Funny Guy Friday... 'Twas the night...

Funny Guy Friday is written by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...

'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house,
All the creatures were sleeping
... My kids... and my spouse.

The stockings were hung
Each bigger than the other...
"I hope I get more
Than my sister and brother."

The kids were still nestled
All snug in their beds
While dreams of Christmas loot
Danced around in their heads.

And Mom, in her jammies,
Asleep like a log...
Awake, I worried for Santa
"Did we crate the dog?"

When down in the den
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
Stopping first to empty my bladder.

Down the steps I bound...
I showed great hustle...
I took them two at a time...
Pretty sure I pulled a muscle.

The moon shone bright
Through our red front door
I wondered what had fallen
On our nice new wood floor.

When what with my blurry eyes
Did I see?
But a guy dressed in red
Looking straight back at me.

He moved through the room
A fat guy... but quick
I knew right away
This dude was pretty slick.

He waisted no time...
His movements unique...
He was there to deliver...
Should I dare sneak a peak?

I wondered what it was
That he had in his sack
Matthew's phone? Noah's bike?
Or perhaps Gracie's Mac?

From the top of the house
To the door of our 'fridge...
It seemed pretty clear
He'd been drinking a smidge.

His eyes were all bloodshot
His cheeks were quite red
It was hard to make out
Anything that he said.

He drooled and he staggered
Through the room with the tree
I really must admit
It was something to see.

He filled all our stockings
He seemed to be merry...
He tripped on some tinsel
And this made me wary.

He gathered himself
Getting ready to fly
I finally spoke up
"Sir, I bid you good bye!"

So, out the back door
The intruder, he flew
His sack was now empty
'Xcept for a beer... or two...

And with a big mumble
He went out to our deck
"This ain't even my house!
Oh... what the heck."

Turns out he was a neighbor
Who'd had a snoot full.
I didn't much care...
He left stuff that was cool.

But I grabbed him by his shirt
And I turned him around...
"Take my advice, Mister...
Or you may be jail-bound.

"Get out of this fur...
Put your own shirt on...
Your house is over there...
Your wife won't wake 'til dawn!

"Then, get up in the morning...
Get to church for your sake...
It won't be easy to do...
Your head's gonna ache.

"But a Savior was born
Sent to save us from strife.
See for yourself
It might change your life!"

So he shook my hand
And with a twinkle in his eye
He tripped down our steps
And he told me good bye!

I'm not sure if he made it
To church that next day
To celebrate His birth
On Christmas Day.

But I do know that jolly old man
That I caught
Left my kids better gifts
Than the ones that I bought!

At least he heard me exclaim
As he stumbled out of sight
"Merry Christmas to you
And to all a good night!"

Funny Guy Friday... Through the eyes of a child...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I have often said that if people knew how goofy I acted in my every day life, they would never trust me with legal decisions that could affect them for the rest of their lives. This may explain why nobody who reads these Friday posts on a regular basis has ever retained me.
     I don't think that I am goofy in a stupid way, I just think that I still act like a kid... and that's not a bad thing... especially at this time of year.
     Ah Christmas.
     I love everything about Christmas.
     I love putting up lights, picking out the tree and decorating it, and shopping for gifts... most of the time (by the way, if anyone has any ideas for what to get Cheryl, please pass them along). I love giving gifts, receiving gifts, going to church, and being with family.
     I like to think that I see Christmas through the eyes of a child.
     All of my kids enjoy the Christmas season, but as they get older, only one wants to be by my side through it all.
     My little man, Noah.
     Noah is with me every step of the way. He loves every Christmas tradition, whether putting up the lights, decorating the tree, or shopping for his brother and sister, Noah goes at it with great gusto. What a wonderful little companion.
     Last night was a perfect example. We went to Annapolis Mall to have the kids' picture taken with Santa. Not one of the "Santa helpers" that you see in other malls, but the real life Santa from the North Pole. Grace is seventeen and all of her Christmas photos are with this guy.
     Noah showed up wearing his Santa hat, which is kind of a big deal because he is very proud of his sweet 'do! Noah gives this whole Santa visit thing careful consideration.
     In years' past the kids would discuss what they were going to ask Santa to bring. Unfortunately, one year, Noah choked and instead of asking for the stuff he wanted, he asked for the stuff that Matthew had mentioned in the car. This created two dilemmas: Noah was going to get stuck with a bunch of stuff he never really wanted, and Matthew was left with no new ideas of what to request. I think he asked for clothes. Seriously, what kid wants clothes for Christmas?
     As I recall, Santa was able to sort out all the confusion.
     This year, after mulling it over for days, Noah decided to ask Santa to surprise him. This did not give much guidance to those of us that also have to get him a present, but once again, I am sure that at least Santa will come through.
     After the photos, we broke off into smaller groups. I was paired with Noah, and our first stop was the Godiva Chocolate Store. I don't like chocolate so there was very little for me to sample, but Noah had a suggestion.
     Hey Dad, they have milkshakes. 
     Knowing full well that he was less concerned about my potential milk shake than he was about his own, I commented that I don't like chocolate, so there is nothing really here for me.
     They have a white chocolate shake with strawberry ice cream. You would like that. That would be a nice Christmas treat! 
     Well played young man... I would like that, but you do know that Mom would not approve of a milkshake.
     That is why I came with you! Blink, blink... smile!
     You are good. One white chocolate shake with strawberry ice cream to go please. 
     Two hours later, after hunting down all of his gifts, we headed home to make meatballs for our upcoming family Christmas dinner this Sunday. Cheryl and the two older kids were still out shopping so it was just my mother, Noah and I. Of course, we broke down into teams of meatball makers.
     Noah and Grandma versus me.
     Yes, meatball making is a sport, and it comes with trash talk. I got things started...
     Mine are perfectly round balls. Yours are meat blobs. 
     I have Grandma on my side. Ours are better.
     Grandma is old, she has lost it. There is a new chef in town! This was directed at Noah since Grandma is still working out the kinks in her new hearing aids.
     You only made 12 while we made 64! Old Man! 
     I had to figure out how to turn on the oven and that took some time... besides, it's quality versus quantity!
     I don't know what that means... but I have Grandma on my team!  
     The whole Grandma thing gave Noah great confidence. I'm not exactly sure why because when I asked her how long the meatballs had to cook, she could only give me vague guidance: They will turn brown! 
     After we threw the meatballs in the oven we snuggled in to watch Elf. We try to watch a movie every night as Christmas approaches.
     When I got up to check the meatballs, I yelled into the TV room that my meatballs were fine, but their meat blobs had burned.
     In a panic, my mom came rushing into the kitchen, as Noah remained on the couch with his feet crossed on the coffee table and his hands behind his head. Without missing a beat, Noah asked Grandma... How long have you known him? Fifty years? You know he is lying. Our meat balls didn't burn.  
     Back to the movie. So there we were... Grandma and I snoring on either side of poor Noah, who watched to the bitter end. Cheryl and the kids bounced through the door as the credits began to roll and woke us all up.
     Time for bed, but before we could call it a day, we had to gather 'round and read Benjamin Bear. We read one chapter of this storybook a night during Advent. Noah insists on it, and each night provides a new message as we anticipate the birth of Christ.
     Reading that book right before bed is one of our favorite family traditions.
     What a day!
     I wish that I could go back and be ten years old again, and experience the Christmas season as a young boy. Unfortunately, I cannot... no more than Noah can stay frozen in today. I wish he could, and I often tell him that if he stops growing, I promise to take care of him for the rest of his life.
     Ironically, he never takes me up on my offer because he thinks getting old is a good thing.
     I suppose the best that I can do is to continue to act like a kid and hope that none of my clients ever see me.
     May you and your family have a blessed Christmas... and may you always see the wonder of the entire season through the eyes of a child!

