so fast..." "Appreciate them while they are little."  "Before you know it they are in school, next day they are driving and then next day they are off to college"  Those of us with children have had all these things said to us during the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pregnancy&lt;/span&gt; stage or our kids baby stages.  I used to respond that by saying "Whatever, your not the one up every few hours and you're not the one changing nasty diapers."  Seriously, the diaper thing can get pretty disgusting.  How does something so little, produce so much?  I used to think that was just what old people said, because they missed their kids. (When they were little kids I'm sure, no one ever says that they miss their kids in the teenage years.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I guess I am now finding these to be great truths.  We have taken Josiah to Kings Island this year, he is 6 years old and can ride some of the big coasters.  Myself being a coaster junkie, is pretty cool to ride with your son.  Josiah has taken a fancy for sports.  He loves ESPN, if it is a sport, he will watch it.  He loves to watch football &amp;amp; loves to play.  The two of us can spend hours just throwing back and forth.  He can throw a nice tight spiral. I was throwing about 15 to 20 yards and he was catching them. He was also catching them while running.  This is REAL football, not  a Nerf, mind you.  We have been playing sports together for a while, but for some reason I recently came to some realization that this is odd.  I am throwing a real football with my son, it seems like just yesterday I was thrilled when he could just kick a ball.  &lt;strong&gt;How did we get to this point and so fast? &lt;/strong&gt; He's in First Grade &amp;amp; he is almost as tall as me. I just don't wanna wake up some day and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bam&lt;/span&gt; he is in high school. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt; I dropped him off at school this morning.  I leaned over gave him a kiss on the top of his head &amp;amp; he turned and gave me a hug. Nothing different than any other morning, but this morning he had a somber look on his face. "What's wrong, buddy?" I asked.  "Daddy I didn't get to spend much time with you this morning and yesterday." he replied.  &lt;strong&gt;He still thinks I'm cool &amp;amp; he still likes me&lt;/strong&gt;.  Someday he'll wake up and realize Dad isn't as cool &amp;amp; his friends will be more important, they all do.  I just don't want to be so wrapped up in work &amp;amp; the world around me that I forget that my kids actually like me right now, not just for my wallet or car keys.   It is not worth it.  They like spending time with me.  &lt;em&gt;After all this is the only time as an adult I can get away with playing Hot Wheels and Rescue Heroes and race the shopping cart through Kroger making car noises (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;squealing&lt;/span&gt; tires and the such) and people do not look at you like you are weird, they just think you are a good parent.&lt;/em&gt;  The scary part is the older they get, the older I get.  Where has the time gone?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-6247096501642629380?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/6247096501642629380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=6247096501642629380' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/6247096501642629380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/6247096501642629380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/09/where-has-time-gone.html' title='where has the time gone...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-1412239352455267668</id><published>2007-09-21T23:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T23:42:31.175-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ella Speak...</title><content type='html'>Ella came out of the house the other day..."&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Squeal&lt;/span&gt; walking side, mommy, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;squeal&lt;/span&gt; walking side..."  Mommy was a bit confused by this one. Ella started pointing and exclaimed "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Squeal &lt;/span&gt;walking side!" ... There was a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;squirrel&lt;/span&gt; on the side walk.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-1412239352455267668?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/1412239352455267668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=1412239352455267668' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1412239352455267668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1412239352455267668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/09/ella-speak.html' title='Ella Speak...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-1954771376907298242</id><published>2007-06-28T12:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T09:45:17.898-06:00</updated><title type='text'>why men love cars.</title><content type='html'>One of the biggest revelations in my life was my &lt;em&gt;selective hearing philosophy of men, &lt;/em&gt;but just recently I have come up with a new revelation about why men love cars so much. Now I know people have made the car comparison to women for decades. Most men refer to there cars as female objects, &lt;em&gt;she's my baby, she's my girl&lt;/em&gt;...on and on.... and sometimes the car parts have been used to refer to woman's anatomy...(headlights, trunk, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ect&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;...) So this union of cars and women have been around for decades. I have recently come up with a couple of other reasons why men love cars and how cars are much like women or women are like cars...or something. Please, I am not trying to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;objectify&lt;/span&gt; woman.  Women are the showcase of creation...just trying to show how some simpletons (men) work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE BUYING EXPERIENCE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just about every adult male has some story about a dealership or car shopping experience. How great of a deal they got, or how a dealer took them to the cleaners or what kind of additional &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;equipment&lt;/span&gt; they got thrown in the deal. Sometimes these stories are embellished like fishing tales...just to show off your great ability to wheel &amp;amp; deal. It all starts by you either seeing the car in passing or someone telling you need to check out this model, it while suit your needs... So you go to the dealership, look the car over and if you everything looks okay from the outside, you take it for a test drive. Many times you step away from the car, come back at a later time or a few days later and take it for another drive. If that works out, then you go in and find out if you can afford it. You see what kind of deal the dealer will give you. Then if the "numbers" work out then you go through the whole financing deal. By this time you just want that car in your driveway. This is not the fun time. After signing your life &amp;amp; finances away, you finally get handed the keys, she is yours at a price.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Just about every adult male has some kind of dating story. How they dated this girl or almost dated a supermodel or how this girl stole my cassette tape collection. Sometimes these stories are embellished a bit to show off your manly prowess with the ladies. It all starts with you passing by her or somebody telling you, you need to meet so &amp;amp; so she has a "great personality." So you go and check them out, if everything appears to be to your liking you ask them out on a date. Then you take some time think about it , if you like them you go on another few dates. If you become really attracted to them you find that you are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;compatible&lt;/span&gt;. If the "numbers" work out, you ask if she will marry you. Usually some negotiating involved and if they say yes, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;you&lt;/span&gt; then have to start planning a wedding. By this time you just want to get to the honeymoon &amp;amp; beyond. This is not the fun time. After signing your life &amp;amp; finances away, you are finally married, she is yours at a price.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SELECTING THE RIGHT ONE FOR YOU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you go to purchase a car, you have to decide what you want. Sports car or SUV, import or domestic, practical or exotic, new or used. This is a difficult &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;decision&lt;/span&gt; for the many of the male population. For many they have exclusive tastes. Some guys are truck guys, some are sports car guys, some just need a car to get from point a to point b don't care if she has some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bondo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, &amp;amp; for some it is about the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;whether&lt;/span&gt; or not the car gets them there with the least amount of thought &amp;amp; headache. There are some guys who just love being under the hood doing all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt; themselves. Every free moment they are adding or upgrading parts. Whatever the car needs, he will do it himself. Then there are others who like the exotics that need to be service by licensed mechanics, and that can not be done at your garage at home. It depends on your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;personality&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;When you are looking for a wife, you have to decide what kind of woman you are compatible with. Active or relaxed, import or domestic, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;practical&lt;/span&gt; or a little higher &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt;, divorced or never married... This is difficult &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;decision&lt;/span&gt; for many of the male population. For many they have exclusive tastes. Some guys date or marry woman with active lifestyles, love the outdoors, some like the sporty type, some just like women, and some like the more laid back type. Some guys love just having a girlfriend or wife. There are some guys that love showering there mate with flowers and spending every moment with them. Then there are others who like to send their mate out with the ladies, to the spa or to the mall. It depends on your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;personality&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DAY TO DAY &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;MAINTENANCE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is where you find what kind of deal you made. It is in the day to day grind... When the whether is cold does it start &amp;amp; in the summer does the A/C work without any complaints. Now as we know, not matter how reliable the car, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;they all&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; require preventive &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt;. You must change the oil, you must put in gas when close to empty &amp;amp;  no matter how reliable the car, the tires must eventually be replaced. So it is how all the other parts work is what defines a good deal. When something does go wrong, you can't always get away with replacing parts with cheap replacement parts. It is a risk. When you put on cheap parts you don't always get the mileage that you sometimes get with quality parts. We all know that we are going to get a door ding no matter how far we park away from other cars. Unfortunately the paint is going to get scratched, sometime. For many guys the love affair of the new car stops after about a year of ownership...the no eating rule in your car is no longer enforced. Your trunk is full of everyday life junk that you clean out &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;every other&lt;/span&gt; week, maybe. You get tired of making the monthly payment. You still love your car, but you know there are other cars are out there. New models that were not out when you bought yours or cars that you couldn't afford when you bought yours is now on the used market &amp;amp; affordable. Hang in there when it gets tough because eventually that car will be paid off &amp;amp; she will be yours forever.  Sometimes on a nice day when you have something special planned "a night on the town" you give your car the good once over.  Wax the paint, shine the tires &amp;amp; rims, and if your really dedicated you detail the engine of your pride and joy.  Always a good idea every now and again. The truth is that if you are a &lt;strong&gt;real car guy&lt;/strong&gt;, you may look around in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;appreciation&lt;/span&gt; of the others out there, but you find that car that you are in love with everyday, has your "smell" in it, has that coffee stain on the seat or the door ding that some kid toy put there in your garage. The seat has conformed to your ever changing shape, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; were you want to park your bottom when the road throws you curves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;This is where you find what kind of marriage you have. It is in the day to day grind...when financially things get tough or you can't go on the cruise for your anniversary because you found out you are having a baby. Now we know as guys, no mater how easy going your spouse is, they all require some "preventive &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt;." You must remember birthdays, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;anniversaries&lt;/span&gt; and on occasions just &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;surprise&lt;/span&gt; them. &lt;strong&gt;You get out of your marriage what you put into it.&lt;/strong&gt;  When we first get married, we are still in that impressing them phase and as time goes one, we forget or become comfortable.   Sometimes things go wrong, sometimes your fault sometimes not. It is how you try to solve these problems.  Do you try to fix it yourself or do you have to "pay" to have it fixed.   We all become comfortable in our relationships, sometimes take them for granted, even though we shouldn't.  Every now and again, you should clean yourself up and take your wife on the town, to make her feel important, your pride &amp;amp; joy. Everyday, you get up and they are there for you when life throws you curves...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-1954771376907298242?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/1954771376907298242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=1954771376907298242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1954771376907298242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/1954771376907298242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/06/why-men-love-cars.html' title='why men love cars.'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-460210927890407206</id><published>2007-06-28T10:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T12:28:55.033-06:00</updated><title type='text'>a heart of gold with a wallet containing just a penny...</title><content type='html'>we were on our way into the grocery store the other day &amp; Josiah informed me that we needed to call grandpa. I inquired as to why...  he had just spent a few days at his grandparents house &amp; spent sometime at his grandpa's garage.  Josiah said that a older man came into the shop to talk to grandpa about his car.  Josiah said that the older man had said if it was this much to fix his car he could afford it, but if it was more he would not be able to get his car fixed.  Josiah said he needed to call grandpa to find out how much it was going to be to fix his car, 'cause if it was more than the old man could afford, Josiah wanted to sent grandpa money to cover the difference, so the old man  could get his car fixed. &lt;br /&gt;Just when I get frustrated with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;whining&lt;/span&gt; or complaining that a normal 6 year old does, and I can't stand no more,  he is famous for just hitting me over the head with a brick.   