Rewriting “Abigail’s Day”

toothpaste

Actual “Toothpaste Shirt” from one of my own kids… Not saying who!

Every Wednesday my son gets assigned a book to read. Every Wednesday he sits on my lap and reads the book to me. Since he is only six, the books are very short and not particularly difficult to read. So, we are not talking about Tolstoy or Voltaire (nothing that enlightening), but more like your run of the mill “see Dick run”. Now, I know that the books will not be particularly riveting or life changing, but I do expect them to be at least slightly accurate. This week’s book is a fantastic read called “Abigail’s Day”Let me recap a bit of it for you:

Good morning Abigail. It is 7:00 and time to get out of bed. I know you are hungry Abigail. It is 7:30 and time for breakfast. It is time for school Abigail. The bell rings at 8:00.

Let me stop there. The book goes on to recap the rest of her day, which is fairly realistic. Abigails morning routine however is balderdash. Seriously though, in what kind of alternate reality does a six year old child wake up, eat breakfast and arrive at school all within an hour’s time? I am upset! I am not sure whether to take the book outside and burn it or rewrite it, and send the “revised edition” back to school with my son. I know, I will choose the latter. It is time to set the record straight. Perhaps this rewrite will sure up any inaccuracies in this grossly and inappropriate faulty text. Continue reading

I want to be just like my Daddy.

I want to be just like Daddy.

I want to be just like my daddy.

I want to be just like my daddy.

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children.  And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. Ephesians 5:1-2

I’m often told by those who knew me as a child that my son is an exact replica of me at that age. I see the resemblance as well, and oddly enough so does my son.  Just recently, with my son sitting in my lap, I was looking through some old photos from my childhood. My son saw a photo of me sitting on Santa’s lap and insisted that it was him. Had I not known any better, I would have been inclined to agree with him, but it wasn’t him. It was me. Continue reading