Funny Guy Friday... Just in time for Christmas...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I came home Wednesday early from work to go Christmas shopping. Due to unforeseen circumstances, we are a little behind the eight ball this year, but I figured that Cheryl and I could knock some of it out. This was planned and was well known to all involved that Daddy was coming home early.
     Just to be sure, I called and announced that I was on my way.
     Apparently, there have been times in the past when I would say that I was coming home early, but would get caught up at work, or at the field or at the store... you get the picture. I am a dad and like my dad before me, I can exercise my option to talk to people and take my time getting home.
     If you ever had a dad, you know what I am talking about.
     So, imagine my surprise when, at 1:30 in the afternoon, my wife says: No problem, but I'm just about to hop in the shower!
     Hop in the shower? It is 1:30 in the afternoon!
     I know, I've been helping the kids with school.
     Are they done? 
     No, but they can work on stuff while we are gone. 
     I knew that this was not true. They always need her help, and if they say they will work on stuff without us (and by us, I mean Cheryl), they never do.
     Besides that... we need to get the house ready for the carpet men!
     Those last few words were uttered with great animosity. 
     Cheryl was not happy about the carpet project, and this has been a bone of contention in our marriage for the past few weeks. You see, we decided to redo some of the floors in our home. It started with replacing the family room carpet with hardwood. Then we decided to re-carpet the study, as well as the upstairs hallway and bedrooms. I did the scheduling, and I did a superb job of scheduling if I do say so myself. Carpet men coming the day after Thanksgiving... and the hardwood guys coming the day after that.
     BOOM baby! All done! Just in time for Christmas!
     BOOM baby! This might explain being behind the eight ball!
     Okay, there may have been foreseen circumstances, but that's kind of water under the bridge, don't you think?
     Cheryl thought, what with us hosting the family Turkey Bowl football game, the pre-game breakfast, and then twenty-five or so for Thanksgiving dinner, that we might be biting off a bit more than we could chew. I felt we were biting off just the right amount. Like a bandaid that you pull off quickly, so as to minimize the pain.
     We will never get the house ready for all that, she lamented... and lamented... and lamented!
     Nonsense. We'll have people over... and they can spill, spit, burn, stain, and vomit all over the floors and we won't care! The boys and I will take up the carpet in the family room on Friday while the carpet people are installing upstairs. This is perfect. 
     Cheryl was still not convinced. So she prayed about it.
     On Tuesday we got the call that the carpet was on back order.
     I can't believe that you prayed for our carpet to be on back order. 
     Look, God did not intend for all of this to happen in one weekend. We can wait until after Christmas to have the carpets installed. We can decorate the rooms and be done with it until January. This will be better, you'll see.  
     Well, God should have had you answer the phone when the carpet people called because I already rescheduled for December 13th. We'll put very few decorations in the living room... and we'll put nothing in the bedrooms for Christmas. BOOM baby! Still all done before Christmas! This is going to work like a charm... stick with me! 
     Despite the fact that the carpet guys did not come that Friday, we still had to prepare for the hardwood install.  We still had to purchase the wood, move the furniture, take up the family room carpet and padding, and dispose of said carpet and padding... and of course, pull up all the staples. Like most home improvement projects, it was fun... for about an hour. Then it became one big pain in the neck. At one point I looked at Matthew and Noah and said... Men, this is why you want to go to law school someday!
     My helpers and I got it done and our installers arrived bright and early on Saturday morning.
     Like any home renovation, there were little problems that needed to be addressed... and additions... by my lovely wife who, if I did not know any better, seemed to be sabotaging the whole project. Once they took care of all the preliminaries, they got on a roll. And it was a great roll, right up until they asked where the rest of the material was.
     We bought 240 square feet and that allows for some waste. That should be enough, but I must say, it looks a little short!
     Well, somebody may have some dyslexia issues because you need 420 square feet. 
     Ouch! That makes sense since the room is 20 x 21. That was going to put us way over budget!
     When all was said and done, the floors were done in time for us to bring in our Christmas tree, and despite Cheryl's efforts to thwart my plans, the hardwood looks marvelous.
     That brings us to my getting home from work early.
     The carpet men were coming in two days, and the soon-to-be-carpeted study had not been touched.
     No time for Christmas shopping.
     Cheryl teaches school in the study and there is a lot of stuff in there. I mean a... lot... of... stuff. How do I say this... The room is a walk-in junk drawer.
     With our Christmas shopping on hold, my focus was diverted to preparing the study for the new carpet. Like most home improvement projects, it was fun... for about an hour. Then it became a pain in the neck. I see a theme with these home improvement projects.
     At one point, after taking the 700th book off the shelf, I had to ask Cheryl a question... but before I asked the question, I had to ask if I could ask a question without her getting mad at me.
     Cheryl made no promises.
     Do we really need to have all 700 of these books in this room?
     She was right not to make any promises. Let's just say she loves books, and it would be fair to say that we do, in fact, need all 700 books in the study.
     So now, everything from the study is strewn all over the dining room and the kitchen, and we are just about ready for the final piece of the redecorating puzzle. And although I did not get any shopping done that day... when I finally do go Christmas shopping... I know exactly what to give my lovely wife.
     It appears that she loves books.
     Who knew?

Oh Come All Ye Faithful... David Osmond...

David Osmond is the son of Alan Osmond, oldest of the Osmond brothers. He did this in one take.
Credit: Glenn Beck; The Blaze

Snow!

White Christmas: Snow!

Funny Guy Friday... I'm awesome... Ask any tree guy...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Our front yard is home to three very large Dawn Redwood trees. Cool and beautiful, but they leave thousands of tiny, obnoxious needles all over our yard... and thus, all over our foyer floor.
     I hate those trees.
     Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your viewpoint, their very aggressive roots were intruding all over our yard and so, the trees had to go. A friend of mine is a landscaper and he told me that he "had a guy" who could take care of the job, but he was not sure when he could get to it.
     On Wednesday, I pulled up from work, and, much to my surprise, the trees were down, and Cheryl was standing on our porch talking to "the guy."
     I think they call themselves arborists. Uh-huh. I use my own technical term: tree-cutter-guys.
     As I exited the car, he darted over to me, and without missing a beat, he shook my hand and said... You are Mark Palumbo, you are a legend. You were a couple years ahead of me. I graduated in 1983 and I used to watch you play baseball in high school. You guys were awesome. You won 54 games in a row (technically this was both a true statement and a false statement... I was on the team that won the first 22 games on the way to 54 straight wins, but who am I to interrupt and correct my adoring fans). You were awesome. You were All Met and were captain of that team (all true, I was awesome, All Met and captain of that team). In the summertime, you played with a bunch of guys that I know, and you were a leader on that team... and now you are a big-time lawyer... you are awesome (true, true and true). I was going to just climb the trees and cut them, but then I found out we were doing Mark Palumbo's house, and he is a big-time lawyer, so I brought out the bucket truck. We were not going to have any accidents on this job, and I am getting up all the roots because I don't want Mark Palumbo's boys falling and getting hurt on some root. 
     My man was not done: I remember playing flag football against you and you used to crush us all the time. You were a great athlete (I originally counted this as both true and false... I was a great athlete, but he used the past tense and I am still a great athlete. But you know what? Why quibble? It is true, I was a great athlete).
     Then he expressed his condolences for my father's passing away... almost three years ago. I am really sorry about your dad... I read about it and was going to call you, but then time passed and I just didn't call. I should have! 
     I am sad to say, I had no idea who this very considerate, very astute man was.
     But here is what I did know... I am awesome, and I liked hearing about how awesome I was. I also knew that if I ever need another tree cut down, I have my man.
     But there was more... Cheryl and I had plans that evening to go to dinner and a concert, so I excused myself and went inside to get changed. Cheryl had already gotten ready, but she followed me upstairs anyway and told me that when they first arrived, she greeted them wearing her frumpy work jeans, her unremarkable layered tee shirts, no make-up, and her hair twisted up in her ever-present pencil.
     After getting ready, she had walked outside to take the men some water. This time she was all duded up. My man asked her where her sister was... the one that greeted them earlier. Cheryl assured them that she was one and the same girl. My man said, Man, Mark Palumbo does right by you! (it is true, I do do right by her).
     I am the man!
     And for those of you with a taste for kindergarten humor... I just said do do!
     They did do a great job on the trees, but there was one little problem, they cut our cable while grinding the roots... so... no TV, no telephone, and no internet connection. No big deal because, you may not know this but I am awesome... I can handle any situation without overreacting and panicking. Besides that, I was going out to dinner and a show, and it was probably going to be fixed the next morning. I was willing to overlook my number one fan's teeny tiny little faux pas.
     So... I was feeling pretty good about myself as we headed out for the night.
     When we got home, the kids were doing something really weird.
     I did not really know what to make of it when I saw it, but the only way to describe it is as follows: they were sitting around the living room... looking at each other.... talking... as if engaged in a conversation with another human being... IN THE SAME ROOM... without their communication devices.
     Very odd phenomenon. A lost art... you might say.
     They were actually playing a game called Table Topics. You pick a card and read a question for each person to answer. Questions like... Would you rather be a poor scientist who cures cancer or a rich actor? or... What one trait would you take from each of your siblings? or... Would you rather be able to fly or be invisible?   
     As I walked in the room, they asked me, What trait did you inherit from each of your parents?
     I answered: My dad's parenting skills... and my mother's ability to overreact and panic at the drop of a hat? I kind of lied before when I said I don't overreact and panic. I do... sometimes... just a teensy weensy bit. Blame my mother!
     Grace chimed in and said that she got her pudgy nose from Dad... my no-neck-ness from Dad... problems with my teeth and my bad vision... all from Dad! 
     Wait a second: false, false, false, false, and false. I don't have a pudgy nose, and my neck is just fine. Perhaps the vision and the orthodontics are problematic, but they have surgery for stuff like that. And another thing, my guy had no problems with my neck, my nose, my teeth or my vision.
     Perhaps, Grace was not present for his insightful portrayal of my life and my personality.
     No worries. We have a huge elm tree out back that has to come down in the next few months. I'll make sure my loving daughter is here when my new friend comes back to get the job done.
     He'll tell her: I'm awesome. Ask any arborist.