Putting the needs of others over your own wants.  Wow what a lesson.  We as adults think we have it all figured out, listen to us children, we know what we a talking about, we have life experience...blah, blah, blah...  &lt;br /&gt;It is a great blessing to be that way.  I can remember I was about 12 or 13 sitting in church listening to a sermon on giving, but I will never forget what he said.   "If you give with your left hand, your right hand should not have any idea of what your left hand has done, and after a while your left hand should forget about what it did."  It struck a cord with me.  I came up with the idea that: &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;The true&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;measure of giving is that there is no measure.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;  No, I did this for you or I gave this much.  If you measure how much you give than it is not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;truly&lt;/span&gt; giving.   As a matter of fact when my wife &amp; I give to the church (including tithe) we give in cash only, no checks.  Because at the end of the year, I don't want to know how much and if I claim it on my taxes, is that really giving?  Does God send me an end of the year statement for all the blessings he has given me?  Then why should I get one from the church? &lt;br /&gt;Be careful with that heart of gold, son.   Keep care of it, because so many people over the period of time start of with that same heart, but life gets in the way and that heart gets tarnished &amp; before you know it, it is gone.  A heart like that is not learned, it is instilled into every one of us, just some people don't know how to listen to it.  There will be people who take advantage of it, unfortunately, and it will hurt, sometimes a lot.  But the reward you get in knowing that you have been there for someone when no one else was, is a reward that you can not put a price tag on.  With a heart like that you will be a valuable friend to someone someday.  To be that person that people know you can call any day or night and will be there for them.  Satisfaction, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;guaranteed&lt;/span&gt;... Listen to the children sometime, you might learn something.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-460210927890407206?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/460210927890407206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=460210927890407206' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/460210927890407206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/460210927890407206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/06/heart-of-gold-with-wallet-containing.html' title='a heart of gold with a wallet containing just a penny...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116845717479692347</id><published>2007-01-10T13:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-10T13:26:14.816-06:00</updated><title type='text'>josiahisms...</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;josiah on getting rid of me...&lt;/em&gt; I come from a rather functional divorced family, so I have a basically two father figures in my life and Josiah has figured this out.  The other day he asked me..."Daddy when am I going to get my second Daddy?"  The jury is out on this one, I guess he should talk to Mommy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116845717479692347?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116845717479692347/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116845717479692347' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116845717479692347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116845717479692347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2007/01/josiahisms.html' title='josiahisms...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116466217545498567</id><published>2006-11-27T13:48:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-27T15:16:17.576-06:00</updated><title type='text'>thank you...</title><content type='html'>I started this blog as a draft a few weeks ago. Deleted the whole thing and pitched it. Thought it was kind of cheesy, with the time of year and stuff like that. After this weekend, I had an epiphany, thought to myself, "Self you need to finish that." I have several blogs that I have started and have not finished. This one just has been kind of staring at me. I was sitting in church this past Sunday, when they were talking about what you teach your children to say after someone does something for them. Which is funny, 'cause that is what my blog was about...&lt;br /&gt;We coach them to say "Thank you." Every good parent does it, "Now (plug in your child's name), what do you say to Grandma for giving you that great big scoop of sugar..." Then there is part of you that is as proud as a peacock when they do it, and when they do it on their own, its like getting another Patch in Boy or Girl Scouts. Putting another feather in the parenting hat. My child says "please" and "thank you." They are so polite. It does make you feel good as a parent when this happens. Repetition is the best learning tool. Now I know these are just children, but how sincere are they? Depending on the age, but truth be told most children just go through the motions. I know if I say "Please" and "Thank you," it improves my chances of getting what I want. Wow, that must mean that those are some powerful words, if a child can figure that out. Three simple words that improve your chances of getting people to do something for you.&lt;br /&gt;As adults, where and when did we lose this thing that every good parent tries to teach their children. We grow up and become adults and forget the power of these words. We get all high and mighty and think the world revolves around us. No one else has problems or had a bad day. I love to detail cars, I find it relaxing. Its my release, yard work to some or hot bath to another. I love to wax and clean cars. It takes a lot of time to fully detail a car properly. I used to like (B.C. before children) detailing friends and family members cars when they were out of town or let me borrow it for the day. I have spent countless hours of my life doing that. That fraction of a second it takes them to simply say "Thank you," makes up for all the hard work. &lt;em&gt;Two words and a fraction of a second&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;equal to the hours I have spent, doesn't seem right?&lt;/em&gt; But it works. I know they genuinely appreciated it. So how much more, for just the mundane tasks of everyday life. That is something I enjoy, but what about scrubbing the toilet? People do that. Not that I am looking for thanks for every single petty thing I do, but people need just a bit of appreciation in their lives.&lt;br /&gt;I think of all that it takes for me to get through just one day. One single day. Think about it. Without everyone around you, your day would be so different. People you have never met, never talked to and never knew existed. Everytime I flush the toilet, turn up the thermostat, power up my computer, stop at the gas station for gas or buy a cup of coffee. There are people that work at the water and sewer plant, at the power plant, deliver fuel, open up the store and make the coffee. All before 08:00, these people have effected my life. Now if my toilet didn't flush this morning because of no water pressure, or my computer didn't turn on because I had no power. All of a sudden I realize these people exist, and suddenly they are not on my favorites list. They don't get recognized until something goes wrong.&lt;br /&gt;I am just an average Joe. Nobody special in the big global scale. I just do not understand this air of supremacy that some people have. There are a lot of people that make this world operate, and we humans are not the ones that make it go around. You can be Mr or Mrs Bigshot, hold a match outside and from 1000 feet up in the sky you don't look any different than anybody else. Say "Thank you" or "Please" to someone today for even the most trivial of tasks and mean it. If I ever meet you, I hope I remember to say "Please" and "Thank You" and if I do, please understand, I actually do mean it. Children have it right. Say "please" and "thank you," writing on the walls is ok and peas are more fun to play with than eat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116466217545498567?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116466217545498567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116466217545498567' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116466217545498567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116466217545498567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/11/thank-you.html' title='thank you...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116299976939246693</id><published>2006-11-08T08:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-08T09:29:29.480-06:00</updated><title type='text'>happy birthday baby girl...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/of=50,295,442.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/of%3D50%2C295%2C442.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is November 8th. Generally, I am not to good with knowing what day it is. Today is a very special day. Ranking up there in the annals of history: July 4th 1776, May 8th 1945 (VE day), August 21 1999 (the first game back for the Cleveland Browns) &amp;amp; November 8th 2004. This day will be etched in my memory forever. The day I held quite possibly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen for the first time. Our baby girl was born today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is so hard to believe that she is going to two. Its funny that I already have regrets about not being around enough for her first year or so. Fortunately I have been able to be around a lot more this past year. It has been wonderful. Nothing I love more than coming home and she comes running to the door with a smile... "Dada, Dada." I love it, she doesn't care what kind of day I have had, she is always looking forward to seeing me, and she just wants to be held. The other day she was at a friends house, and I went to pick her up. She sprinted across the yard (or at least as fast as her little legs could go) saying my name. When I picked her up I got the biggest hug and she said "My Dada, my dada." Then she pats me on the back of my neck and hugs me again. There is nothing in this world you could buy to give you that kind of joy. Not a thing. Its like time stops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People like to give me a hard time, because I know some day she will be asking to go on a date. I am scared. Because the days are numbered to that fateful day that I will have to put the fear of the Great God Almighty into some unsuspecting young lad. I joke that every milestone is just a milestone closer to that day. I hope some day she does find someone to take care of her and love her almost as much as I do. (Because it is impossible for someone on this earth besides her mother that can love her that much, I guarantee it.) The way I look at it, it is great to be someone's first love. I know I wasn't my wife's, she loved her Daddy. I hope that I never let her down, because I love being her first love. I want to set the bar high, so when she does find that special someone, I know he will have to be up to the task.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girls do amazing things to Daddys, especially if the first born was a boy(at least that makes it more noticeable). She has turned me into a bumbling idiot. She makes you lose your ability to control the english language. I make up terms of endearment that just don't make any sense. I will not type any of these because when I really think about it...my, oh my... Look at me I am babbling again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY GIRL (yes when you are 20, you will still be my Baby Girl, so get used to it.) Daddy loves you, more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116299976939246693?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116299976939246693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116299976939246693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116299976939246693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116299976939246693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/11/happy-birthday-baby-girl.html' title='happy birthday baby girl...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116257173743222276</id><published>2006-11-03T09:23:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-03T10:35:37.526-06:00</updated><title type='text'>poor kid, he's so good...</title><content type='html'>We went to our first official parent teacher conference last night. We got his report card a week ago. All A's. I was very proud of him. Josiah is a very driven, by the book kind of child. Honestly no surprise on the all A's thing. Our conference lasted all of 10 minutes and if we would not have asked a couple of questions, 5 minutes tops. She said Josiah was a leader who loved challenges. Never takes the easy route. Matter of fact she confessed that sometimes she puts Josiah in charge of some of the kids that do not mind as much. Because Josiah is a role model who will keep them in line and tell them they are doing wrong. Poor kid. I know the feeling, I am not sure this is the road I want him to go down. I have been down it. &lt;strong&gt;I am really proud of&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;him.&lt;/strong&gt; Ever see the movie, &lt;em&gt;What's Eating Gilbert Grape?&lt;/em&gt; Great movie. I sometimes feel like my childhood was like Gilbert's. Living your life to please and help everyone else that I never took time to smell the roses for myself. I always wanted to please and help everyone else. I know that is what we are supposed to do on this earth, but I just hope he doesn't become as obsessed with it as I did. Take some time for yourself, son. If you don't it will wear you out. The teacher also said he had very nice hand writting for a boy. Daddy was proud, that is what I was told through out my educational career. I never kept up with the all A's, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did have an A- in art. Which I have issues with. Josiah is very talented, artistically. I really wish that I would have went for the Art Teacher thing. I have some issues with the way some people teach art. Josiah received an A- in art because he did not always follow directions. Now, if he was being disruptive in class and not following directions that way, he would deserve the grade. He received an A- because of things like he would not color something a certain color or wanted to change something just a little bit. I do not think that is the way art should be taught. You should teach the mechanics and grade on effort. Not cookie cutter art, where everything looks the same. Oh well, fighting the system.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116257173743222276?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116257173743222276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116257173743222276' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116257173743222276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116257173743222276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/11/poor-kid-hes-so-good.html' title='poor kid, he&apos;s so good...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116256690363809765</id><published>2006-11-03T07:49:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-03T09:18:11.120-06:00</updated><title type='text'>a day and a dollar short of the white flag...