Funny Guy Friday... A wonderful celebration of a life well led...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I never really plan what I am going to write for Funny Guy Friday.
     I mean, things just happen during the week that strike me as funny... then I take it from there.
     Although, I don't always plan what I will write about, I sometimes plan on what I will not write about. This mainly applies to topics that I have covered in the past... or events that really deserve a special level of reverence and honor.
     One event that I had decided to avoid writing about was our friend Dave's funeral last Monday. I mean, it was a funeral, for goodness sake. But then something happened... I attended the funeral and was left awestruck by the whole day. Especially, three unbelievable eulogies. Each paid a tribute to Dave in a unique way.
     Before I talk about these eulogies, I want to point out that I have delivered one eulogy in my life... at my father's funeral. I don't want to brag or anything, but I was informative, I was poignant, I was witty and according to my kids... I made a stupid scrunchy face about five or six times. 
     I was trying not to cry.
     Yeah, that's what we thought... but your face got kind of all twisted and scrunchy.
     Okay... informative, poignant, witty, stupid and scrunchy... that about covers it. Suffice to say, it is a difficult thing to do.
     Anyway, Dave's brothers and sisters, and then his parents, were the first to speak. Each spoke briefly about Dave, giving a bit of insight into what kind of man he had become. These last few years, the more he had suffered physically... the more he had grown spiritually.
     Dave was the youngest of six, and to summarize their thoughts... he was multi-talented, a great brother, son, husband and father, and he was super-competitive. His oldest brother concluded that he was so competitive that, of course, out of all of them, he would have to be the first to reach Heaven!
     Score one for Dave!
     When Dave's mom spoke, she mentioned that Dave loved music, so, as a tribute, the family sang him a song, Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. Mrs. McGee is a good friend of Cheryl's mom, and she had played the piano and sung with the church folk group that my mother-in-law led for years. The family hit every note! I know nothing about music, but I knew that their gift of song was impressive in many ways. I spoke to Mrs. McGee after the funeral and told her that she never sounded better... and Dave would have loved it.
     I also got to thinking... What talents do my siblings and I have that would allow us to get up in front of a crowd of people and perform in this type of circumstance. 
     Sadly, the only thing I could think of is that we could take a baseball up there with us... and throw it around the church like we were taking infield or something. And even at that, we would have to make short throws to account for our older, weaker arms... and we would have to avoid throwing it to our sisters.
     But, I digress.
     Next up was Dave's wife Maura. As soon as we saw from the program that Maura was going to speak, Cheryl turned to me, shook her head a little, and advised that she would not be able to speak at my funeral. I looked around at the packed church and wondered aloud if anyone would even come to my funeral. Cheryl advised that people would come... just to be sure! 
     Thanks honey.
     Maura read a letter that she had written to Dave, and there is nothing that I can say or write that would do that letter justice. The only thing better than the words that she wrote was the way she read it. Every person in that church had tears in their eyes... with the notable exception of Maura. She was composed... she was loving... and she was amazing.
     And get this... no stupid scrunchy faces to speak of.
     The final speaker was Maura's father.
     It speaks volumes as to the type of husband and father Dave was that his father-in-law would speak so lovingly on his behalf. He recounted how he had first met Dave... as a little boy stealing the parents' tennis balls from the tennis courts at the local swim club... and he recounted that, all those years ago, the last thing that had gone through his mind as the little thief ran off was... There goes my daughter's future husband and father to six of my grand kids!
     Dave always spoke highly of his father-in-law, and it was crystal clear that the feeling was mutual.
     Although we had known Dave and Maura for many years, we only got to know them well over the last eight years, after they invited us to be part of a group of families that go on a family retreat every August. Apparently, we were not the only ones that were touched by the McGees, as the church was packed with friends and family.
     Heck, there were about ten priests in attendance. My theory on that is that Dave was either a great guy, or he just gave some really unforgettable confessions. Maybe both!
     The following day, a friend commented that he thought Dave might have planned much of the ceremony. I have no idea if he did or did not, but Maura had mentioned that Dave had asked her to read her letter.
     The only thing I have ever asked Cheryl to do at my funeral is to wear black. In fact, I want her to be like those old Italian women from the old country, and wear black for the remainder of her life... but that might be asking a bit too much. She insists she doesn't look good in black... and asks if plum will do.
      Anyway, here is what I do know, whoever did plan Dave's ceremony, pulled off a wonderful celebration of a life well led.

Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.

I looked over Jordan, and what did I see?
Coming for to carry me home,
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.

If you get there before I do,
Coming for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends I'm coming, too.
Coming for to carry me home.

I'm sometimes up and sometimes down,
Coming for to carry me home,
But still my soul feels heavenly bound,
Coming for to carry me home.