Funny Guy Friday... 98% is not so bad...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     It can be exhausting... but equally rewarding.
     The college search and selection can be an overwhelming experience for our children. First, they have to research the various options, take part in the open houses, and take entry exams that are supposed indicators of their knowledge. Then they have to fill out applications that often include essays... and then... and only then... they wait for what seems like years for an answer.
     It was not like that for me when I selected a college.
     I had a few schools that were interested in me because of baseball. I received numerous letters... if you consider six to qualify as numerous... from schools that were recruiting me. The final three choices were the University of Maryland, American University and High Point College in North Carolina.
     Now let me be clear: it was not as if I sat around contemplating which school I wanted to attend. It really came down to Maryland or AU. In fact, I think that the only reason High Point showed any interest at all was because my brother had gone there.
     Here was the big recruiting war: I received the letters; I spoke with the coaches on the phone; and then I went back to playing PONG.
     There was no fanfare involved in my final decision. I received a call from Maryland's head coach asking me if I were going to accept their offer. I told him that I had applied but had not yet been accepted into the school. This was at a time when a monkey with a crayon could have gotten into Maryland. He put me on hold and after about three minutes came back on the phone and said... I just called and you are in. I need to know if you are coming!
     Yes, I guess.
     Great, fall practice starts on August 26th... see you then. Click!
     Come to think about it, he did not even seem really happy about my decision, but I am sure he was on pins and needles, so I couldn't very well leave him dangling in the wind.
     I had not even discussed it with my parents. They weren't home when he called, and he pressured me to tell him right then and there.
     It was not going to be like that for my baby girl.
     No sirree. We were going to do our homework... and we were going to select five or six schools of interest... and we were going to visit the schools that made the first cut... and then we would make an informed selection: the Community College.
     That's right, the Community College.
     I thought that Grace and I had a deal. When she was thirteen, she showed interest in the Community College and asked me where she would live if she went there. Right where you live right now sweet stuff! Free room and board and built-in maid service. 
     I knew I was overplaying the maid service angle, but I did not want her to get any "big college" ideas.
     She had said that sounded great to her, so we pinkie shook on it and we made a deal. Alas, when she reached seventeen, all of the sudden she did not want to stay in her own room... with or without the crummy maid service. I should have made her sign a contract!
     The first school on Grace's list was Mount Saint Mary's University in Emmitsburg, Maryland.  Do you know anything about it, Daddy?
     I know it is cold... real cold... and I know you don't like the cold. By the way, it never gets cold at the Community College.      
     My arguments fell on deaf ears. She wanted to make a campus visit. I told Cheryl to take her up there in January or February, so she could get an idea of just how cold it could get. Cheryl complied with my wishes and scheduled a visit late last January. This was perfect because I figured when she started walking around in sub-zero temperatures, she would come crying back to me... with frozen tears, no less.
     Inexplicably... the day that she visited... in late January... the temperatures were in the mid-sixties.  Grace was giddy... Oh Daddy... I loved it. Everyone walked around in flip flops and sweatshirts and it was beautiful. I love, love, loved it!
     Surely, my girl Cheryl would have brought her down to Earth, pointing out some of "The Mount's" shortcomings. Cheryl's response was not exactly what I was looking for... Oh my Gosh! Tell Dad to just send my stuff up here... I never want to leave this place!
     I told Cheryl, Yeah, I don't mind so much if you leave, but I want to keep Gracie home. 
     Cheryl followed up with... Any school she sees now will pale in comparison!
     Hey Cheryl... why, you're throwing gas on the fire! Rip out my heart and stomp all over it, why don't you!    
     Okay, that disaster (my words, not Gracie's) seemed to pass, so we could move on to school visit number two and, chances are, eliminate that choice.
      Gracie, are you going to visit Towson? Are you going to visit Salisbury? Have you completely ruled out the Community College? 
     Yes, yes, and yes! But Mount Saint Mary's is having an open house in November. Can we all go?
     Grace, we need to keep our options open. You cannot put all of your eggs in one basket! There was a lesson to be learned here, and I wanted her to understand: you cannot count on any one thing... you have to stay prepared.
     I think it was starting to sink in when she said...
     Is that a yes? Will the boys be coming with us? 
     Sure, but promise me you will fill out the applications for the other schools.
     I will!
     She didn't. In fact, this was not an exhaustive search at all. This was a laser-like focus on one school to the exclusion of every other school. This was not what I had in mind for my... er... uh... Grace's college search, and it had disaster written all over it.
     Either she was going to get a rejection letter and Cheryl and I were going to have to console a sobbing daughter, or she was going to get acceptance letter and Cheryl and Grace were going to have to console a sobbing husband/father.
     The November visit to Emmitsburg was my first visit to the campus of Mount Saint Mary's.
     Perhaps the most important thing that I learned all day was that the campus is a 90-minute drive from my house. Much closer than I had thought. The other thing that impressed me was the beauty of the campus. I could see how both Gracie and Cheryl fell in love with the place. Although, struck by its beauty, I must add that it never occurred to me to leave my wife behind and set up shop there.
     After spending the day on campus, I felt much better about the school.
     If Grace were going to go away... and not attend the Community College... I felt that this might be the right place. Still, I encouraged her to have a "plan B."
     Although both her SAT scores and her GPA were above average, the competition is tough and they only accept 500 applicants in the freshman class.
     It is possible that you may not get in. Just so you know, everyone gets into the Community College. 
     On the drive home, I was thinking that I would be very comfortable leaving her at Mount Saint Mary's when/if that day ever came. I also knew that there was no way that Grace was going to even consider anywhere else unless she had to.
     Cheryl and I had many conversations about Gracie's college education, and when I expressed my frustrations and fears about Grace limiting her search, Cheryl always pointed out that God was calling Grace to Mount Saint Mary's for a reason. It is impossible to argue with Cheryl when she invokes the whole God angle, but I also thought, why does God have to irritate me while He is calling her?
     With all of that being said, for the first time, I felt 100% comfortable with the idea that Grace will be going away to college. I was at peace with her sole choice... and happy about the distance. But there was still this little detail that involved her getting accepted. We (and by we, I really mean Cheryl and Grace) decided to take advantage of submitting an early application (no formal essay required). We were advised we would have an answer by Christmas.
     This week, she got her answer and Grace will be attending Mount Saint Mary's College next fall. She opened her letter and read the first sentence and saw she had been accepted and stopped reading.  She put the letter down and began to hug everyone, so I picked up the letter and continued to read.
     There was more good news.
     Grace received the highest academic scholarship possible. Although, truth be told, it would seem that every student gets some form of academic assistance. Mount Saint Mary's appears to be the Joseph A. Banks of colleges... an initial high price tag... but always on sale.
     After all is said and done, I think Grace learned a valuable life lesson: sometimes you can put all of your eggs into one basket, and you don't really need to have a plan B. Hopefully, all of her decisions work out as well as this one.
     We could not be prouder of Grace's persistence and her achievement.
     This Thanksgiving season, we are thankful for so much that God provides and among the most precious gifts He gives is opportunity. As I have tried to tell Cheryl, God has called Grace to The Mount and we are sure that He intends for great things to follow.
     Upon hearing the news of his sister's acceptance, Matthew asked if he could have her room when she leaves for school. Of course, an argument ensued and the two of them came to me to settle it once and for all. The answer was simple... Grace, you can keep your room... but only if... you attend the Community College.
     Okay, maybe I am only 98% comfortable with the idea that Gracie will be going away to college.