</title><content type='html'>I am a dreamer. Ask my wife, it is sometimes a big problem for me. I love to dream... The way I look at it God gave us an imagination to use for a reason. I believe he gave it to us to aspire to become something useful for Him. I believe it can be used to help us get out what we perceive to be impossible situations, a key to the "I won't put more on you than you can handle." I also believe it is just there sometimes to help us escape the reality of life here on this earth. Read the book of Psalms, or what I think of as "divinely inspired imagination." I can just see David sitting there thinking of green pastures...the perfection of heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my wife and I were dating, we would occasionally go to the mall and shop, but my favorite thing was going to the HQ store. We would walk around the home store picking out things for our dream house. We had dreams of what life would be like when we were 30. Unfortunately, I don't believe we are anywhere close to some of our ideas or dreams. We have accomplished some of those dreams. Lately though, I feel the dream machine has stopped. I am confessing something that only my wife knows. When I go to sleep, I have what I call my cookie cutter dream that takes me to a place where I forget the problems of the day. I dream of a modest house on the beach... I can describe it in detail. My wife and I sitting on the porch watching the kids play on the beach. I can feel it like it is tangible. That is the latest dream. It has changed over the years. The house has varied. I also love cars, I also dream of driving my dream vehicle (flavor of the day) down a beautiful curvy road or down the coastal highway. That dream has been around since I was about 12 years old. Whenever I have problems sleeping, I imagine one of these dreams. Lately though, I have had problems slipping into my "dream." The problems of the day have been taking over. It scares me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I am just hanging on. My life is split into segments. I can't wait until 5 p.m. so I can go home, then when I get home I can't wait until I go to bed. Then I dread waking up in the morning. Rinse, lather and repeat. That's what it feels like. I feel like I am in over my head, like the dump truck of life backed up and just dumped its load on me. I have always said that when you quit dreaming, you are dead. Figuratively speaking. Life is far from what I imagined when I was young, and seems that suddenly my days are a part of the past. No longer looking forward, but backwards wondering what happened. I wouldn't change my life with my wife and children, they are the biggest blessing to me. My children right now are my dream. I want my children to never stop dreaming. God has provided for my family and I. There were time I didn't think we would ever make it. He pulled us out, everytime. He has made us better for it. I guess I am reminded of the saying, "Want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans." I want to be like David.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116256690363809765?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116256690363809765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116256690363809765' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116256690363809765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116256690363809765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/11/day-and-dollar-short-of-white-flag.html' title='a day and a dollar short of the white flag...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116157176510589454</id><published>2006-10-22T20:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-10-22T20:49:25.126-06:00</updated><title type='text'>it happened!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/fdsafasfaf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/200/fdsafasfaf.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am screaming it from the roof tops...October 21, 2006 at 09:15 am, it happened. I may never remember the date or the time, but the image will be imprinted in my brain for as long as my brain is functional. I would have to say one of the top ten highlights of my life, seriously. Behind getting married, having children and nephews... one of the single greatest moments of my life. A dream come true since the day we found out we were having a boy. Josiah scored his first goal!!! I will never forget watching that ball roll in, and me bumbling like an idot. It was cool, because it was the first time I got to act like a Dad instead of a Coach. That was my boy and I wanted everybody to know it. I wanted to run out there and be the first to give him a high five and a hug, but I got control of my emotions. I didn't embarass him, as far as I know, at least I haven't seen the tape. It was just so exciting to see my child do something I used to love with so much passion and be good at it. It wasn't until later that night Josiah and I got to spend some time alone. It was really the first we got to talk about it. We were in the car just the two of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He brought it up first. "Daddy were you happy when I scored my goal today, did you chear?" "Sure was buddy, more than you know. I was so happy." I responded. He was quiet for a moment, "Daddy were you proud of me when I scored?" "Buddy you make me proud a lot, not just when you scored." I responded. "Daddy, it was neat when I scored, because everyone cheared, did you like scoring goals when you played?" Made me think for a second, " I sure did, I loved to score goals, you know why cause it made people happy. The people that were watching and your teamates, everyone is happy when you score." I poeticly responded. "I like scoring goals Daddy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know every goal he scores will be just as exciting, because he is my boy. You know what though, if he never scores another goal, this past Saturday was a day a dream came true for me, and I think it came true for a little boy, too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116157176510589454?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116157176510589454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116157176510589454' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116157176510589454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116157176510589454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/10/it-happened.html' title='it happened!!!'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116137345694277388</id><published>2006-10-20T13:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-10-20T14:16:05.473-06:00</updated><title type='text'>not feeling like the man of the year now...</title><content type='html'>I like to think I am a pretty decent dad. I am not the worlds greatest, but I love my kids unconditionally. Sometimes though I don't feel I give them what they deserve, more of my time. Children are a gift from God, that sometimes we take for granted. If God were in front of me right now, would I give God my time, half heartedly? Children are the purest form of life on this earth. Just last night Josiah, who has been in "quarentine"because he has been running a fever, asked me to come into the room so he could read to me. We sat on the bed while he started reading, 60 minutes and 1 1/2 &lt;em&gt;Dick &amp; Jane&lt;/em&gt; books later, he was done. I hate to say it, but when we were done, I was kind of glad. I would love to say my heart was in it the entire 60 minutes...60 minutes of 1440 in a day. He was just asking for 1/24 of my day, around 4%. I couldn't even give him that. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but several times my mind wondered off to things that I felt I needed to do...clean the garage, run the vacuum, my back hurts. I felt pretty bad about it later. Then I check my email this morning and I get forwarded this story. Nothing like kicking a guy in the teeth while he is already down...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the article click on the link to watch the video...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is from an article in Sports Illustrated, makes me feel pretty lame...&lt;br /&gt;"I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots.&lt;br /&gt;But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.&lt;br /&gt;Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars -- all in the same day. Dick's also pulled him cross- country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. On a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?&lt;br /&gt;And what has Rick done for his father? Not much -- except save his life.&lt;br /&gt;This love story began in Winchester , Mass. , 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.&lt;br /&gt;“He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life;” Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. “Put him in an institution.” But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick’s eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the Engineering Department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. “No way,” Dick says he was told. “There's nothing going on in his brain.” “Tell him a joke,” Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain.&lt;br /&gt;Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? “Go Bruins!” And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, “Dad, I want to do that.” Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described “porker” who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. “Then it was me who was handicapped,” Dick says. “I was sore for two weeks.” That day changed Rick's life. “Dad,” he typed, “when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!”&lt;br /&gt;And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon. “No way,” Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren’t quite a single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then they found a way to get into the race officially: in 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year.&lt;br /&gt;Then somebody said, “Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?” How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn’t ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.&lt;br /&gt;Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour ironmans in Hawaii . It must be a buzz kill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think?&lt;br /&gt;Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? “No way,” he says. Dick does it purely for “the awesome feeling” he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.&lt;br /&gt;This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992 -- only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.&lt;br /&gt;“No question about it,” Rick types. “My dad is the Father of the Century.”&lt;br /&gt;And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. “If you hadn't been in such great shape,” one doctor told him, “you probably would’ve died 15 years ago.” So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other’s life.&lt;br /&gt;Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston , and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland , Mass. , always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day. That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy. “The thing I'd most like,” Rick types, “is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4B-r8KJhlE"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4B-r8KJhlE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116137345694277388?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116137345694277388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116137345694277388' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116137345694277388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116137345694277388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/10/not-feeling-like-man-of-year-now.html' title='not feeling like the man of the year now...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116129146310335796</id><published>2006-10-19T14:47:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T14:57:43.133-06:00</updated><title type='text'>josiahism...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;on his future...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;  We were in the car on our way back from having dinner with some friends, driving through downtown Cincinnati.  Josiah loves downtown.  Josiah out of no where blurts out "I know what I want to be when I grow up..."  Sparking our curiousity, we asked, "What do you want to be?"  "I want to be a brain surgeon." he responded. Impressed his mom and me, high aspirations at such a young age.  "That would be something." I responded.  Everything was quite for about a minute or two, then he asked, "What does a brain surgeon do?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116129146310335796?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116129146310335796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116129146310335796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116129146310335796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116129146310335796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/10/josiahism.html' title='josiahism...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116067663107609373</id><published>2006-10-12T11:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T12:10:31.106-06:00</updated><title type='text'>ellaisms...</title><content type='html'>This is Ella's first ever ism on Daddy's Blog...I am sure not to be the last.  This one got me pretty good...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;ownership...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Ella's latest thing has been telling everyone when something is hers, by saying "mine."  Not in the snotty-sort of stuck up way, just a matter of fact way.   I was getting Ella out of the car seat.  She showed me her cup and said "mine." I responded with a "yes." Which quickly turned this into a little game for her.  She started pointing at things all around saying "mine" and I would respond with a yes or no.  I was holding her while she was doing this, she turns an looks me straight in the eye and pats me on the head with her little hand and said as a matter of fact..."mine."  Yes, was the answer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116067663107609373?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116067663107609373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116067663107609373' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116067663107609373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116067663107609373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/10/ellaisms.html' title='ellaisms...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-116067571832768835</id><published>2006-10-12T11:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T11:55:19.053-06:00</updated><title type='text'>josiahisms...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/soccerball640.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/soccerball640.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;fame &amp; fortune...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Josiah &amp;amp; I stayed late after soccer practice the other night. I have been working with him on following his shots on goal. During this little one on one session, Josiah learned how to get the ball off the ground when he was shooting on goal. I told him that if he could do that in a game, he would be scoring a lot of goals. He responded, "If I score a lot of goals, then I could be in a magazine..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;hierarchy...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; The world generally revolves around whatever a 5 year old is thinking about at any given moment...Josiah asked for something from me the other day...I firmly responded with a "no." He looked up at me and said, "I am telling God on you." Bypassing me and going straight for the Boss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;prayer and supplication...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Josiah has been bugging us for the new Larry Boy movie, since it came out. The two of us were in Wal Mart, he found the movie and they only had 3 copies left. He begged me and I told him no. (See the theme here). He was ok with it until we got to the check out and got a bit sad about it, he thought that the 3 that were left were the last 3 in the world. Mommy took him to the store and he asked for the same thing. This time on the way home he asked her when he could get the new movie. Mommy said she did not know. Then things grew quiet in the back for a pretty long time. Mommy turned around to find Josiah with his hands folded, eyes closed and him whispering. When he stopped she asked what he was doing. "Praying for God to make a way for me to get the new Larry Boy movie." ---Grandma bought him the new movie this past week when they were visiting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-116067571832768835?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/116067571832768835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=116067571832768835' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116067571832768835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/116067571832768835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/10/josiahisms.html' title='josiahisms...