The brightest day that I can say,
Coming for to carry me home,
When Jesus washed my sins away,
Coming for to carry me home.

One final note... we all know, no matter what Dr. Seuss says, you can never have too many Daves!

Funny Guy Friday... In memory of Dave McGee...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I just came back from confession... and I'm not sure if I am committing some confession faux pas by revealing this... but one of the things I confessed was that for the past two days, I have been hoping that  my will be done... and not His. I am guessing that God is not a big fan of my questioning Him. Sometimes it is hard to understand.
     For these and all my sins, I am heartily sorry, and I ask for forgiveness.
     A good friend of ours, Dave McGee, lost his battle with cancer this past Tuesday. If you are a regular reader of Funny Guy Friday, you may remember I wrote about Dave before, here.
     He passed away the day after his 45th birthday.
     The previous two-and-a-half years were rough on him and his family as he underwent various treatments. It seemed that with every step forward, there would be two steps back. Through it all, he and his wife, Maura, persevered with grace and dignity.
     Being a good friend was a sidelight to Dave's main roles as a great father to six wonderful kids and a faithful, loving husband, son, and brother.
     We will miss him.
     Having said that, I was driving down the road today thinking about Dave, and I broke out in laughter. I started thinking about a story that Cheryl heard from a friend this morning. They were talking about Dave, and our friend recounted a scene from a party that Cheryl and I had last summer. A group of kids, including this woman's 11-year-old son, found themselves out on our deck with Dave and several coolers filled with icy cold drinks. Dave challenged them to see who could keep their hand in the freezing ice water the longest.
     Who does that?
     Dave, of course.
     And of course, Dave won.
     Did I mention that he was competitive?
     The King of Corn Hole... and the master of Corn Hole smack talk! The family retreat Corn Hole games were classic battles. When he would beat me, he would tell me... You used to be such a good athlete! ...or my personal favorite... Your brother would have never let that happen!
     Fortunately, I am not competitive, and that kind of teasing never really bothered me... although I personally think that if he doesn't get into Heaven it is because of those thoughtless taunts and jabs... at me. And besides, those things he said weren't true... I am still a good athlete... and I was always better than my brother. I don't care what he said! And Corn Hole is not even a real sport!
     Whatever!!!
     Dave was also a great story teller who could impersonate just about anyone. Friends... family members... no one was above it. A personal favorite of mine was his impression of one of the priests at our church: He died for our sins. For our sins. He died for our sins. Think about that... He died for our durned sins. 
     This was a retreat tradition that never got old.
     When something like this happens to a friend, I struggle as to what it is that I can do.
     I want to do something!
     I have, of course, been praying.
     Like many, I had been praying for a medical miracle. This morning, I read a Facebook post from another retreat friend who had a bit of a revelation. He, too, had been praying for a medical miracle, when he realized that perhaps he needs to pray for Dave's wife and children... for the grace to stay strong in their faith throughout this agonizing process.
     It was that post that got me thinking about my own thoughts and led me to that aforementioned confession.
     I will continue my prayers for my own acceptance of His will. I will pray for Dave's soul, and I will pray for Dave's family... but I also have a little project in mind.
     I help run the Labor Day Festival at Sacred Heart Church, in Bowie. This past year, Cheryl and I went a day early to post some signs. Ironically, Dave and Maura pulled up to offer some heckling and some help... mostly heckling. We wouldn't have had it any other way. While the gals gabbed, Dave walked across the little field to help me hammer in our signs.
     Each year, when Festival time comes, Dave and his family are always one of the last to leave, staying to the end to help out with the clean up. Even when his body was beaten down by chemotherapy, he was out there moving tables and trash cans.
     If you have ever been to Sacred Heart, you know that there is a Grotto down the hill in the back of the church. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful part of the church's property.
     The entrance of the little lane leading to the Grotto? Not so beautiful. There is a chain linked fence with a red No Trespassing sign... a red Employees Only sign... a red Turn Back sign... and a red Surrender Dorothy sign.
     I exaggerate a bit... but not much. It's really not very inviting.
     Not to throw Cheryl under the bus or anything, but last year, in order to make the place feel more welcoming to visitors, she cut two of the signs down and threw them into the woods. She is a bad assistant, and I would replace her if I could get anyone else to give up their entire Labor Day weekend for me!
     I digress.
     Anyway, I started thinking that it would be nice to create two stone columns and a pretty stone fence that match the outdoor Stations of the Cross that are on either side of the little lane leading down to the Grotto. I mentioned this to our parish priest and he thought it was a good idea... a really good idea... he thought it was a durned good idea. I call this permission!
     I mentioned it to our priest, then I promptly forgot about it. Now the idea is back!
     I have no idea how much it is going to cost to clear out the area and then build the stone entryway, but I want to make it happen as soon as I can, and I want to dedicate it to Dave. 
     So, now I am going to ask for your assistance. You can help with prayers, ideas, encouragement, or donations. We may hire a crew to clean out the area and haul away the existing broken chain link fence and debris... or, if we have enough volunteers, we may do that ourselves. You can also help by passing this along to folks that knew Dave, Maura and the kids. Or if they didn't know Dave... but wished they had... we would love their involvement. The more the merrier!
     If you have any interest in helping out in any way... contact me or Cheryl... and we will let you in on the details... just as soon as we know them. Any donations can be sent to Sacred Heart Church, Bowie, with a note that it be dedicated to the Beautification of the Grotto project.
     I have never done anything like this before... and maybe it's a dumb idea, but I want to do something; this is the best I could come up with. My other idea of dedicating a trash can to Dave seemed kind of silly.
     It is important to me to have a tribute in memory of a good friend whose example of obedience, humility, and faith touched so many.
     Perhaps even a plaque would be cool:
     ~ In Memory of Our Good Friend ~
     ~ Dave McGee ~
     ~ Loving Father ~
     ~ Devoted Husband ~
     ~ King Of Corn Hole Plus He Could Hold His Hand In A Bucket Of Ice Water Longer Than Any Other Kid ~
     We can work on the wording of the plaque. Like I said, I have never done anything like this before.
     May God bless you, Dave McGee.
     You didn't lose your battle. You are the victor here! You ran the race and fought the good fight. Just as you always did! And you won the ultimate prize.
     You are in a Better Place... and doubtless... that was His will.

