They must think I'm their dad

Turkey turkey turkey. That's the theme of the day! Well, that and being thankful, but I am almost certain people are thankful for the turkey. So, it all comes out in the end.

Speaking of being thankful, here is a list of things I am thankful for.

• God and the power of redemption through his son, Jesus Christ.


• My wife, who is my rock and has stuck by me when most others would leave


• My job for making this Thanksgiving possible


• My kids for making the job necessary...plus they are cool little people


• and finally, the turkey...Henry

That's right...we name the turkey. Every year, without fail. Maybe we are masochist who enjoy knowing our prey before we feast upon it's flesh...or we have kids who insist on naming the turkey.

Which is weird...They have never offered up a name for the burgers we ate on Sunday, or the pork loin on tuesday (which, by the way, was excellent). Surely these poor animals would have appreciated the gesture of being christened with a name before we cooked them to perfection.

Which brings up another point...if you are Catholic, and you want to name your turkey, does their have to be a ceremony? Would you have to sprinkle water on it's head? Would I have to take communion before naming the turkey? And wouldn't that spoil my appetite for the dinner later? Would I have to buy a christening gown?

No offense to the Catholic faith, but now I am glad to be non denominational. We can eat our birds without all the pomp and circumstance.

Incidentally, does anyone know what I originally set out to write about here? Me neither. Must be the triptofan. Thank you to Henry, the sweetest of all the fowl.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

This is Tobey Jude. He is 4 years old, soon to be 5, and he is autistic. He is more on the severe side of the spectrum as opposed to my other son, Edwin.

There are a couple of things you should know about Tobey. First, he defies most autistic conventions by being one of the most loving little dudes you have ever met. Also, he likes to stim.

In the world of autism, stimming is an activity that calms down the autist's brain, almost like chanting a mantra. Tobey's preferred activity to stim is spinning things.

The boy spins everything. Straws, pencils, unused maxi pads, leaves, kittens (we caught him in the nick of time), cars, shoes, paper...etc. I mean, really, he will spin ANYTHING.

Why post this picture? Why tell you about "The Jude"? Because he is awesome! He is one of those kids that you can watch and actually see his brain working. Example:

Last week, the kids had sample packs of crayons. They were little packs of three crayons each. Tobey picked up a pack of crayons and shook it. It rattled. He handed the box to Melissa. Now, it is important to note that at this point, he did not know what was in the box. He just assumed it was candy. When Melissa opened the box, he dumped out the crayons and realized that this was not candy. He slowly put the crayons on the counter and walked away.

I guess that is the frustrating part about autism. My son, my gorgeous, awesome son, is trapped inside of his head. I just know that if he can break through that wall, he is going to change the world!!

Don't lick the car

About nine years ago, I, along with my family, Melissa, Lena, Alison, and Edwin(Booga), lived in Kokomo. I had a good job, low paying, but good. Melissa was working at the local Wal-Mart. And, it was a different time...

It was pre- 9-11. The economy was buzzing, people were working, We discovered We Care park (sidenote...If you can make it to We care park in Kokomo this year, do so!) and the nearby cafe that sold coke in a bottle out of a vintage coke machine for only 50 cents! And, we were a very close knit family.

That winter was especially harsh in Kokomo, as we got about 10 inches of snow...not all at once, but over the course of the entire season. Snow doesn't really fall in Kokomo, it hovers then moves north. (sidenote number 2...Kokomo was founded by a convicted felon. I am not making that up!)

Anyhow, car assidents spiked in our semi white Christmas when the snow flew, and the salt trucks were on the job!

Now, for anyone who knows my kids, you all know this to be true: they ain't right. I love my kids. My kids are great kids. But, my house resembles a scene from "To Kill a Mockingbird".

The strangest of all my kids was, and arguably still is, Alison. At the time we lived in Kokomo, Ali was a tiny girl. She ate like crazy, but never gained weight. And she was as sweet as could be. But, she was a weirdo.

Now, my wife and I had started to notice that we were saying weird sentences. Sentences that do not usually come up in everyday civilized life. Things like, "Omigod! That's poop, not candy." or "Don't ride the cat!" or, as I used to tell my dog, "get out of the cat litter. It's not a toy!!!"

But, that fateful day in the winter of '00 would prove to be pinnacle of our prosaic prowess. Allow me to paint you a picture:

There is a light layer of snow on the ground. The parking lot is full of empty cars whose owners were inside the stores, shopping for the holidays. It was cold, the kind of cold that bites your nose and penetrates your bones. We pulled into the parking lot and parked our red astrovan with working heat, but no working heater fan. We began to unload the kids. The cars were covers with snow, dirt, and most of all, salt. I unloaded Ali, and as Melissa was wlking up to take her hand, she heard me yell,"ALI! Stop licking the Car!!!"

"What?" Melissa said.

"I just caught Alison licking the car next to us. I told her to stop licking the car"

We still look back on that with fondness. Not because of the obvious inappropriate behavior of a 3 year old, but because we still find ourselves saying those weird sentences. "Yes, we know what causes it" "No, they are all ours." "Yes, we call ourselves Living Stoners"

Ok, I gotta go. Melody is pointing at her diaper. The only word she can muster is "eewww". Guess we aren't the only wordsmiths!

New Beginnings

About five years ago, we lived in Burr Oak, Indiana, just outside of Culver. We had several cats and dogs, and fed several outdoor cats. Melissa took a real liking to one of the outdoor cats, and in turn he took a liking to her...however, human contact was not one of his fortes.

One day, we noticed he was not around anywhere, and he was always around. Later in the day, we saw laying on the porch, and upon further investigation, we could tell he was very ill. we took him to an old time vet in Winamac.

When the vet looked him over, Melissa asked,"Well, what can we do?"

He looked straight at my wife and without missing a beat said,"Go home, and dig a hole."

Isn't it funny the things you remember? I can't remember over half of my teacher's names, nor can I remember what I had for dinner last Wednesday. But, I remember that. And so does Melissa.

We have seven kids, four cats, and a house. Our story, which I will go into later, is one of hope, heartache, despair, and ultimately, redemption. Redemption through Christ! BUt, at our lowest times, we always remembered Doc Brockett's advice...dig a hole.

We all dig holes for ourselves...we put our foot in our mouth, we pay a bill late and get late fees, we let relationships go to the point of no return. The problem with these holes is that, more times than not, we don't know we are digging it until we can't see out the top. Only when we can see the tiny light at the top of our pit do we say, what have I dug myself into?

For us, it was the love of God and an AWESOME church. For different people, it is different things. I always suggest the love of the Lord, but honestly, it is different for different people.

Prologue...Yin, the porch cat, died the next day. And we buried him next to the garage. But, his contribution to our lives, as small and unintentional as it was, remains solid.

Dig A Hole is a way of life, an "anti-motto" if you will. RIP Yin.