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115953911264586349</id><published>2006-09-29T07:55:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-03T09:16:53.403-06:00</updated><title type='text'>a little deep...</title><content type='html'>I want to start this off by saying, "I love my Mom &amp; the mother of my children with all my heart." With that being said, I would like to dive into a small peeve of mine. I love my children just as much as my wife does. I understand that there is a bond between mother &amp;amp; child that no man can truly understand, but there is also a wonderful joy for a man to see someone he loves so deeply to have the joy of having a child. The miracle of life. I know this isn't always the case for most couples out there, which is what really bothers me. When my wife had a miscarriage, my heart broken that we were not having a child. There are men out there that could care less about their children, just as there are women who feel the same, but why is it that the man always gets the bad rap when it comes to children. I know there are men out there that don't deserve to be fathers and women who don't deserve to be mothers. Why is it that the woman always gets the benefit of the doubt. These feminist say that its the woman's body and that she has the choice. What really bothers me is that she has the choice, but the man has to live with the consequences of that choice. Last time I checked it takes two to tango. The woman can chose not to have the child, even if the man wants it and he has to live with it. If she has the child, the man has to pay child support to support the child. Please, I am so very against abortion. Children are a gift from the Creator, that need to be treated as such. That is not the issue I am trying to address. I understand that our society does tend to shortchange women in the professional world, but this is one area men definitely get the shortend of the stick. Maybe its just some of things some of my family is going through at this time that cause me to bring this up.&lt;br /&gt;Side note: On a lighter note, lets talk about women's sports. I heard on the four let sports channel that some PGA women were upset about how much the PGA men get paid. The truth of the matter is that people have to be interested in your sport in order to generate revenue. This in turn translates in advertisement, sponsership, ect. Which all makes money. This money is then distributed to the players. Simple business model. A sport can be just about anything, two dudes bouncing a rubber ball in a parking lot can be fun for some people to watch, but definitely not everyone. They won't get the sponsorship dollars that the NFL gets, sorry. Women's sports unfortunately just has never caught on to the viewing public, mainly because men watch the majority of sports. My wife would think it strange if I told her,"honey I have to get home to watch the women's PGA Secret Invitational."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115953911264586349?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115953911264586349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115953911264586349' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115953911264586349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115953911264586349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/little-deep.html' title='a little deep...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115953783962504040</id><published>2006-09-29T07:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-29T07:50:39.636-06:00</updated><title type='text'>call your momma and daddy...</title><content type='html'>This is something that I firmly believe in. I call my mom every year on my birthday. Most of the time I call and just leave a message, thanking her for the whole birthing process. Thanks for being Mom.  I also thank the Dad for allowing me to live through the teenage years. I know there are times he would have probably liked to hire a guy named Vince to work me over or send me to rest with the fishes. Wouldn't have blamed him. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I think parents are like teachers in our society, not enough credit and too much criticism.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;  Something to try, as a matter of fact it has almost become a fun sort of competition between my mom and I. Now she tries to call me first, watch out Mom, next July you are getting a call at 4 AM.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115953783962504040?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115953783962504040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115953783962504040' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115953783962504040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115953783962504040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/call-your-momma-and-daddy.html' title='call your momma and daddy...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115953703332231272</id><published>2006-09-29T06:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-29T07:37:13.470-06:00</updated><title type='text'>the blame game...</title><content type='html'>Welcome to these here United States, home of the free, land of the brave and where all the stupid people live.  Sorry I really don't mean all of us are stupid, just some.  This is a great place to be, would not want to live anywhere else. I love my country, just not every person in it.  Let me clear this strange introduction up a bit.  Our society is just full of people that are just plain stupid. (Josiah would correct me for saying the "s" word, it is not allowed at our house)  It seems that we have raised a society of people that can not take resposibility for their own actions.  We live in a sue happy world, if you are an American you know this well.  Especially if you pay for any kind of insurance.  The thing I find funny is that the woman that sued McDonalds because she could not hold on to her hot coffee and drive at the same time, was probably the same lady the day before complained that her coffee was to cold.  We can never be happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing in this world bugs me as much as people who blame their parents for the way their life turned out.  Please, I understand that the way you are raised has a great impact on your life.  This I believe to be gospel.  Being a parent, now, I understand a bit better.  I make mistakes daily as a parent, don't doubt that a bit.  I am human, as we all are.  The way I see it, if the good things out weigh the bad, then it was a sucessful day.  It is the people who say, "I am this way because of my parents..." that really anoy me.  Let me explain.&lt;br /&gt;My parents were the greatest, in my opinion.  Sure they made mistakes (the human thing), but not as many as I did as a child.  They provided for me even when I more and likely didn't deserve it.  They taught me how to live, love and laugh.  The three important L's.  Same thing with my wife's parents.  They were awesome parents, not to mention they were great to me too.  Our parents both struggled financially, of which we never had a clue as kids.  We knew we weren't loaded, by the house we lived in and the cars we drove, but neither one of us ever fully understood the financial hardships our parents went through.  God bless them for that.  My wife and I had a big awakening when Josiah was born.  We woke up one day and realized that we did not have a clue about money (still not sure I do).  The point here is that we could both easily blame our parents for the way we treated money.  After all we were emulating what they did.  That would have been the easy way out, Mom &amp; Dads fault.  The way I see it, not true.  &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;The moment you recognize that you have a problem, is the moment you take ownership of that problem.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;It doesn't matter who, what, when or where, the moment you realize the problem, you and only you are the one that will be able to work it out.  Truth. I firmly believe in Newtons 3rd Law of Planetary Motion, "for every action there is an equal and oposite reaction"  Fancy scientific way of saying "you reap what you sow." Point is that we are resposible for our reactions.  For you men out there, ever watch a sporting event.  Things get a little heated, a guy throws a punch, and a guy throws one back.  Nine times out of ten the guy who throws the second punch is the one who gets in trouble.  Thats the way life is, it is about how we react.  When it comes down to it, we are the only ones who control the way we react. So why is it that we blame some else?  Because, we are selfish.  Plain and simple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you all, especially my parents and my wife's parents for raising us up right...thank you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115953703332231272?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115953703332231272/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115953703332231272' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115953703332231272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115953703332231272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/blame-game.html' title='the blame game...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115895161781715635</id><published>2006-09-22T12:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-22T13:00:17.830-06:00</updated><title type='text'>couple of funny kid things...</title><content type='html'>These didn't come from our kids but I thought they were pretty funny...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will preface this story by saying, hair on the top of my head is a hot commodity.  A few sundays back my wife and I had to teach the kindergarten sunday school class. After watching one of the boys dancing around holding himself,  I drew the short straw and had to take him to the boys room.  I was patiently waiting by the sink, when he got done washing his hands, I handed him a towel.  He stood there looking at me kind of puzzled, then said " Your hair hasn't come in yet."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife teaches a 3 year old pre-school class.  She has a few Chinese children in her class that do not speak very good English.  One of them was really excited because when he got home he was going to get to watch T.V..  So the boy told one of his friends, "I am going to get to watch English T.V. when I get home, do you have an English T.V.?"  His friend answered, "No, we have a black one."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115895161781715635?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115895161781715635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115895161781715635' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115895161781715635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115895161781715635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/couple-of-funny-kid-things.html' title='couple of funny kid things...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115886253706267990</id><published>2006-09-21T11:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-22T12:50:37.363-06:00</updated><title type='text'>life at that very moment couldn't be better...</title><content type='html'>I was on my way home from Columbus the other day, and I got a call from my wife. She said that Josiah was out in the street. We live on a cul-de-sac, so traffic is not an issue in our neighborhood, but the rule is still no playing in the street. So I was a little puzzled as to why my wife was letting him play in the street. She told me he was riding his bike in circles around the island at the end of our street, and then was jumping his bike of the curb when he was coming back into the driveway. Let me preface the rest of the story by saying that I love bicycling, but since the kids, I have kind of given it up. Josiah has been practicing in the back yard. Unfortunately, the sad part is I missed his first time riding on the street with no help. I am telling you though, I couldn't get home fast enough. As soon as I got home, just Josiah and myself went outside, I sat down on the curb and just watched him make no fewer than twenty trips around the circle. Watching that was honestly better than any sporting event I have ever attended, and I have been to some great ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just think it amazing how things like that can have such a strange effect on me as a parent. I have been coaching Josiah's soccer team, which has been a dream of mine since we found out we were having a boy. I find myself getting choked up a bit when he steals a ball or takes of down the field on a breakaway. For a brief second, I get a lump in my throat, shortness of breath and it gets tough to spit out any words. I get excited for him. I can remember what it was like riding my bike with no training wheels for the first time (without getting hurt) and scoring my first goal in soccer.  It is just great to see your kids have the same experiences.  I am sure when Josiah scores his first goal, I will be letting everyone know about it.  If he doesn't, it doesn't matter, but I am sure I will still get that lump in my throat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115886253706267990?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115886253706267990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115886253706267990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115886253706267990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115886253706267990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/life-at-that-very-moment-couldnt-be.html' title='life at that very moment couldn&apos;t be better...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115861389154185048</id><published>2006-09-18T14:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-18T15:11:31.556-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Josiahisms continued...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on God's Age... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Josiah was asking questions about age again.  This seems to be a very common question, or at least anything dealing with numbers.  We have had the discussion about the word infinity before.  Josiah was talking about the age of God the other day, he really wanted us to attach a number to it.  So we had the discussion about in infinity again, no beginning and no end.  I made references to space and he came back with the Buzz Lightyear "to infinity and beyond..."  He could grasp the the no end part, little difficulties with the no beginning, but he really thought we should still be able to attach a number to God's "age."  I told him "God doesn't have an age like we do." "Daddy" he said, "God is zero." "Why is that?" I asked. "Because zero really isn't a real number." he said&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115861389154185048?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115861389154185048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115861389154185048' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115861389154185048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115861389154185048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/josiahisms-continued.html' title='Josiahisms continued...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115834484640018057</id><published>2006-09-15T11:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-15T14:32:29.240-06:00</updated><title type='text'>that's what its all about...</title><content type='html'>Well I am back to this blog thing again. Josiah had his first trip to the hospital. Both Ella and Josiah's first trips to the hospital they both split the old noodle open...they are definitely my kids. I have a great track record of busting up my head, the thing is just so big. I got the phone call that he had fallen at school and split open his head and that it was pretty bad. Not the words you really want to hear. Fortunately my wonderful bride was still at the school. So Mommy was there for the initial shock factor. Blood everywhere, nice. After I got over the anxiety on my way to the car to fly home meet them at home, so we could take him to the emergency room, the thought actually crossed my mind "hope he didn't get much blood on the school uniform, those shirts are expensive." &lt;em&gt;Now mind you I am not proud of that.&lt;/em&gt; That's why I actually confessed that thought, and this is the foundation of my blog today. (Nice transition, I know...