Funny Guy Friday... I like dreamin'... Well... maybe not so much...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I don't sleep much.
     Most nights, I wake up in the middle of the night with a thousand things going through my head. Sometimes these things are work-related and so incredibly important that I think if I could just act on them immediately, they could change the course of my career.
     Of course, when I actually get to the office, I find that some of these matters need no action, or better yet, I discover that I have already taken care of them and had forgotten about them... and my career is pretty much status quo.
     There are other nights when I wake up because of some stupid dream. I've had some of the most ridiculous dreams you could imagine.
     For years, I have had a recurring dream where I am dating Cheryl, wanting her to marry me, but she won't. In each dream, she always has some excuse as to why she cannot say yes. These dreams are never quite the same but always end with Cheryl refusing to marry me. My personal favorite reason why she could not commit was that she wanted to date ex-Yankee manager, Joe Torre.
     I pleaded with her. I told her that Joe Torre was older than she thought, and besides, where would she ever even see Joe Torre? Of course, at that point, she pointed over to Joe Torre, who was sitting at the next booth (we were in a restaurant when I was asking her to marry me), and this idiot Torre looked at me and gave me a little wave of the fingers.
     I hate Joe Torre.
     Then she told me that if things didn't work out with Joe... she would call me. This infuriated me, and, as I often do at the end of these dreams, I woke up, completely ready to fight with my sleeping bride. In fact, at the end of each of these "she won't marry me" dreams, I wake up extremely agitated and ready to attack.
     I waken Cheryl and ask just one simple question... Why?
     Her response is always the same... Who was I dating this time? Honey, I love you... I chose you! Now, go back to sleep.
     I'm not too sure about any of that. I still think she has something for Joe Torre.
     A psychologist friend of ours once opined that maybe I have these dreams because deep down I feel that there is something that I am not giving to Cheryl... and that somehow I feel I'm not worthy of her love.
     Not giving to her? Not worthy of her?... Bwa-ha-ha-ha! That's a good one! No... that's definitely not it. If that were it, Cheryl'd be having the dream, no?
     Another dream that I used to have on a regular basis, and was easily traced to events in my life, involved the Incredible Hulk... and no, Cheryl did not want to date him.
     When I was studying for the bar exam, my best friend, PJ, was getting married and I was in the wedding. Since this was less than a month before the exam, I attempted to balance the wedding activities with my studies. During that two or three week period, I would have the same exact dream almost every night.
     It would start out with PJ and me, as young kids, playing in his parents' house.
     We did something to trigger an explosion and we both ran out of the house. The house exploded and out of the fire rubble came this huge figure... the Incredible Hulk. The Hulk was angry and came running after us. PJ ran one way, and I ran the other. The Hulk always came after me.
     I ran through yards, jumped fences, and turned corners. I did everything I could possibly do to get away, but the Hulk was always two steps right behind me. Finally, he made his move and pulled up right next to me. Turning his head toward me as we both continued to run, he said... You are not studying enough!  
     That was it. I would wake up. Resentful of PJ, I would grab my books and resume studying.
     Now, I tell these stories because I had a dream the other night that simultaneously irritated me and made me laugh.
     I was playing softball and I came up to bat. The first pitch was nowhere close to being a strike, but the umpire called it a strike. As I turned to argue that it had no arc and "we are not playing baseball!" I saw that she had taken off her mask (no softball umpires wear masks, by the way) and revealed that she was an elderly black woman. Because of her age, I didn't say a word... I just thought she must have been confused.
     The next two pitches came in and they bounced in front of the plate. She correctly called them balls.  The count was now full, because in softball, you start with one ball and one strike. The last pitch was another fastball that was clearly low and outside.
     STRIKE 3! She yelled.
     Elderly or not, that was a horrible call, and I was not going to let it go this time. I told that old biddy she had no idea what she was doing and that she didn't even understand the rules. How could she be umpiring?
     She took off her mask and I thought she was going to throw me out of the game. Surprisingly, she turned and said in her best elderly, black woman voice... Here is what I do know: I know that you are a lightning bug!
     What? Lady, I have no idea what that even means!
     It means that you... are the first person... that I lit up... with a called third strike. I lit you up like a lightning bug! 
     My teammates did not back me up. I was left there, by myself, to think of a clever comeback, but I could not. I was a speechless lightning bug.
     I woke up furious that this lady, who didn't even know the stupid rules, would call me out on strikes. Cheryl woke up and asked me what was going on.
     As I recounted the dream, I just started laughing because I have never in my life, ever heard anybody refer to another person as a lightning bug. I have never heard anyone say, I lit you up like a lightning bug! 
     I think that I just created a whole new phrase for the English lexicon. I love it and will use it whenever I can.
     Cheryl and the kids think two things: first... that I must have heard it somewhere before.
     And second... that it is ridiculous and should have been left buried in my unconscious.
     I, of course, completely disagree.
     I think it is a very handy little saying that I intend to use again. For starters: If Joe Torre keeps messing with my wife, I am going to light him up like a lightning bug. 

Funny Guy Friday... A train wreck in the making...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy.
     Two unrelated events occurred this week, each seemingly having nothing to do with each other. Yet somehow, some way, they weaved their way together, colliding in a tragic train wreck of an ending.
     Event number one was a joint Bar Association meeting between the Calvert County Bar Association and the Saint Mary's County Bar Association.
     Although a member of the Board of Directors of the Calvert County Bar for eight years, I am not a big fan of attending these get-togethers. It's not that the meetings are bad, in fact they are usually pretty fun. It's just that I have a wife and three kids that I don't see enough of, and these meetings are just more time away from the family.
     But this particular meeting was kind of a big deal. The Chief Judge from the Court of Appeals, the highest court in the State of Maryland, was scheduled to speak.
     I don't do appellate work because, frankly, I'm not smart enough. I don't pay much attention to the judges on the Appellate Courts, but I do know this... they pepper attorneys with questions that they already know the answers to. And they are the smartest of the smart. I often say that I don't always know the law, but I have a pretty good feel for it. That kind of idiotic statement does not work with these guys.
     Anyway, this guy was coming to our little county, and I knew enough that I should be there.
     At least that was my intention.
     Then on Tuesday, my nephew had a baby. Well, he didn't have the baby exactly... his wife did. But I'm pretty sure he had something to do with it. You know you are getting old when the ring bearer from your wedding is having kids. This is their first child, but this new little guy is my mother's 24th great-grandchild.
     My mom lives in Calvert County, near where I work. The hospital is near my house in Annapolis, about forty-five minutes from my office. Cheryl called to ask me if I could pick up my mother and bring her to our house, and then we could go and see the baby. Unfortunately, this was the same night as the Bar Association meeting.
     You know, first-born babies are a bigger deal than some silly Bar Association meeting. Besides, this is my mom we are talking about. Mother of 6, grandmother of 26 and now great-grandmother of 24.
     I will go to next year's Bar meeting to see that old coot.
     With that being said, I picked up my mother and brought her to our house. We had a delicious dinner and then headed off to the hospital.
     I must say, I have three kids and I thought all of them were beautiful babies... ahem, kind of looking a little bit like me. However, one look at this little guy and I was embarrassed for mistakenly believing that Cheryl had had cute babies. Now that I think about it, each of our kids looked more like Cheryl's side of the family when they were born. Cute, but nothing to shout about... like a true Palumbo baby... like this little guy.
     He is perfect.
     Now, you may be thinking, big deal, he missed a bar meeting to go see his nephew's baby. Where is the train wreck?
     If that was all that had happened, you'd be right. Unfortunately, there is more to the story.
     Yesterday, I finished with court early and went to see my friend, Judge Chandlee, who was just sworn in about a month ago. He was still on the bench, so I waited in his chambers for him to finish. In the meantime, I had a nice chat with his secretary.
     After about fifteen minutes, another judge from our county, Judge Clagett, came into Judge Chandlee's chambers with three other women. I stood up to greet them and was introduced by Judge Clagett. As usual, I wasn't really paying attention to their names as they were introduced.
     This is a terrible habit of mine. I don't listen carefully and tend to forget people's names as soon as I hear them. This is a character flaw that may come back to haunt me someday. These women had something to do with the court... decorators or some such thing.
     The one woman mentioned that I looked familiar.
     Being the funny guy that I am, I responded... I get that a lot. Tom Cruise? No? Perhaps you are confusing me with Brad Pitt. 
     She countered, Well, you are a funny guy, I am going to remember you! 
     Oh, if I had a nickel for every time a woman said that she would remember me, I'd be a rich man!
     The visitors, led by Judge Clagett, wrapped up their little visit to the new judge's chambers, and I heard one of the women mention that she had gone to law school at the University of Maryland.
     I joked, Oh, you couldn't get into Catholic University, huh? 
     Guess who went to law school at Catholic University... me, of course!
     I was at my best... cute and charming. They loved me!
     Then one of them said that I reminded them of an attorney in Montgomery County. Staying cute and charming, I said, Oh, he must be a handsome guy.
     They chuckled, talked amongst themselves and then moved on.
     Now you may still be thinking...where's the train wreck.
     Well, had my nephew not had that stupid baby... and if I had attended the Bar Association meeting as planned, I would have known that the Chief Judge of the Court of Appeals is not a man at all. He is a woman. He is a very nice woman who often travels with his law clerk and visits various counties. Often times, he is accompanied by the Chief Clerk of the Court.
     All three women.
     All three, way smarter than I.
     All three taking a tour of the new judge's chambers in Calvert County.
     The good news is that I was cute and I was charming. And she did say that she would remember me.
     I am never going to do any appellate work.

