Some of you know I have been running for occasional exercise. I bought a special running shirt that is one size too small for me. It is a red t-shirt (size medium) that says 'Jersey' and has a picture of a devil on it. The 'Jersey Devils' must be some kind of a sports team. I wanted to have a shirt that was too small to wear while I was running because my normal size shirts occasionally give me a severe nipple chafing while my enormous man-boobs bounce up and down against my t-shirt. Anyway, I saw some plain gray t-shirts at Walgreens that were $1 (with the purchase of a bottle of sunscreen), but I felt like I could do better than that. Sure enough, a super cheesy home made jersey devils shirt turns up, sized properly, for sixty cents, with no epithelium preserving ointment purchase required.

Moving on to news of the kids:

In order to get my daughter out of the house in a normal human amount of time, I have a creed that I recite with her before we go places. It goes as follows:

- Rule number one: Must wear clothes
- Rule number two: Must wear sunscreen
- Rule number three: Must wear shoes
- Rule number four: (the most important rule of them all) Obey your father

When I'm trying to get May to go somewhere, I go through the list to remind her of The Rules. The other day I caught her telling some of her rules to her stuffed animals. May's rules for her animals are as follows:

- Rule number one: Must saw wood
- Rule number two: Must dig holes



Ben has a new tool for manipulating me. He stumbles around, like he is having trouble walking, then when I hold out my hand to offer support. He grabs my hand and leads me to something that he feels needs to be done. The other day, he led me to the front door and stood there looking at it, as if he was thinking, "Here we are at the front door. How long will it take dad to realize that I would like the door to be opened for me?"

One last story about May. She has been potty training lately, and got up in the middle of the night. She needs to go to the bathroom, but doesn't really know it. So, I take her to the toilet and get her settled. She says to me, "Dad, will you marry me?"

"I'm already married to mommy, sweetheart."

"BUT WHO WILL MARRY ME?!" She cries and screams.

"When you find a man who loves you as much as daddy does, you'll know that he's the right guy to marry." Good advice?