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From the day we found that the stick had the appropriate number of lines to confirm our fears and joy, my perspective has changed a bit. Think of all the little bumps and bruises, heartache, sleepless nights and fears you had a child, we all have lists of stories. Everyday, for Josiah and Ella is one of those days that something like that could happen. My wife and I are the spectators. How our parents must have felt, the trips to the Emergency Room, getting up in the middle of night to take of bad dreams and coughs and sleepless nights. I know now. It breaks your heart, it truly stinks to see your child in pain, but it helps make them who they will become. Everything is just a little stepping stone. The part as a parent I don't like, is that you have to be the strong one. Truth be known, I am a big softie. Grown men do cry...by the way. When Josiah was on the table getting ready to get his stitches, 4 right in the eye brow, which is now swollen to the size of ping pong ball, he asked to hold my hand. I choked up a bit and gave him the normal words of encouragement. I had to put a hold on my emotions while I was watching the Doctor put in the stitches. He was a trooper until the last one. You could tell it hurt. The look of fear and pain on his face indelibly marked in my mind. He is okay and survived his first major stepping stone. Mommy didn't fair to well, she came as close to passing out with out going over. The Doctor was worried more about her than Josiah.&lt;br /&gt;Funny thing about this whole episode, in retrospect I enjoyed this time with our son. I'm not some sicko. Let me explain. My wife and I learned that our son talks just as much when he is in pain than when he feels fine. This experience opened up Josiah to ask questions about Mommy and Daddy's accidents. At one point we were all alone in the Emergency room, the three of us showing off each others scars. He was intently listening to all of Mommy and Daddy's stories. Josiah showing us all his playground scars. At one point I was just sitting by his bed, he was just talking about some incident with one of his little scars and I had an epiphany. I could see clearly, nothing matters but what those little people think of you. When they look back on life, the material things, the toys and house and cars, kids really don't see wealth or status. They can see your true intentions. The number one thing they remember is the time spent. Whether it be having fun or in the hospital. Kids are smarter than we give them credit, &lt;em&gt;sometimes&lt;/em&gt;. One of the fondest moments I ever had with my step-Dad was when he took me to the emergency room after I had hurt my hand playing soccer. (I know you are not supposed to use your hands...) I was a senior in high school and he took me to the emergency room at 11:00 at night. He had to get up for work at 3:30 in the morning. I just remember sitting in the waiting room, he was sitting in the chair and I was thinking he must really love me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its the number of "I Love you's", unconditional hugs, time spent playing and simply holding their hand that's what its all about. Not going out and buying them the latest toy or DVD. That stuff fades. They still remember "stuff", but when they get older they remember time spent not money. Maybe I'm just some sappy old guy with a couple of kids that have me wrapped around their little fingers, if thats the case...I like where I'm livin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115834484640018057?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115834484640018057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115834484640018057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115834484640018057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115834484640018057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/thats-what-its-all-about.html' title='that&apos;s what its all about...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115772073631897399</id><published>2006-09-08T07:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-08T07:05:36.320-06:00</updated><title type='text'>this drives me crazy...</title><content type='html'>I hope I am not the only one bothered by this, but when you run a spell check before you post your blog, it always flags the word BLOG as mispelled.   Thanks for listening.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115772073631897399?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115772073631897399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115772073631897399' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115772073631897399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115772073631897399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/this-drives-me-crazy.html' title='this drives me crazy...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115746945484159230</id><published>2006-09-05T08:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T09:18:44.626-06:00</updated><title type='text'>advice is like...</title><content type='html'>I have always thought that whenever someone asks me what I think about whatever it they are asking me about, my opinion is just that an opinion. Take it or leave it. I will not be offendend if you hate it or love it. No harm no foul. I won't be offended by what you think of my opinion and conversely don't be offended by my opinion. Opinions are like moms, everyone has or had one. Just for giggles (I can actually think of better ways of spending my time, but for this exercise just run with me), go through a book store or library. There are more self help and instruction manuals than any other kind of book out there. From how to have perfect children to how time the dual carbs on a vintage Porsche 912. Funny thing is, everyone has had someone raise them (I know not all of us have been fortunate enough to own a vintage Porsche), but my point is if we all sat down and talked about our parents parenting, each had there own very different style. We all survived. There a just so many different perspectives on everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Advice is like a drug, not that its addictive, but it has different side effects for different people. So I think that when people take advice from someone else it is that persons responsibility to weed out what works for them and what does not. I generally know how to make my son respond, you know light a spark under his bottom when I need him to be motivated. Most parents know these little tricks. What motivates my son is going to be different than what motivates your son. Thats just the way it is. So I can not judge what you do and you should not judge what I do, because we do not always know the full story. Please don't get me wrong, if I am out in the front yard beating my children with in an inch of their life with a baseball bat, go ahead judge me and beat me with railroad tie. I guess what I am trying to say is that humans have so many different things thrown at us and we all have different ways of dealing with issues. Take a little advice and try it, if it doesn't work try another "drug "and until you find the right one. Because more and likely there is not always a cure, there is just something out there you can mask the pain that just has fewer side effects.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115746945484159230?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115746945484159230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115746945484159230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115746945484159230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115746945484159230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/advice-is-like.html' title='advice is like...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115713647322256139</id><published>2006-09-01T12:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T14:41:28.490-06:00</updated><title type='text'>it's the most wonderful time of the year...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/347577:7:fp335"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/400/347577%3A7%3A%7Ffp335%3Enu%3D3233%3E25%3A%3E963%3E232425%3A%3A5477%3Aot1lsi.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hum a wonderful tune (check out the audio on my profile), and think of this adorable face.LETS GO BLUE!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115713647322256139?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115713647322256139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115713647322256139' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115713647322256139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115713647322256139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/09/its-most-wonderful-time-of-year.html' title='it&apos;s the most wonderful time of the year...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115697116757064981</id><published>2006-08-30T14:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-31T06:58:40.136-06:00</updated><title type='text'>fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: you will love this its funny</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I generally do not forward emails unless they are absolutely hilarious. This one is an email that was forwarded to me by one of my favorite customers. She sent it to me, then I put a few notes on it and sent it back. I just thought this went well with my last blog, so I figured I would post it. It helps prove my last point pretty well. Everything in regular type is the original email, my comments are in the small bold script. This is good for both sexes, enjoy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;SUMMER CLASSES FOR MEN AT THE LEARNING CENTER FOR ADULTS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOTE: DUE TO THE COMPLEXITY AND DIFFICULTY LEVELOF THEIR CONTENTS, CLASS SIZES WILL BE LIMITED TO 8 PARTICIPANTS MAXIMUM.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;so we can have a 4 on 4 basketball game after class&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 1 How To Fill Up The Ice Cube Trays --- Step by Step, with Slide Presentation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Meets 4 weeks, Monday and Wednesday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;it is ok to leave just one cube in the tray, we are optimistic and still see things as partially full, not empty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 2 The Toilet Paper Roll --- Does It Change Itself?Round Table Discussion.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Meets 2 weeks, Saturday 12:00 for 2 hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Why change the toilet paper, there is usually a box of tissues on the back of the seat&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 3 Is It Possible To Urinate Using The Technique Of Lifting The Seat andAvoiding The Floor, Walls and Nearby Bathtub? --- Group Practice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Meets 4 weeks, Saturday 10:00 PM for 2 hours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Women are just jealous that we can go anywhere and write things in the snow&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 4 Fundamental Differences Between The Laundry Hamper and The Floor ---Pictures and Explanatory Graphics.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Meets Saturdays at 2:00 PM for 3 weeks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;We like it when the clothes on the floor, that means we are in the mood.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 5 After Dinner Dishes --- Can They Levitate and Fly Into The Kitchen Sink?Examples on Video.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginningat 7:00 PM&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;It is easier to locate a glass when you leave next to your favorite chair.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 6 Loss Of Identity --- Losing The Remote To Your Significant Other.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Help Line Support and Support Groups.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Meets 4 Weeks, Friday and Sunday 7:00 PM&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;We don't like those bonnet wearing, mushy Lifetime channel movies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 7 Learning How To Find Things --- Starting With Looking In The Right PlacesAnd Not Turning The House Upside Down While Screaming.Open Forum .&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Monday at 8:00 PM, 2 hours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This one I don't have an answer for.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 8 Health Watch --- Bringing Her Flowers Is Not Harmful To Your Health.Graphics and Audio Tapes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Every time we do something like this you give us the third degree and drill us for the next week on what we did wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 9 Real Men Ask For Directions When Lost --- Real Life Testimonials.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tuesdays at 6:00 PM Location to be determined.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Women always ask for directions because they don't know how to fold the map.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 10 Is It Genetically Impossible To Sit Quietly While She Parallel Parks?Driving Simulations.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;4 weeks, Saturday's noon, 2 hours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;It's not that hard to parallel park, and the way we see a guy can hit a 100mph fast ball with a wooden stick and 40,000 people yelling at him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 11 Learning to Live --- Basic Differences Between Mother and Wife.Online Classes and role-playing .&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tuesdays at 7:00 PM, location to be determined&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Women are the way they are because their Daddys gave them everything they wanted and called them Princess, no body ever points that out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 12 How to be the Ideal Shopping CompanionRelaxation Exercises, Meditation and Breathing Techniques.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Solution to this problem is never go shopping when a sporting event is on.&lt;br /&gt;Men know the schedules for all sporting events, channel and times, just ask.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 13 How to Fight Cerebral Atrophy --- Remembering Birthdays, Anniversaries and Other Important Dates, Calling When You're Going To Be Late.Cerebral Shock Therapy Sessions and Full Lobotomies Offered.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Put our calendar in a TV guide format&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Class 14 The Stove/Oven --- What It Is and How It Is Used.Live Demonstration.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tuesdays at 6:00 PM, location to be determined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Why use an oven when we paid some much for the microwave.&lt;br /&gt;The oven is only good for baking metal items we have spray painted in the garage.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115697116757064981?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115697116757064981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115697116757064981' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115697116757064981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115697116757064981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/fwd-fwd-fwd-fwd-fwd-fwd-fwd-fwd-you.html' title='fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: you will love this its funny'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115654150695141558</id><published>2006-08-25T15:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-25T15:31:46.963-06:00</updated><title type='text'>wow, just listened to the news...this is part of the problem...</title><content type='html'>The stuff I have been writing about when it comes the whole gender thing I hope has been pretty &lt;em&gt;fair and balanced&lt;/em&gt;. (stole that &lt;em&gt;fair and balanced&lt;/em&gt; thing from FOX news) It is just my take on human nature more than anything, but I will say that this is a little one sided. I came across this news story and I could not believe it. Check out this direct quote:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;About 90% of women surveyed said they feel somewhat or not at all financially secure, and almost half of the women said they fear losing it all and becoming a "bag lady," according to the survey of 1,925 women, conducted by Harris Interactive. &lt;/em&gt;from Marketwatch.com.