Funny Guy Friday... What I did on my summer vacation...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     It's been a rough week.
     It started off with such great promise.
     We did not go away this summer, so I decided to take the week off. We had intended to go on a nice family vacation sometime this year, and Disney World sounded like a good idea. I thought we could do this in November because our kids are unemployed home schoolers.
      But this fall, Cheryl enrolled the boys in a two-days-a-week tutorial where, I assumed, they would get help with subjects in which they were struggling or instruction in classes that Cheryl could not handle. Turns out, the teachers cram five days of eleven-subject classroom work into two days, and the boys are working from sun-up to sun-down just to keep up.
     This is not how I remembered it last year when they would come and go as they pleased. They would spend the day at the pool and count it as gym class. Or they would whittle, shop and bake and call it art, math and home economics.
     This new program is like real school... only realer. You miss a week of this school and you are a month behind. Here I was figuring that we could spend a week at Disney and call it a lesson in marketing.
     But no. Even if the boys could miss a week of "tutoring," we still couldn't have gone away because my girl Gracie went and got herself a job. We have occasionally gotten fresh-mex takeout from California Tortilla, and one evening Gracie commented that it seemed like a nice place to work. Next thing you know, she has filled out an application, has interviewed and has been hired to work part time.
     Now mind you, neither Cheryl nor I have ever asked her to seek employment outside our home... and our requests for her to work inside the house have been met with mixed results. She did this on her own, she says, not for the money but to get the experience and the responsibility of having a job.
     In my job, I hear people say that they don't do things for the money, but I never believe them... it's always for the money. But, I do believe Grace because she has no idea how much money she is making, and after one month, has not asked about her paycheck. She keeps mentioning direct deposit, but she doesn't have a bank account.
      Details, details.
      I will say, Grace brings a big smile to my face every time she starts off a sentence with, Now that I work in the food industry....
     Oh yeah, Grace also thought it might be a good idea to enroll in a class at the community college to supplement her home schooling. She is taking Italian. Can you say Ciao Florida vacation?
     All of this means no Disney World. So I had a week off to do stuff around the house.
     On Monday... I went to work.
     On Tuesday, I went to SAM'S Club and shopped and shopped and shopped and then had to clean out all the pantries in the house to clear space for all of the stuff we stocked up on.
     I kind of wished I had gone to work.
     Then there is Rocky the dog.
     We had been taking Rocky for a test drive, and we have officially decided that he is here to stay. However, because he spent a day at the pound, Maryland mandates that he has to be neutered. I know what all you men are thinking... tough law!
     Anyway, last Friday, he had his, ahem, uh surgery... ix-nay with the esticles-tay. They had to put Rocky out during the surgery (I would have liked to see the vet try that surgery if the dog had been awake), and when he got back to our house, he was totally out of it. He just stood there and swayed back and forth struggling to keep his eyes open. This prompted Matthew to declare that if he ever fell asleep and woke up without any testicles, he wouldn't want to go to sleep again either.
     To make matters worse, ol' Rocky had a terrible reaction to the anesthesia and threw up all over our living room carpet. I'd say about eight times. The carpet is ruined, so this has sped up our plans for wood flooring. Although the dog came free of charge... there is a cost!
     Then there was what will forever be known as "the little mix up."
     We are still not quite used to having Rocky in the house all the time, so we are becoming more vigilant about keeping the front door closed, vacuuming more often, and not leaving little "chew toys" around the house.
     You'd think that we would have to be more careful about leaving our food around, but that has not been a problem. Rocky looks interested when we eat, but he has not partaken of our mealtime feasts. So far, he has only sniffed around, gotten bored and walked away.
     However, there was one little food issue. The other day, I walked into the kitchen and saw that Cheryl was preparing to make clam chowder. I knew this because she left those yummy little oyster crackers out on the counter. I love clam chowder, and I love those little crackers. I reached into the bag and helped myself. They were kind of heavy and seemed more like oatmeal cookies than crackers. They tasted okay, but I've had better.
     The next day, Matthew had a friend over and he was showing him Rocky's new treats. My interest was piqued... Wow, they look a lot like the oyster crackers that I enjoyed yesterday. I inquired and 'lo and behold, those were not oyster crackers at all.... why... they were dog treats. I wish I would have sniffed around, gotten bored, and walked away.
     Fortunately, I have had no ill affects from the mix-up other than an odd desire to scratch my left ear with my foot and go lie down at the foot of the couch and have Cheryl rub my belly.
     So anyway, having had enough of my "stay-cation," on Tuesday night, I declared that we were going to go somewhere for a few days. After arranging for man's best friend to re-visit with my nephew and his wife, we headed off to a family-friendly resort in Williamsburg, Virginia.
     Once we arrived, my lovely wife scheduled me for a massage at the spa. Having just finished back-to-back spring and fall baseball seasons, coaching multiple teams, I was ready for a nice relaxing massage. My masseuse was a nice little lady who took note of my sore spots... basically the right side of my neck, my right shoulder, the right side of my back, and my, ahem, right cheek. I am right handed and throw a lot of batting practice.
     The room had candles, incense, and soothing music... very relaxing. And then it began. Thirty minutes of complete torture. Not only did my trouble spots hurt, the coordinating spots on the opposite side of my body were even worse. I wanted to cry but said nothing because this woman probably only weighed about 105 pounds.
    She was not a nice lady at all! She was 105 pounds of terror.
    You know it was bad when, in the middle of all the relaxing music, candles and scents, she stopped and commented... Boy, you are a mess! 
     I guess things could have been worse...I could have had Rocky's week. I suppose when all was said and done, it wasn't such a bad vacation.
     And I did some math... a trip to Disney was going to cost about six grand. The trip to Williamsburg, from soup to nuts, cost about a quarter of that; we dropped a thousand at SAM'S Club; and the new hardwood floor should run us about $3,000.
     This leaves more than enough money for a nice dinner out... complete with clam chowder.

Funny Guy Friday... No dogs. Well... maybe a dog...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     The answer is no... No... No... No! We will never have another one!
     They're dirty.
     They're stinky.
     They shed.
     And they have that less-than-wonderful breath.  
     No, I am not talking about our kids... I am talking about dogs.
     Cheryl has been steadfast in her refusal to even consider a dog.
     When we were first married, I had a beautiful Golden Retriever, Justice. Justice was the best... dog... ever! I said sit, he sat. I said stay, he stayed. I said come, he came. When I locked myself out of the house, Justice would open the door for me. No lie. He was that good.
     Then Justice sired several puppies and we took the runt of the litter. Mind you, Justice was a big Retriever, a very fit 90 pounds. The runt was about 70 pounds. And as smart as Justice was... Quincy was that stupid.  I said sit, Quincy would lick himself. I said stay, Quincy licked himself. I said come, Quincy licked himself. When I left the house, Quincy locked me out.
     He was cute... but he was a dope.
     Unfortunately, both dogs got cancer and had to be put down. Cheryl swore that there would be no more dogs in the house. There have been a few moments of weakness where she would consider it... for a second... a brief second... but then quickly return to the No Dog Ever policy.
     Friends of ours got a little CavaPoo over the summer. Our kids thought it was the cutest little dog and put on the full court press. Unfortunately for them, Cheryl is very adept at breaking the press. Although, I will say, that fluffy little rat of a dog seemed to soften Cheryl's stance just a bit.
     Recently, my nephew and his wife went to see a movie. When they left the theater, they found a dog that seemed to be lost. If I found a dog that seemed to be lost, I would say, Hey that dog looks like he's lost... Did you enjoy the movie? My nephew and his wife, on the other hand, chased down the pooch and took him home. This was no small feat as my nephew had recently torn his ACL... and his wife is 8 1/2 months pregnant. Think about that for a second... the two of them hobbling and wobbling after that stray mutt. That, in and of itself, is kind of funny.
     They put out an APB on facebook... and made every effort to find the owner, or alternatively, a home for the dog. The facebook post prompted Gracie to text me to see if we could claim him. Gracie, of course, knows that her mother is the Maginot Line in doggie defense. Nobody is getting a dog unless they can somehow get it past Mom.
     Not wanting to throw Cheryl under the bus, I texted back, No problem... as long as Mom says it's okay. I look like a hero, and Cheryl gets all the blame. Look, the bus only wounded her, it did not kill her.
     Staying true to form, Cheryl did not bend. No dogs!
     A few more days went by and my nephew was back on facebook as well as communicating with Grace. If they could not find a home, he would have to go to the pound, as they already have two dogs. Grace and the boys really wanted to take one last shot at getting this dog. After a drive with Grace, Cheryl emerged from the vehicle a bit upset. She called me outside and broke down about how everybody wants this dog... and she does not like being the bad guy. But you are the bad guy! 
     I didn't say it, but I didn't have to.
     What I did say was... That's not true, I am on your team, I don't want this dog. 
     I, of course, was playing both ends against the middle. My kids love me because I want the dog and Cheryl loves me because I don't want the dog. I just have to figure out how to keep the kids and Cheryl out of the same room for the next fifteen years and this little secret will be safe.
     I came up with the perfect solution: Let's get the dog for a weekend and see how we do. Take him for a test drive, if you will.
     Surprisingly, this was not immediately shot down.
     She blinked.
     Cheryl blinked and the kids had her right where they wanted her.
     I called my nephew, and as luck would have it, they had just taken the dog to the pound that day. He thought he might be able to go the next day to retrieve him, but he was not sure. Fortunately, his wife had had second thoughts about leaving him at the pound, so she was there the next morning as soon as the place opened to re-retrieve the puppy, now commonly referred to as Rocky.     
     Joseph and his wife Jess dropped Rocky off at our house the next day.
     When they walked through the front door, the first thing that struck me was his size. When I said we were taking him for a test drive, I didn't know he'd be as big as a car.
     We're not sure, but we believed him to be part Black Labrador Retriever with traces of Rottweiler... a Rotten Retriever, if you will. Turns out the vet said he's all lab.
     He seemed confused at first, not knowing if this were his home or not. We all seemed a bit confused, not knowing if this were his home or not. Fortunately, none of us lifted our leg and piddled all over the furniture.
     Rocky is a beautiful dog with some minor defects like helping himself to a comfy spot on our couch. That little issue is magnified because he smells more like a dog than most dogs. If you don't believe us, ask the girl that groomed him and told Cheryl that even after his bath, she was still getting a whiff of barn!  
     What to do. What to do.
     It's only been a week, so no final decisions have been made.
     The positives are that Rocky has a very pleasant disposition, and he appears to have learned the rules of our home pretty quickly: no begging, no barking, no whining, and no messing with our stuff. We are a bit disappointed that we didn't use similar training methods on our kids.
     Cheryl read that dogs like to be led... they enjoy an Alpha male. We took a family vote and I won 3-2... which is kind of impressive because I voted for Cheryl.
     The biggest negative is that we really have no idea about his history. What is the exact mix of dog breed? Because of his size, was either parent a horse? Was he abused? Has he ever been trained and if so, what methods were used? Does he have a kill word that we don't know about? You can see how that could be a concern, can't you?
     Here's the bottom line...
     He's dirty.
     He stinks.
     He sheds.
     But he is good and he is loving.
     He may just fit right in.