Dave and Maura

Camp Maria ~ several years ago

The McGee kids 

Funny Guy Friday... Living the Team Clean dream...

    About three or four months ago, a friend of ours, Carol Paul, sent us the book she had written, suggesting that mentioning it in a Funny Guy Friday post would be a natural fit, given our family's history on this subject. It was signed with a nice personal note.
    Now, I am not one for hyperbole, but... Carol's father is the greatest high school basketball coach in the history of... the universe.
    That's right, I said universe!
    I am always looking for a good topic to write about each week, and a funny book review for the daughter of a great basketball coach sounded like a novel idea. I was sure her book would have had something to do with basketball. Sounded like a great plan... right up until I read the inside cover!  Spoiler alert: This book is not really about basketball at all!
    I quickly made two assessments.
    First, I decided that I would not read the book. The real topic did not interest me, and it would have required too much of an effort from me. Second, I hid the book from Cheryl because... well, because the topic did not interest me, and it would have required too much of an effort from me.
    Several weeks went by and life was good.
    I wasn't reading much of anything, and frankly, I was not putting forth too much effort in any of my daily endeavors. Then I made the mistake of attending a fundraiser at Pallotti High School. As part of the fundraiser, Cheryl and I purchased a "going away to college" basket for Gracie. It had lots of fun stuff: a wicker hamper full of sheets, towels, a microwave oven, a lamp, a clock and... that book! 
    By the time we got home, that book was buried at the bottom of the hamper, so I couldn't sneak it out before Cheryl spotted it. Life as I knew it, was over. Once you hear what it says on the cover of the book, it will all become perfectly clear to you:
    ~ TEAM CLEAN ~
    ~ The End Of Cleaning Alone ~
    ~ The Ultimate Family Clean-Up-The-House Formula ~
    Truth is... cleaning alone never really bothered me.
    In fact, I enjoyed it.
    To clarify: Cheryl cleaning alone never really bothered me.
    She isn't perfect, but when she gets going, she's good. And bonus: when my mom comes over for the weekend, the two of them seem to get all the cleaning stuff done... no sweat.
    Suddenly, I knew Cheryl would read this book and get some lame-brain idea to include me in the cleaning process. I bring home the bacon and I occasionally fry it up in the pan... do I really need to wash the pan, too?
    Look, I don't care if she drags the kids into this Team Clean thing, but is it necessary for me to grab a bucket and mop?
    My fears became a reality about three weeks ago when Cheryl announced that we were going to be a Team Clean family.  She made a chart and everything.
    The way she explained it was that each family member is a player on the Team Clean team. We are assigned a position/job, and once a week we will set aside a specific evening for cleaning the house, each with our specific jobs to do. If done correctly, "the whole process takes less than an hour." Once the job is done, the family/team orders take-out and enjoys a fun family activity.
The banter began. I went first:
    We already eat out as it is... and we do fun family stuff all the time. Do we really need to clean up first?
    I will agree that we do eat out a lot... and we do have fun together as a family... but the house is a mess!
    I'll see if my mom can come over more often. You two work great together! 
    You're sad. We are doing Team Clean! By the way, the kids bet me that you wouldn't do it.
    How much did they bet you?
    Ten dollars.
    Give me five, collect ten from them, and we both get to wet our beaks! 
    Did I mention that you're just sad?
    Cheryl picked Thursday night to begin the Great Project.  
    I say no, Thursdays are bad for me... I have stuff going on. You know, as I look at my calendar, Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday don't look too good either!
    This little trick did not fool my wife.
    Thursdays it is!
    It gets worse. She picked the first Thursday of the NCAA basketball tournament, and there were games to watch. There is no way our friend's dad, you remember him, "the greatest high school basketball coach in the universe," would have ever wanted us to start on a Thursday when there were games to watch!
    At least Cheryl asked me which task I wanted to work on. The answer was easy: wherever there was a TV, so I could watch the games! I drew the 36 inch TV in the bedroom.
    On a side note... Man, we've got a lot of clothes.
    We started at 6:45 and planned that after our hour of cleaning, we'd eat a yummy dinner and watch a show or play cards... all by 8pm.
    Big mistake. The hour turned into two... then stretched into two-and-a-half.
    Finally, the house was clean... but the kids were famished!
    I was sure there had to be a learning curve here and that Week 2 would surely go a bit faster. I know that the bedroom was going to go faster because there was no way that I was going to let anybody leave a towel, a sock, a bowl, or a wrapper anywhere near that room during the week. I became a bit territorial and I even considered... ahem... marking my territory just to let everyone know to back off. I decided against it when I realized it would just result in more cleanup work for me on Thursday!
    I am happy to report that Week 2 did go much faster. In fact, I got done so quickly that I was able to actually get to my other position... cleaning the kitchen counters and appliances.
    In fact, it went so well that I decided to actually read the book.
    What I discovered was shocking... Cheryl was not following all the Team Clean Building Blocks. We didn't declutter. We didn't purchase the correct "game equipment." We didn't get waste baskets for every room (although that one seems to be optional).  I think she just wanted me to help clean up.
    Chapter 9 says that the coach should be "the one who blindly believes in Team Clean!" If Cheryl thinks that she can keep her job as coach, she'd better stick to the game plan because I am all in.
    Of course, if UCLA is playing Florida, I am all in... in the bedroom... with the 36 inch TV.
    As far as the book is concerned, it is a quick read... and after two weeks, it seems to be making a big difference in our household.
    So on the sponge scale... where one sponge is the worst book ever... and 5 sponges is a life changer... I will give Team Clean 5 sponges!
    I highly recommend it.
    Not to cheat Ms. Paul out of a sale, but I have an extra copy if anyone needs it.