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT? This is what the male species is up against. Almost 50% have a fear of being a "bag lady." Please don't get me wrong, I have my own suspicions about my financial situation. If this isn't a gauge on self confidence, not sure what else is. These were professional women, women with jobs, and good jobs...(the article came from Marketwatch, not the Waitress Monthly, and I mean nothing bad by that) I am just trying to say these are the women that "have it together", they are today's women. If you don't have the self confidence in yourself and you are that insecure, how can we as males fix it? Most problems start with yourself as part of the solution (male and female alike). I guess I just see from many angles in our society how the average male is made out to be stupid and doesn't know how life is supposed to work. Just watch any sitcom on T.V. Ultimately my point is, people who are insecure with themselves, general try to bring down the others around them to make themselves better. Still not saying that we as men do not do stupid things, but its part of our appeal (and sometimes we do it on purpose because it just may be &lt;em&gt;fun&lt;/em&gt;). It is just that women are such beautifully complex creatures, and we simpletons (Men) are supposed to be supportive and be part of the solution. I need schematics and as far as I know there are none. I just want us all to get along better people, I'm tired and I just want to go to sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115654150695141558?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115654150695141558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115654150695141558' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115654150695141558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115654150695141558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/wow-just-listened-to-newsthis-is-part.html' title='wow, just listened to the news...this is part of the problem...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115653976669075359</id><published>2006-08-25T14:48:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-25T15:02:46.700-06:00</updated><title type='text'>brain is mush...</title><content type='html'>I have not posted anything of late, a lot has been going on and my brain is mush. Josiah has started Kindergarten...he doesn't seem to care much, it was just another day. He really enjoys it and looks forward to putting the school uniform on every morning. I had a tough time, got a little choked up...it's been a tradition since Josiah started pre-school that Daddy takes him to school in the Del Sol. So the walk back to the car was a little tough. Grown men don't cry though... He gets to ride the twinkie back home and he loves riding the bus... I was home all day yesterday and got to meet him at the bus stop...WEIRD. I am old enough to have a kid that rides a school bus...where did the time go? I am running out of opportunities. Now I understand why my brain is mush...I'm just old.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115653976669075359?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115653976669075359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115653976669075359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115653976669075359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115653976669075359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/brain-is-mush.html' title='brain is mush...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115617092582282878</id><published>2006-08-21T08:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-21T08:51:15.190-06:00</updated><title type='text'>they grow soooooo fast...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/Dick"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/Dick%27n%27Jane.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is pretty crazy in our household as of late. Josiah is getting ready to go to all day Kindergarten...where has the time gone. It is the beginning of the end, today Kindergarten, tomorrow drivers license and the day after that high school graduation. At the pace life has been at least that is what is going to feel like. Last night Josiah came out to the couch, where Daddy was in his favorite position watching a little pre-season Sunday night football, told me he wanted to read me a book. Now this kind of took me back a step. It is usually the other way around, and unfortunately this is where I say I lack as a parent sometimes. I ain't much good at read'n out loud, at least in my head, I guess. So I don't do much book reading, unless it has pictures. Josiah hops up on my lap and meticulously opens up his &lt;em&gt;Dick and Jane&lt;/em&gt; book to page one, and begins. All the way to page 13 (Daddy's favorite number, coincidence - I think not). I could not have been prouder at that moment, and as far as I was concerned on TV it could have been 4th and goal with 3 seconds the Browns with the ball down by 6 in the Super Bowl.  I could have cared less. Nothing else mattered, but him reading those famous words...&lt;em&gt;see spot run, run spot run.&lt;/em&gt; After he got off my lap, I watched him walk away and after being so proud, I felt a deep sadness. He is growing up so fast and before he knows it he is going to actually start dealing with our society has to throw at him. I just want to keep him little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ella went with me to the car store the other day. ( DICTIONARY MOMENT: Josiah and I names for the stores we go to...the big boy store is either Lowes or Home Depot and the car store is either Auto Zone or Pep Boys.) It was just Ella and I in the Del Sol. She loves riding in it with the top off...she smiled all the way to the store. She knows she's something. We get to Auto Zone and I get her out of the car she walks in holding my hand. Another proud moment...my daughter and I going into the autoparts store together. She loved it, she was going around picking up tools, then she found the Hot Wheels, picked out one and carried it around the whole store. I was able to switch it out with radiator cap that I was actually there for. She was in her pretty pink flower dress, her hair up in a bow and her little sandles walking through the car store...Sorry I am rambling...it was just neat dog gone it...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115617092582282878?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115617092582282878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115617092582282878' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115617092582282878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115617092582282878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/they-grow-soooooo-fast.html' title='they grow soooooo fast...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115593169379884649</id><published>2006-08-18T13:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-18T14:08:17.580-06:00</updated><title type='text'>sorry about this ongoing theme...</title><content type='html'>I want to apologize for this ongoing theme of gender related topics. I guess these kind of things just bother me. I just wish people could appreciate each other for the qualities that each one of us bring to the table that we call society. I am not going to go off on some tree hugging, granola chomping, peace not war dissertation. That's not my style. I believe there is a place for war in our society, but that is a different topic for some other time. I guess what really gets to me is that if everyone understood just one simple formula for life, it makes it easier to deal with others. Just think about your family for a second, your spouse, your mother, your father, grandparents, kids, nephews, nieces for just a moment. Go through the list and I bet you, other than some extreme circumstances, most of those people bring a smile to your face or you are extremely appreciative of what they have done for you. I can almost guarantee that is the case with everyone. Which brings me to this point, when ever you have a problem with someone, realize this, they are someone's father, mother, spouse, son, daughter, ect. How would you like someone to treat your family members or someone special. I guess I just get tired of the ridiculous anger that people have towards each other. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not some holier than thou kind of person, I have my share of pent of frustration for the human race.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the period of the past few months I have had encounters in my professional life of people just full of themselves, and it absolutely drives me crazy (I know its a short drive). They think that I have nothing better to do with my life (which includes but not limited to running a business, raising kids, being a husband, brother, friend, manage business and personal finances, take care of the house, cars and the list goes on of things I have to accomplish in my 24 hours) but to make their life miserable. They have the audacity to think that I have nothing better to do than to make up silly little schemes to make life difficult. That to me is the biggest form of self conceit and pride that a person can witness. That is all it is plain and simple, pride. These people can't belly up to the fact that life just throws us curves every now and again, and there is nothing we can do about it. Quit blaming others. On the same note I have an former business acquaintance that just can't seem to let an issue of the past go...he brings it up in conversation with everyone he comes in contact with. It was something he was directly involved in. People that can not let an issue die, in my opinion are harboring some form of guilt. Plain and simple, the reason they keep bringing up and pushing blame on everyone else is that they are trying to pacify their guilty conscience. (The only person out there that reads this blog thing can give me an "amen brother," they are dealing with the same issue.)&lt;br /&gt;I apologize for my ranting, but I just had to get it of my chest. Try this sometime...just take a moment, maybe when you are just sitting on the couch or at a family picnic or something like that. Just take a few minutes and watch someone that you love ( ie...kids, wife, ect.). The trick is just watch them interact with other people, play or do dishes or whatever but don't let them know you are watching. This isn't something freeky, just watch them. I think you will find a new found appreciation for us humans. To think that every voluntary and involuntary muscle and the the thought processes that make us function all come together just for us to perform the most menial of tasks. For me it works, it also helps me realize how beautiful these people are that God put into my life...try it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115593169379884649?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115593169379884649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115593169379884649' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115593169379884649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115593169379884649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/sorry-about-this-ongoing-theme.html' title='sorry about this ongoing theme...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115584503424213086</id><published>2006-08-17T13:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-17T14:03:54.360-06:00</updated><title type='text'>the other side of the coin...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/penny.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/200/penny.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kind of feel bad, because most of this blog thing has been about our son Josiah. We do have a 1 1/2 old daughter, Ella. Both kids fill a hole in my heart that no one else can fill, like I told Josiah when Ella was born, "Josiah will always be my buddy and Ella is Daddy's sweetheart." Than way he knows the difference. Since day one I have beating it into his head that it is his job to protect and keep his sister safe. Trust me, there is no one on this earth that can tease Ella, except for him...the way it is supposed to be. This is the way I grew up with my little brother, no one else could mess with him except for me and vice versa. Its still that way today.&lt;br /&gt;Even though Ella speaks her own little baby language, she already has taught me a few life lessons about the relationships between men and women. This has been a complaint for generations from woman that they are not the man's mother. Please understand that I can understand this, there are some men that just can not let go of the apron strings. My relationship with my mother is a good one, we actually best of friends. I still respect her as my mother and everything she has done, but now that I am married and have a wife, our relationship has developed more into a friendship, which is the way I think it should be. Maybe you disagree. Getting to the otherside of the coin that I talked about, women are the way they are because of their Daddys. That never gets brought up. I understand this now that I have a daughter. I grew up in a family with one brother and 7 boy cousins, raising a boy is second nature to me, its what I grew up around. Daughters own their Daddys (if he is worth his salt as a Daddy) from the moment he hears her cry the first time. My daughter knows she has me wrapped around her little finger. She gets called every little term of endearment you could think of... I even make stuff up. It is this environment many women grow up in and then expect their husbands to treat them the way their father did. Ella gets treated with much more leniency than Josiah, after all she is girl. Just something to think about, I just think it is funny you never hear about this angle, maybe because men are afraid...we'll see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115584503424213086?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115584503424213086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115584503424213086' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115584503424213086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115584503424213086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/other-side-of-coin.html' title='the other side of the coin...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115576304215490592</id><published>2006-08-16T14:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-16T15:22:13.496-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Me getting philosophical</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/race2.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/200/race2.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Josiah and I had the time of our lives this past Sunday... we went to the Kentucky Speedway for the Meijer 300. I have had a love affair with cars pretty much the day I left the womb (I always have told my wife, you never have to worry about an affair, but if I ever do have one she will have four wheels and a tailpipe...) My Grandmother (who is currently keeping track of me from the other side) was a car freek as well. If anyone ever told me I drove like my Grandmother, it would be a compliment. This passion has been passed along to Josiah as well. We got to the track early and a women came up to Josiah and I and asked us if we had pit passes. (She was very attractive by the way, but my wife was not even remotely jealous...) I told her "no." She gave us two pit passes. We went down to the pits and watched the entire race from behind the fence. We were about 15-20 feet from the cars when they pitted. It was awesome. A funny thing happened though. Josiah was really excited when we walked up to the pit and could see the cars, then when they started them up...the look of joy (on his face, too.) The race began and Josiah was standing at the fence (behind Tony Kanaan's Pit, Daddy's favorite and of course Josiah's too.) He was getting tired of standing. He looked at me and asked if we could go up to our seats. I told him wait until they come into the pits to have their tires changed and get gas before we go anywhere. Our seats were way up at the top of the tower and we were IN THE PIT. It was a difficult concept for him, the waiting. Daddy by no means wanted to go back to the seats, because I knew what was going to happen. A little more whining ensued about our seats, but when they came in for the first pit, and the cars burned their tires and squeel of the engines and the smoke and noises...he knew why Daddy made him stand at the fence for 40 laps. I just was thinking how many times I have whined and complained about things, and have probably missed out on some of the greatest moments of my life, because I didn't trust my Father. The cool thing was, I was there for this one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115576304215490592?