Funny Guy Friday... I just want a small refrigerator...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Every ten or fifteen years you have to do it.  You don't like to do it. You don't want to do it. But you have to do it. You have to purge the old and replace it with the new. When all is said and done, you are happy to have the nice new shiny stuff.
     Of course, I am talking about new appliances.
     We did not intend to buy all new appliances. In fact, we were only going to buy a small refrigerator  to put in our garage for the overflow of stuff that ultimately lasts long beyond the sell by date. Kind of a holding cell until the moldy stuff gets thrown away.  Then we met Kim, the salesman at hhgregg. He was nice enough, appeared to be a laid back kind of guy... but then he asked a sneaky question that he probably learned at Commission School.
     Do you need any other appliances? 
     Do you think that you could have withstood that type of pressure? Of course not.
     Cheryl was first to crack... Well, as a matter of fact, our oven takes forever to heat up... and one of the burners on the stove doesn't work at all... and one of the other burners only works every once in awhile.  
     I chimed in... And the door falls off once a month. Our dishwasher leaks... and the inside is kind of falling apart... so maybe we should consider a new dishwasher. 
     The salesman asked about our microwave and we both proudly blurted out... The microwave is good; that works fine. It is not installed properly... and doesn't vent correctly... but it heats stuff up like crazy! We are good on the micro!  
     Kim pointed out that the microwave is, by far, the "cheapest" appliance to replace and that they all kind of last the same amount of time so ours is probably getting ready to break anyway, sooooo that should not get in the way of... A PACKAGE DEAL.
     We couldn't help ourselves. Basically, Kim asked us if we wanted to abandon our plan to buy a small refrigerator for a few hundred dollars and instead spend thousands for a complete kitchen redo and we responded with a resounding: YES, YES, YES... WE WILL SPEND THOUSANDS... YES, YES, YES... WHERE DO WE SIGN?
     We liked the idea of a package deal, but the package deal comes with the basic models. We did not like the idea of the basic models. We wanted bells... we wanted whistles... we wanted a warming drawer. In fact, our new oven is a double oven that allows us to cook two things at different temperatures at the same time... with a convection option.
     I did not know what a convection oven was, but I knew that we had to have it.
     All of this was important because one time, about nine years ago, Cheryl had to bake an apple pie at the same time that she was cooking a ham at... gasp... a different temperature in a... gasp... conventional oven.
     I was surprised to hear that Cheryl had to endure such pitiful, archaic conditions.
     Kim and I held her hands as she told her tale of woe!
     I tried to make it up to her by agreeing to upgrades on every appliance except the microwave. Kind of ironic since that was the "cheapest" appliance to replace.
     Kim told us that we were purchasing the quietest dishwasher on the market. I guess I never noticed the racket of our old dishwasher over my cursing the water leaking all over the kitchen floor.
     Oh and get this, we get a $150 rebate off of our BGE bill this month because we purchased an energy efficient refrigerator. Please don't tell BGE that we are putting the old energy guzzler in our garage, so we are going to be using even more energy than before.
     I really enjoyed Kim, who hit all the right notes... right up until it was time to close the deal.
     When I sat down with him and gave him my last name, he asked if I were from Bowie, and did I have a brother that played baseball. I told him that I did and assumed he knew my oldest brother, Joe, since Kim graduated high school the year after Joe.
     No, not Joe... do you have another brother that played?
     I do... Jeff and I both played.
     Yeah, Jeff. He was really good. Right?
     Then he called his manager over and introduced me as a guy that had an older brother that was a great baseball player back in high school.
     Yeah, he was good. I was All Met! 
     I had seamlessly slipped in the All Met thing.
     Really... what is Jeff doing these days? 
     Well, I can tell you one thing he's not doing. He's not dropping thousands of dollars here at hhgregg. 
     Kim redeemed himself by knocking a few bucks off of the total.
     Our next step, before bringing the new appliances lovingly into our home, was to clean out every corner of the kitchen. I suppose a dirty old kitchen with dirty old appliances is fine, but these shiny new appliances deserve a nice clean kitchen.
     You wouldn't bring new appliances into a dirty old kitchen would you?
     Of course you wouldn't.
     My first assignment was the pantry. No appliance is ever going to see the inside of that tiny cubicle, mind you, but we must make a good first impression. I love cleaning the pantry because every time I clean it out, I feel like I have scaled Mount Everest. A pantry has to be pretty messy to make you get that kind of feeling.
     After conquering the pantry, I set my sights on the old refrigerator/freezer. We had to banish the expired yogurt, cottage cheese, lunch meat, and salad dressings. Only the finest food and drink shall remain. Let me just say this... there is a problem when you cannot identify half of the stuff that comes out of your freezer. None of the mystery meat was going to have the opportunity to soil our new freezer. For the life of me, I cannot figure out why we had three bags of a substance that can best be described as a combination of cut red onions and freezer-burned spaghetti noodles. Not to mention the hockey puck like, unpeeled, way past ripe, brown bananas.
     Isn't it always the case: when you clean up the old stuff, it doesn't seem so bad.
     Maybe we didn't need all this new stuff. Maybe, if we just took care of the old stuff. Maybe, just maybe, we made a mistake.
     What are you kidding me? That is crazy talk. Remember... New and Shiny!
     After Cheryl reorganized every drawer and cabinet, we were ready for delivery. Today was the big day, and they... look... great. We could not be happier.
     Guess what we did to celebrate our new kitchen?
     Go ahead... guess.
     We went out to eat.
     Seriously, would you eat in a kitchen that recently housed a substance that can best be described as a combination of cut red onions and freezer-burned spaghetti noodles stored in the freezer? Not to mention the hockey puck like, unpeeled, way-past ripe, brown bananas.
     Of course you wouldn't!

Funny Guy Friday... Mark Chandlee is a good man...

     As you know, Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. This is the text of the speech Funny Guy gave for our very dear friend, Mark Chandlee, as he took his seat tonight on the Circuit Court bench for Calvert County. 

     I met Mark about twenty years ago when we started out as Assistant State's Attorneys in Prince George's County.
     I remember my first week, I sat with him during a trial against some guy that Mark referred to as "that guy with the fake Boston accent." Mark would remember the guy better than I (Mark went on to become law partners with that attorney).
     Anyway, I look around here today and I see so many of the people that we worked with in that office who are now Judges... and I am left wondering... what do I have to do to get one of these cushie jobs.

     From what I have been able to gather, it all starts with a call to Senator Miller’s office and a chat with one of the most influential people in the State... I plan on calling Monday... I hope his daughter Missy will take my call.
     When Mark called me to tell me that the Governor had selected him as the next Circuit Court Judge in Calvert County he was so happy. I asked him how his wife Liz had taken the news, and he told me she too was ecstatic. My next question was Why did you call her first? You always call me first with any big news. We talk four times a day. 
     I talk to him more than I talk to my wife. When he has a problem, he calls me. When he has a case he wants to discuss, he calls me. When some client is driving him crazy, he calls me. He gets appointed to be a Circuit Court Judge... and he calls his wife. C'mon man!
     After he realized the error of his ways, he apologized profusely, and then asked if I would be one of his speakers at his swearing in. Of course, I told him that I would be honored, and I asked if there were anything specific that he wanted me to address, or whether he wanted me to set a certain tone for the ceremony.
     He told me he had chosen three speakers: one who was smart; one who was kind; and one who was funny. I knew I wasn’t the smart one, so I asked whether I was the funny one or the kind one? He told me I was neither. But he did say he had a kind person already lined up to speak.
     Further, as for possibilities for some humor: Mark's brother Steve would probably stand up there and cry; the always entertaining Judge Steven Clagett was already booked for Judge Saunders’ swearing in;  and he could not get a hold of his first grade teacher or his high school football coach. So I was going to have to do for the funny part.
     Mark’s exact words were, Be funny and make fun of me.  
     I immediately said, Your Honor, I have known you for more than twenty years, and in all that time, you have never done anything or said anything that I could possibly make fun of. He quickly reminded me that I cannot appear in front of him because we own a place in Ocean City together, so... where do I start and how much time do I get?
     What I thought I would try to do is to give everyone a glimpse of what kind of person Mark is and thus give everyone an idea of what kind of Judge he will be.
     First, Mark can always find the bright spot in the worst of circumstances. Judge Marjorie Clagett has often said that she has a Pollyannic view of things and that you should see the glass half full and not half empty.  Mark has that same quality and had it even as a young man. The best example is one from his youth.
     When Mark was ten, and was just starting to play tennis, he entered his first tournament. As luck would have it, he drew the number one player in the State of Maryland as his first opponent. This kid was fast, strong, handsome, and came from a family of superior athletes.
     It was my brother Jeff.
     Jeff beat him 6-0 and 6-1 in a two-set match. Every time Mark tells that story he always adds, It was the toughest 6-0, 6-1 match your brother ever had... we had a lot of long points.
     I told him that my dad made Jeff throw at least one game to the kids that weren’t any good, just so they wouldn’t give up on playing tennis. Mark also has a long memory because when my brother was in the hospital a few years ago recovering from lung surgery, Mark called the hospital to challenge him to a rematch.
     Second, Mark is an idea man and a leader. He has coached baseball, basketball and football. He has organized adult softball teams, parties, camping trips and canoe trips. And even if the ideas are not his own, he will happily take credit for them.
     I was on the Calvert County Bar Association Board of Directors for eight years, and at the end of my last term I finally came up with two ideas... a golf tournament and a ski trip. I told Mark about my ideas and two days later I get a call from Amy Lourenzini asking me if I wanted to go on a ski trip that Mark Chandlee was putting together... and if I had any interest in a golf tournament that Mark was organizing for the Spring.
     In fact, now that I think about it... about seven months ago, I mentioned to Mark that I was going to put my name in for Circuit Court Judge... and now here he sits.
     Third, Mark is a confident man but not overconfident. After the initial excitement of the Governor's appointment wore off and a few days had passed, Mark had a moment of doubt and questioned whether he was smart enough to do this job. I told him that there are tons of judges that we know and you are at least as smart as they. After ten minutes of discussion, we came up with two in particular. But just to be clear... neither of them is here in this courtroom today.
     I also don’t think that this new position will change him in any way... but yesterday, I had to go to Baltimore for court and did not get back until 4:30, so I was late for Judge Saunders' swearing in. I had to sit in the overflow room over in District Court, and guess who was standing in the back all by herself... the lovely Liz Chandlee... while Mark sat up front in the main room with all of his new judge friends. The poor thing was all alone.
     Of course Liz did not help my confidence when the first thing she said to me when I walked in was Wow, Judge Clagett was really good... and he was funny! Tough act to follow!
     Finally, Mark is an understanding and forgiving man. He has practiced in just about every jurisdiction in the State, yet neither he nor his secretary Michelle, have any concept of the whole space-time continuum. They don’t understand that you cannot be in Ocean City at 1:00 and Prince Frederick at 2:00. I suppose the one thing that I am not going to miss is that 12:45 call from Mark, when I’m just getting in from lunch, asking me if I can go over to District Court to hold one of his client’s hands while he finishes up in Greenbelt.
     In all seriousness, I do want to tell you what kind of man Mark is, and I do believe that it will tell you what kind of judge he is going to be.
     When my father really liked and respected someone, he would admiringly say, He is a good man. It was his highest compliment. What makes up a good man? Let's take a little closer look at Mark.
     Mark is a tireless worker. I have called his office at all hours of the night, and he would always be there, prepping for trial or meeting with clients.
     He is loyal to the end. He has been so with his friends, his family, and his colleagues. He worked with his law partner for more than twenty years and developed a tight bond with him and their staff. I spoke with him two nights ago while he was cleaning out his office. Despite this wonderful opportunity opening up before him, he was in tears about having to leave that workplace. He refused my offer to drive by and give him a hug.
     Mark is smart. He has an honest and practical way of analyzing and breaking down complex issues.
     He is perhaps one of the kindest and funniest people that you will ever meet. His presence in the Courthouse is going to make it an even better place to work. I have heard from the courtroom clerks, the court reporters, the folks in the assignment office, the clerk’s office and the Sheriffs about how happy they are that he will be here every single day.
     Anyone who spends any amount of time with Mark walks away with a smile on his face. My wife and I had a party the other night and I found Mark and my 83-year-old mother sitting in a room together... and my mom was telling him stories about how she met my father... and I was amazed at how comfortable she was him and how willing he was to just sit and listen.
     Mark puts other people’s needs ahead of his own. When I spoke earlier about the call that he made to tell me about his appointment, it was the first time that I had ever heard him excited about something that involved just him. Usually his excitement is reserved for something that Liz or their sons have done.
     About a week ago, we were playing golf and talking about our kids, and he made a statement that kind of stuck with me. He said that some people wonder why God put them here on this earth. Mark said that he has no doubt as to why God put him here... he is here on this earth to be a good father to his four boys and raise them to be good men... and to be a good husband to Liz.
     He is absolutely correct, but I would submit that God has more plans for Mark. The benefactors are going to include the folks in this courthouse, the litigants that appear in front of him, and the people of Calvert County.  I think that the best thing I can say is that Mark Chandlee is a good man!
     We pray for you, Mark. We pray that you will have patience, wisdom, and an understanding of the truth. We love you and we know that you will do a great job.
     Congratulations. 