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115576304215490592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115576304215490592' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115576304215490592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115576304215490592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/me-getting-philosophical.html' title='Me getting philosophical'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115575663292679114</id><published>2006-08-16T13:16:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-16T13:32:13.190-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Josiahisms continued...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/cemetery_cherub.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/200/cemetery_cherub.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on convenience...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Josiah and I were taking a drive through the little town of Warsaw, Kentucky. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, we were in our little convertible, just Father and Son bonding time. Taking the back way to the Kentucky Speedway for a day at the races. Josiah points out that there is a house next to the &lt;em&gt;block place&lt;/em&gt; ...(his description of an old cemetery, because of the big tombstones.) He looks at me and says, "that is kind of nice, if the guy dies he only has to go over the fence." Then he looked a little puzzled, "they wouldn't be able to carry him over the fence. That's not a good climbing fence, and he would be heavy to carry." I was trying everything not to laugh...because he was sincerely puzzled about how to get the dead guy over the fence. Then he figured out "that they could carry him down the driveway and walk on the road if there wasn't any traffic to get the man to the &lt;em&gt;block place&lt;/em&gt;." So our son thinks that living next to a cemetery is second only to living next to Toys-r-us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115575663292679114?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115575663292679114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115575663292679114' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115575663292679114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115575663292679114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/josiahisms-continued.html' title='Josiahisms continued...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115532809774627441</id><published>2006-08-11T12:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T08:37:17.523-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Epic Struggle: Listening</title><content type='html'>Okay, I know hundreds upon thousands of books have been written on the differences between men and women. Men are from Jersey and Women are from New Hampshire, books like that. Everyone clamoring in their two cents, but the fact remains that no one has ever truly solved the single greatest mystery known to man: WOMEN. If anyone ever solves this great puzzle, I will show you the wealthiest, smartest and freekiest person the human race has ever seen. Women aren't even sure how they work. HOLD ON, I'm sure I just got someone out there's blood boiling...he we go again, man vs. women, the epic struggle. Who's smarter, who's dumber...blah, blah, blah. &lt;strong&gt;I come in peace.&lt;/strong&gt; I am not out to prove who is superior gender or anything like that, I just want to shed my twisted light on things, so maybe we can all get along better. First things first, women are amazing creatures. It is the complexity of women that keep men enamored with them. It is proof that God knows what He is doing.&lt;br /&gt;Concept #1 Ladies there are few things you need to know about us men. I am going to drop the bomb, first. Right to Nagasaki, no messing around with the little islands. It's all downhill from here, once you understand this concept, watch out. Men have been equipted with a survival instict called &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;selective hearing. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Now you may feel that your husband, boyfriend, brother, whatever just doesn't listen to you. That isn't necessarily the case. The best way to describe this wonderfully complex instict, is that it is similar to the Presidential Wire Tapping Program that everyone was up in arms about. Its very simple, our brains actually process every word and kicks out the words that it feels does not apply. Whenever one of the key words is processed, our brain and ears come in synch. Kazzam, we are now listening. It took me a long time to understand how this works, for years I would watch Dad or Grandpa. You know that blank look they would have, when Mom or Grandma were standing right in front of them, point blank telling them something and they didn't catch a word of it. I thought they were deaf, but NOOOO that was &lt;em&gt;selective hearing&lt;/em&gt; in action. I said that this was a survival technique, true, because if we listened to every word that was ever said, first off we would be tired, consfussed, disoriented and more and likely dead. This mechanism actually keeps us alive longer. After all, the life expectancy for males is much shorter than females, only because we &lt;strong&gt;chose&lt;/strong&gt; to die first. Now here is the solution...I will give you some of the key words that get a man's attention. If you start off every sentence with one of these words or phrases, man will listen everytime: sex, sports, cars (if you can make the sounds of an LT1 engine, oh my, for sure you wouldn't be single), food, and things like "if you listen I will let you go golfing with your buddies this weekend", stuff like that, you know the things that matter in a mans life.&lt;br /&gt;Men would also listen a lot more if women didn't make listening so difficult. Seriously, listening to a woman is an art form. When women talk and a man is really listening, you know he is actually processing the information, but he is not sure what to do with the data he has just processed.&lt;br /&gt;Solution one: Knod my head and give her a hug and say "yes, dear, sweetie "(plug in a term of endearment). Recourse: More and likely she will look me and want to know why I did not have a solution or comment to the problem or whatever, then tell me I don't care about what she has to say.&lt;br /&gt;Solution two: Actually give a solution to the problem or an idea on what to do about the situation. Recourse: She really just wanted me to say "Yes dear" and give her a hug, and she is going to tell me how I am not a good listener.&lt;br /&gt;Solution three: I don't have a clue just stand here. Recourse: I am sleeping on the couch for the next week.&lt;br /&gt;When women have a problem, I think it is just sometimes easier that maybe you keep the man out of it, unless you really want the advice. Men react to things similar to watching &lt;em&gt;The Wheel&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;of Fortune&lt;/em&gt;, when we know the solution to the problem we are yelling at Vanna telling her to turn those letters.&lt;br /&gt;Concept #2. This is not as big as Concept#1, but is a vital tool in understanding the Male psyche. Women can not grasp the idea of indifference. When a woman asks a male about something and he responds "I don't care, it does not matter to me." That is what he means, end of conversation. Unlike women, men do not need to have an opinion about every little detail in life. Women feel that men should "care" about everything, like women do. IT IS NOT THAT WE DO NOT CARE, IT IS THAT IT DOES NOT REALLY MATTER TO US. Truth, when a man says he doesn't care where they go for dinner, just as long as they can eat. Men don't care what color the bathroom is as long as they have a place to sit. It is that cut and dry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have decided to stop the madness here. I want to keep the fans wanting more...join me next time when I have more to talk about men and women and other trivial stuff&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Men are simple creatures, we have an on off switch. Women have a starting sequence and a cool down before shutting off. Men are like an old pickup truck, women are like a Ferrari. Both are hard to keep running, but it can be done with a little practice.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115532809774627441?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115532809774627441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115532809774627441' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115532809774627441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115532809774627441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/epic-struggle-listening.html' title='The Epic Struggle: Listening'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115532130649948801</id><published>2006-08-11T12:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T13:13:30.433-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A picture is worth a thousand words</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/josiah&amp;me.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/347578382fp63=ot"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what life is all about, Josiah and I at the beach.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115532130649948801?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115532130649948801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115532130649948801' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115532130649948801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115532130649948801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/picture-is-worth-thousand-words.html' title='A picture is worth a thousand words'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115515863074739750</id><published>2006-08-09T15:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-09T15:23:50.756-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Something strange...not for the weak.</title><content type='html'>Sorry this really doesn't have much to do with anything I have written about in the past. I felt I just had to share. I walked into the Men's Room (or the Accounting Dept. as I like to call it, that's where I make my deposits...) in our office building. The one stall has an actual door, so you can't see if anyone is in there. I opened the door and behold two guys standing in there. Nothing weird, one was just an older gentleman that was helping a middle aged handicapped man. Now I mean no disrespect but needless to say I was taken aback. The funny thing is the older gentleman shouted at me "Stop, do not come in." Now please understand we had eye contact... Two guys in one stall does not equal a party I want to be involved in. So I had no intention of stepping in any further. I turned around closed the door and walked out. I wanted to say on the way out, "I thought the full service stations were a thing of the past..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115515863074739750?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115515863074739750/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115515863074739750' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115515863074739750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115515863074739750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/something-strangenot-for-weak.html' title='Something strange...not for the weak.'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115489977859615124</id><published>2006-08-06T14:52:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-07T08:40:30.233-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Josiahisms 101</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/waves.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would like to start off today with an apology. I did not mean to be so serious on my first ever attempt at "blogging." (Hold on, by the way, what kind of word is blog anyways, how did it make it into our vocabulary. I mean this word is so important that it not only is a noun but also deserves verb variants? When I was a kid this was called journaling or writing in a diary, but no, some computer geek decided that he would make up his own word... another version of revenge of the nerds.) Sorry this is not what today's entry is about...It usually only takes small shiny objects that make noise to distract me from the task at hand. Like I said in the beginning this is a place for me to keep track of many of insightful things that are taught to me through whatever God puts in my path. Today is just a small journal of some of the insight that my son has into life..those of you close to me already know many of these stories, because they make me so proud, well some of them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on spaceships...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; On pretty fall day when Josiah was 3, we were drawing out on the driveway with sidewalk chalk. (I try to use the kids to get out of about any chore I can..) Josiah is a pretty good artist for his age...so he decided to draw some space ships. Daddy thought it would be a good idea to draw some planets...then I asked Josiah, "What are the spaceships doing?" He looked at me with all seriousness (remember he is 3) "Daddy we need to &lt;em&gt;couple&lt;/em&gt; the spaceships together." In a state of disbelief I asked him if he knew what coupling meant. With all the confidence in the world, "Daddy that means putting them together." I called Harvard that evening...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on cookies...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Josiah went for a ride up to Dayton with his Uncle Don. Little did we all now that Uncle Don had a private stash of cookies in his truck. While traveling Josiah and Uncle Don decided to raid the stash of cookies. After eating a couple of cookies, Josiah asked Uncle Don if he could have some more cookies. Uncle Don was concerned and told Josiah that he did not want him to get a tummy ache. "Uncle Don, I'll be okay, I won't eat the chocolate chips...I'll just eat the cookie part...cause its just like bread and bread is good for you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on suckers... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Josiah and I were going through the drive thru at the bank, and just like anyother time, the teller sent him a sucker. The sucker was a strawberry, or some kind of fruit flavor. "Daddy the root beer suckers are not good for you, but the fruit flavored ones are because they have fruit in them..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on age... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Josiah and I were traveling down the highway, from no where Josiah says, "Daddy your almost the same age as Jesus." Now, I know children's perception of time is a lit off, but I thought this to be a little excessive. Me the same age as Jesus? "Daddy, you are almost 33." He got me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on football.. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;My friend and I took our son(s) to an Arena Football game. The kids seemed more interested in getting cotton candy than the game, but they were having a good time watching people pound each other. What red blooded American male doesn't enjoy that? The third quarter came to a close and it was already 10:30. Long after the boys bed time, so we decided to leave. On our way out my friend and I were about 1/2 way down the tunnel when we realized the boys weren't walking with us. We turned around and the boys were standing at the railing watching the field intensely. "Come on guys, its time to go" we told them. They replied, " But Daddy the Cheerleaders are out." They figure it out at such a young age, and you don't even have to teach 'em.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on corn... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;We got home one night and some friends of ours had left some fresh corn hanging on the front door. (We love corn on the cob at our house so anytime you wanna drop some by, get with me after the show and I'll give you our address.) Anyhow, Josiah went up to the bag of corn, pulled out two of them. Stuck one in each ear, turned to his Mommy, "Mommy, do you want to pick my ears..." That's pretty good for a 5 year old. We are working out a deal with the Comedy Channel for a one hour special...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on the wonderful things in life... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;This is by far, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;hands&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; down (no pun intended), the funniest and proudest moment as a father. As many funny family stories start out, we made a family trip to Wal-Mart. While in Wal-Mart we went to hosiery section to pick out hose for my wife. ( I despise the word panty by the way...That's why it was purposefully omitted.) Now me, being the wonderful husband who has no pride or dignity left as a male, was helping my wife pick out hose...looking for colors and sizes. Comparing price and quality, you know all that stuff you do as a neutered married male. After getting excited about finding a three pack of multi-colored (black, white and nude) on clearance for $1.99, I had realized that Josiah wasn't next to me anymore. He had been in the center isle looking at backpacks. I peaked my head around the corner and Josiah was scrunched down by an end cap. He had both hands perfectly cupped around a DD bra, one in each hand. In shock, I told him to stop that. "But Daddy" he replied, " I just wanted to touch them, because they are soft and squishy." Dare him to try that line when he grows up...he'll get plenty of black eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is plenty more were this came from...my feeble mind just can't remember them all. I am sure I will be adding more. I never ran away to join the circus, I was to lazy to run away, instead I just created my own. Thanks for listening.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115489977859615124?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115489977859615124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115489977859615124' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115489977859615124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115489977859615124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/josiahisms-101.html' title='Josiahisms 101'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115489978248413088</id><published>2006-08-06T14:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T09:29:36.027-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>FOUND THIS DRAFT IN THE DRAFT BOX...NOT SURE WHY I NEVER POSTED IT.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/1600/waves.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/waves.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would like to start off today with an apology. I did not mean to be so serious on my first ever attempt at "blogging." (Hold on, by the way, what kind of word is blog anyways, how did it make it into our vocabulary. I mean this word is so important that it not only is a noun but also deserves verb varients? When I was a kid this was called journaling or writing in a diary, but no, some computer geek decided that he would make up his own word... another version of revenge of the nerds.) Sorry this is not what todays entry is about...It usually only takes small shiny objects that make noise to distract me from the task at hand. Like I said in the begining this is a place for me to keep track of many of insightful things that are taught to me through whatever God puts in path. Today is just a small journal of some of the insight that my son has into life..those of you close to me already know many of these stories, because they make me so proud, well some of them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on spaceships...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; On pretty fall day when Josiah was 3, we were drawing out on the driveway with sidewalk chalk. (I try to use the kids to get out of about any chore I can..) Josiah is a pretty good artist for his age...so he decided to draw some space ships. Daddy thought it would be a good idea to draw some planets...then I asked Josiah, "What are the spaceships doing?" He looked at me with all seriousness (remember he is 3) "Daddy we need to &lt;em&gt;couple&lt;/em&gt; the spaceships together." In a state of disbelief I asked him if he knew what coupling meant. With all the confidence in the world, "Daddy that means putting them together." I called Harvard that evening...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on cookies...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Josiah went for a ride up to Dayton with his Uncle Don. Little did we all now that Uncle Don had a private stash of cookies in his truck. While traveling Josiah and Uncle Don decided to raid the stash of cookies. After eating a couple of cookies, Josiah asked Uncle Don if he could have some more cookies. Uncle Don was concerned and told Josiah that he did not want him to get a tummy ache. "Uncle Don, I'll be okay, I won't eat the chocolate chips...I'll just eat the cookie...cause its just like bread and bread is good for you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on suckers... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Josiah and I were going through the drive thru at the bank, and just like anyother time, the teller sent him a sucker. The sucker was a strawberry, or some kind of fruit flavor. "Daddy the root beer suckers are not good for you, but the fruit flavored ones are because they have fruit in them..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Josiah on cars... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Josiah is a car fanatic (proof positive that the apple does not fall from the tree...)  I would always play a little game when I was a kid &amp;amp; we were traveling, guess what kind of car it is by the tailights or headlights.  Hours of amusement. Josiah &amp;amp; I were driving up I-75, just the two of us in the little car.  So for fun, I thought I would play this game with Josiah.  I pointed to the car that was about 4-5 car lengths in front of us, "Josiah, what kind of car is in front of us?"  Josiah leaned forward in his seat to see over the dash &amp;amp; sat back down.  "Daddy, thats a Corvette" he replied confidently.  He was right, I was proud.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115489978248413088?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115489978248413088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115489978248413088' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115489978248413088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115489978248413088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/i-would-like-to-start-off-today-with_06.html' title=''/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32182137.post-115471068498793757</id><published>2006-08-04T10:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-04T13:45:22.390-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Class is in session...</title><content type='html'>Well here it is...my long awaited, much anticipated and highly criticized Blog debut. I am strictly doing this for my fans...those that have supported me over the years...I love you all. Seriously now, this is pretty much...&lt;em&gt;much to do about nothing&lt;/em&gt;. I have decided that all the strange and bizarre revelations that I have about life need to be put down in writing. More and likely they will not be read, but as I get older, my mind is leaving with my youth and my hair, so more importantly I need one spot where I can go to remember all the great things I have learned about life.&lt;br /&gt;The title of my Blog comes from &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; Dr. Phil, our 5 year old son. Everything you need to know about life, you can learn from a 5 year old. They put everything in perspective. The women folk in our house like to sleep in on Saturday mornings, which the son and I usually have that time to ourselves. It is a time we can have some male bonding. You know, see who can pass gas the loudest, who's burps smell the worst and ponder such things how they make those Cin-a-minis at Burger King...(little tiny cinnamon goodness wrapped up in such a cute little roll and yes the two of us use our fingers to clean out the frosting tub). You know, those things only a Father and Son can truly appreciate.&lt;br /&gt;I am married to the love of my, 10 years. Met and dated high school and married after college. Time sure has flown by, pretty much causing us to look back and wonder where it has all gone. (Everybody says that, sorry, not much of a revelation there, these will get better, I promise) &lt;strong&gt;Life has happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;I was really fortunate to know my great-grandparents...they were married for like a hundred years...pretty sure it was that long. I can remember when my great-grandmother had a stroke (she was wonderful woman, made killer Chef-Boyarde Raviolli and peanut butter cookies)and my great grandfather took care of her...that was the love and pride of his life. I can remember sitting on the vinyl couch in their living room when I was about 15-16 years old thinking...I hope I find some that I can spend the rest of my life with like this.&lt;br /&gt;Lesson 1 - Marriage&lt;br /&gt;Our son told my wife the other day that our daughter is the princess, he is the prince, Daddy is the King and Mommy is a kingly member...you go boy...Not sure exactly what he meant by that but we thought it was funny. Maybe its because I rule my house like a King or the kids get treated like royalty, not real sure...That's not really the way things work at our house, but over the years of observation I have realized a few truths about marriage.&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Never get into an argument&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/em&gt; Sounds easy enough, right? It is okay to have &lt;em&gt;disagreements&lt;/em&gt;, that is a normal part of life. Arguments and disagreements are two different animals. When someone is trying to argue a point, there tends to be a lack of respect for the other persons opinion. &lt;em&gt;I'm right, your are wrong.&lt;/em&gt; Aretha knew what she was talking about. That is what marriage is all about just like any relationship, R-E-S-P-E-C-T. (Good thing you this doesn't have audio). I can respect you and disagree with you at the same time. If you have to raise your voice to make a point, double check your point, because you may be raising your voice may just be making up for the lack of validity. Frustration is a normal part of disagreeing, that's why Men have the garage and Women have the master bedroom...places for each person to cool off, and sometimes it allows you to put things in perspective.&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Give your spouse the benefit of the doubt.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;When you get married we say these crazy words that are officially called vows. In there I pretty sure it says something about trust. Trust does not equal ignorance...after your spouse goes to the Casino and your credit cards are maxed out, there is a problem. Trust that your spouse has you and your family's best interest in mind. Truly if your spouse loves you and the family they would not do anything to hurt you. We all do absent minded selfish things every now and again, we are all human. It so much easier to forgive, if you trust.&lt;br /&gt;3&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;.Try&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;to impress your spouse.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Get back to the basics. When we all tried to land ourselves a mate...we paid attention to detail. We washed behind our ears, made sure we masked our body odor, dressed nice, ect. I can honestly say that after knowing my wife for about 16 years, I still try to impress her. I know, I know...you can't do it all the time. I go to another room to pass gas, and it lingers for a while and she catches it, or I don't wear matching clothes to go work on the car...it happens, but make a concerted effort. I know I don't look as good as I did when we first got married so I need to make up for it somehow. It shows you still care.&lt;br /&gt;4.&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Allow your spouse to have some alone time. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;As much as I know my wife likes to hang out with me all the time, and I enjoy her company just as much...its good to have some alone time. I sometimes take the long way home from work, just to unwind from the day, that way when I get home I can take the kids downstairs to play while my wife relaxes for a few moments. Recharge the batteries.&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Read your spouse.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; This is hard to do. My wife has good body language.(Hey now this is a family show...) I know when she is frustrated and conversely she can tell when things are not going smooth for me. This is teamwork in action. She spends the entire day with the kids, and all the household duties, and I spend the day working with grown adults, who seem to act like kids. We both have tough and demanding jobs. I have a good job that allows her to spend her time with our kids, and she is able to devote her time to raising those kids to the best of her God given ability. Both jobs are very important in making the family work. &lt;em&gt;When you make the playing field equal, it is easier to read your spouse. &lt;/em&gt;After all you are partners. Step in and give your spouse a hand when they need it. &lt;em&gt;If everyone is a giver eventually you will be a receiver.&lt;/em&gt; Remember the little things matter.&lt;br /&gt;6. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;You and your spouse will have a life after the kids are gone...take care of your spouse today.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Nothing in this world bothers me more than when I hear a married parent say, "My kids are the most important thing in my life..." I can remember like it was yesterday, I was a know it all teenager that decided to give my mother the knowledge that I felt she needed to know.  I can remember my stepdad stepping in and lighting me up like a roman candle, but he said something that has been my motto in marriage since day one. It went a little something like this..." When your mother and I got married, WE married each other.  I didn't marry you kids.  You were a wonderful addition to the marriage, but I married your mother and love her very much and I love you very much,we will always love you but one day you will not live under our roof and it will just be me and your mother, and that relationship is what matters most. Mom and I will be together forever." I am sure I'm a little off on the exact dialoge, but I got the idea.  If your marriage is strong, raising the kids is just an added blessing.  If you are married and have kids, the relationship with your spouse is much more important than that with your children.  Because that relationship with the children will fall in line if they see you have unconditional love for each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well this wraps up today's session class, there will be a test on Tuesday... These are just a few things that I have learned that I have to keep reminding myself.  Tons more where that came from, just need to find it.  I guess a may waste some more of my time putting more stuff into words.  Look for me on the New York Times Best Sellers List...you won't find me but anyways...I'm pulling for ya, and with each others help we can do this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32182137-115471068498793757?l=saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/feeds/115471068498793757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32182137&amp;postID=115471068498793757' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115471068498793757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32182137/posts/default/115471068498793757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturdaymorningswithjosiah.blogspot.com/2006/08/class-is-in-session.html' title='Class is in session...'/><author><name>student</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09836834946971757152</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4993/3512/320/josiah%26me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