Funny Guy Friday... A toast to the bride and groom...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     My nephew Adam got married last weekend, and like most of our family weddings, it was a beautiful celebration. It had one huge glitch that we will get to in a moment, but in the meantime...
     The wedding was held on the shady lawn at a country club... overlooking the water... on a picture perfect 85 degree October day. The minister spoke of the sanctity of the sacrament... and that the bride and groom will change and be refined during the marriage... that fifty percent of the bride and groom die as a result.
     I turned to Cheryl and mentioned that it feels like I've died about ninety-two percent since we were wed. Surprisingly she agreed... and then added. "Only eight percent to go."
     She is a quick one, that Cheryl.    
     The reception was held afterward at the grand ballroom.
     It started with the typical meet and greet in a gathering space that backed out to a patio and yard, complete with corn hole and other yard games. This is always the best opportunity to catch up with those friends and family that we don't get to see nearly enough. If our family were a college football team, we would score a lot of good bowl invitations because we travel well. If there's a family wedding, we show up in large numbers.
     Adam happens to be the last of seven siblings to get married, and in attendance were his six brothers and sisters and their children, eight aunts and uncles, about sixteen cousins, his folks, and of course Grandma.
     Noah commented that our family will win every wedding that we attend.
     After about a half hour of mingling, we were escorted into the dining room where the table decorations were "unique and cool." I'm not sure what they looked like because those are the details that get lost on a person like me... that is, a member of the male species. However, Cheryl advised that the tables were decorated exquisitely... so I'll take her word for it.
     We took our seats and waited for the the wedding party to be announced.
     Adam looked as happy as I had ever seen him, and his bride, Sarah, was never more beautiful. All was good, and then Adam's brother Joshua got up to give the toast. Remember that little glitch that I spoke of? Well, this is when things started to take a downward spiral.
     The toast started out okay, which was a little surprising given Josh's history of unintelligible thoughts and ideas. He spoke of his younger brother's shortcomings and their family's prediction that he might have never gotten married. He then reminded Adam of the many great examples of marriage that he had witnessed over the years.
     Specifically, he mentioned my father, his own father... and me. Well... not exactly me by name... but he mentioned how their uncles have all had long, successful marriages. My marriage is the best of the group, so I can only assume he was talking about me... but he couldn't exactly have singled me out and mentioned me by name, could he? Of course not, that would have been in poor taste.
     Josh then welcomed Sarah, who has one brother, into our large family.
     He explained that it can be difficult coming into a big family like ours... with all of our little idiosyncrasies. I nodded in agreement because you wouldn't believe the crazy stuff that some of our other family members have done in the past. Josh specifically mentioned his own mother. You can imagine how a mother of seven can be... always being in charge, always getting her way, controlling every situation to her liking.
     I love you Pammie, but you know I speak the truth... and to be frank, you deserved the good natured ribbing.
     Suddenly, things took a dramatic turn for the worse. Josh started droning on and on about how whenever my nephews would start dating a girl, there was always a time when they had to decide if  the time was right to take the girls over to Uncle Mark's house.
     I thought this was a bit odd... taking a shot at my beautiful wife. I mean, nobody knows better than I how difficult she can be, but being the exemplary husband that I am, I never mentioned it to anyone. Was it really that obvious? Did they really dread meeting Aunt Cheryl?
     Josh then continued on about how Uncle Mark has a tendency to make fun of people's mistakes. How one simple mistake can be fodder for a lifetime of ridicule.
     Wait one second here, this toast was fine when you called out your own mother... and it was okay as long as you were going to talk about how Aunt Cheryl was the nut job... but now people might get the wrong idea that somehow I am the crazy uncle.
     Hmm... they might think it... because YOU SPECIFICALLY MENTIONED ME BY NAME. You failed to mention me by name when you were talking about the great husbands, and now, all of the sudden, you are naming names? Did we forget that that's in poor taste?
     How did I become the last leg of the marriage gauntlet that all contestants must pass through before accepting the invitation to join the family?
     Then he said the words that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
     You know it is not so bad when you grow up around him, and he makes fun of the things you say and do... but if you're new and you don't know him, he is just some STRANGE, OLD GUY who makes fun of things that you say and do.
     I am supposed to toast to this? No way, Jack!
     I put my glass down in protest.
     Then I started thinking... Josh and his three brothers are now married, and all four of them are lucky to have had me as part of the overall screening process. Maybe I poke fun at the things their wives have done... but if they can't stand the heat, don't bother coming into our family's kitchen. My nephews need to realize this... to quote the great Jack Nicholson... You want me on that wall... you need me on that wall!
     I mean, is it my fault that one of the gals forgot the words to the National Anthem? Sure, she has a beautiful voice, but if she can't remember the words, what good is she?
     And is it my fault that one of them didn't knock when she entered into a bathroom stall... and walked in on my brother's wife? Have you ever heard of knocking? Then she just stood there with nothing but toilet paper in her hand and started blubbering about how she hoped that the woman sitting there with her skirt around her knees was not Uncle Mark's wife!
     And finally, is it my fault that one of them never met a party that she didn't like... and oh, by the way... would dump her husband in a New York minute if she ever had the opportunity to date a Washington Redskin?
     The answer to all of these questions is no, it is not my fault. And these boys should thank me for weeding out the weak ones. Who wants to be married to some woman that can't take a silly little joke?
     People who don't have a sense of humor are not worth keeping around.
     Now... back to that stupid little toast...
     I am neither strange nor old. And now that I think about it, I like my sister-in-law Pammie, and Josh was wrong to poke fun at her. She is none of those things that I said earlier. She is never in charge, she never gets her way, and she never tries to control anything.
     In fact, Josh, after your silly ol' toast, I took a little family poll. You might be interested to know that if for some reason we ever have to choose between our actual nephews and their lovely brides... the nephews lose.
     And another thing... each of your lovely wives had the opportunity to meet me before you asked them to marry you, and each of them still decided to accept your stupid proposals. As fate would have it, they have each been wonderful wives, and they have produced adorable and charming children... no thanks to you boys.
     You are welcome.
     Now back to the wedding.
     The reception was awesome. Great people, great food, great music... and a lot of dancing.... especially my man, Noah.
     With the glaring exception of the toast, every little detail was perfect.
     We welcome Sarah into our family, and I will leave her with these two bits of advice... First, always have a great sense of humor, you will need it. Second, never do anything stupid in front of Josh because he will never let you forget about it.
     We wish Adam and Sarah a lifetime of God's blessings.

Funny Guy Friday... A little driving technique of my own...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Just put a gun to my head and shoot me. End it now.
     Forget that... you don't have to do that. Grace just got her learner's permit, so my fate has been sealed. I am going to die of heart failure.
     I am not suggesting that Grace is not a great driver... but on the other hand... Grace is not a great driver... yet. To be fair, she is learning... and she gets better with each outing. But in just three days, she has taken a turn wide and almost hit a parked car; she has run a stop sign; and she has managed to park our car just to the left of our driveway.
     That's a nice way of saying she parked our car in our front yard.
     So far, the only good thing to come out of her getting her learner's permit is that she likes driving with me better than she likes driving with Cheryl. Personally, I like her driving with Cheryl better, but I'll accept my little victory. I get so few wins when I compete with my wife.
     I try to keep a running dialogue with Grace when she is driving, and I remind her of what she is about to encounter. Gracie did not say why she loved me best (okay... okay... prefers me in the passenger seat), but I can hazard a guess.
     People don't see this in public, but Cheryl can be anxious and overbearing in pressure-cooker situations. Especially when there are parked cars and pedestrians in peril.
     That's my story and I am sticking to it!
     Anyway, when Gracie informed me that I won the driving instructor contest, I was gracious in victory. I told Grace that it's hard on both her mother and me because we don't know exactly what she does and doesn't know about driving and the rules of the road. Gracie's response was not encouraging.
     I don't know anything! 
     Wow! With a response like that, I do wish that Cheryl had my serene and unruffled manner in times of adversity. Okay... maybe those are my words, not Gracie's.
     What I really wish is that Gracie could be as good a driver as I was when I was her age.
     What's that? You heard that I hit two parked cars in the first three months of having my license? Okay, that is true, but neither accident was my fault. Both cars were parked in such a way that it was impossible for me to get into my space without hitting them. I know this because if it had been possible, I would not have hit them.
     The first incident occurred on my way to sign up for an 18-and-under intramural basketball league. I was running a bit late, and as I turned into my spot, I hit a little MG. The details are a bit sketchy, but I seem to recall that the MG was parked illegally.
     As luck would have it, the owner turned out to be the commissioner of the league. At first he was upset, but as soon as he heard my last name, he changed his tune. It turns out that my reputation as a big-time baller preceded me. After all, I was a member of the high school's JV basketball team. Not too shabby.
     He told me not to worry about it and that he would have the light replaced. I will always remember his kind words. No big deal... Jeff!
     Jeff? I am not Jeff. Jeff is my brother and a member of the high school's varsity basketball team. This guy doesn't think I am a big-time baller at all. He thinks that I am my brother Jeff.    
     How fortuitous!
     Under normal circumstances, I would have been offended, but under these circumstances, I let it go. My parents already thought that Jeff was a bad driver, so why upset the cart with two lousy drivers in the family? It was the right thing to do.
     My second teeny tiny little fender bender happened in the parking lot of a grocery store. As I pulled into my spot, I hit a very large, very old, station wagon. Again, I seem to recall that the vehicle was taking up two spaces... just begging to be rammed. This little mishap dented my mother's car and tore off the metal trim adorning the side. The other car had little to no damage at all. That thing was a tank.
      I went into the store and paged the other owner. She was so nice. She told me that she, too, had kids, and, besides, there was very little damage to her car. Like the MG owner, she told me not to worry about her car. In fact, she told me that she was more worried about what my mother was going to do when she saw the damage to her car.
     I picked up the broken trim, threw it into the trunk of the car and headed home to face the music. I went into the house and told my mom what had happened.
     Have you ever seen the Flintstones when Fred gets upset and the roof of his house spins up in the air when he yells? That's what happened when I told my mom about the accident... only it wasn't Fred doing the yelling.
     When we went outside to inspect the damage, my mother turned to me and said, You didn't do that, your brother Jeff hit a fence the other day and did that damage. 
     Really? I knew he hit a fence, but I had no idea about the extent of the damage. Actually, I was with him and knew the exact extent of the damage... and it was not this bad.
     My mom continued: Yeah, when he hit that fence, he really messed up the side of my car. 
     Well, you know, the lady that I hit had no damage to her car, so now it makes sense. 
     And with that, my mother skipped back into the house and went about her day.
     I too skipped into the house, and when the coast was clear, I grabbed a big green trash bag... went out to the car... opened the trunk... scooped out all of the damaged car parts... placed them in the green trash bag... and then tossed the bag out with the rest of the trash... never to be seen again.
     Evidence disposed of... but more importantly, crisis averted. And Jeff was still on the hook for hitting that fence.
     In retrospect, I think that I have learned two valuable lessons.
     First, I need to be patient with my new driver. Grace is sure to make mistakes, but she will learn. As she practices, she will increase her confidence and develop little techniques to help her along.
     Second, if she ever gets into a little fender bender of her own, she can always blame my brother Jeff!
     This was a driving technique that always seemed to work for me!