Our Team Clean Chart

Funny Guy Friday... If you ever think of suing us, think again...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     The last few weeks have been tough on my relationship with my daughter Grace. It all started with some girl in New Jersey suing her parents.
     In case you haven't heard, some 18-year-old girl moved out of her parents' home and in with a friend. She then sued her parents, requesting that they continue to finance her private school education and, in essence, pay her support.
     The case has received a great deal of publicity, and, unfortunately, some of the letters that this young  woman wrote to, and about, her mother were made public.
     Now, I know there are two sides to every story, and there may be some great reason for this kid to sue her parents... or write awful things about her mom. The problem is... I can't think of any. And worse for Grace, I could not think of a single reason why Grace would want to sue Cheryl and me.
     I decided to let Grace know exactly how I felt about this whole situation as she sat in front of the TV in a semi-comatose state.
     Let me be very clear about this... if you ever even think about suing me or your mother, you better think long and hard about what would happen. If you think for one second, that I would ever support you in any way after that dog and pony show, you are out of your mind. I don't have all the money in the world, but I am happy to provide for all of your needs, including a college education, a wedding, and whatever support you may need. But the second the ink is dry on your complaint, all that stops! I don't care if some idiot judge orders me to give you money, you ain't getting it. You get nothing... nothing for school... nothing for your wedding... nothing when I die. That's right, I am worth millions dead, and you won't even sniff one red cent... NOT ONE PENNY! The boys get it all! Oh, and one more thing, you write terrible things about your mother, you might end up requiring surgery to get my foot out of your rear end! Are we clear? You ungrateful little...
     Grace looked up and realizing the error of her ways said... Huh? What? What did I do? 
     Did you hear about this girl in New Jersey? 
     What girl? 
     An 18-year-old girl sued her parents.
     What does that have to do with me?
     You're 17... and... you know... you're a girl... and you're 17.
     Are you really mad at me because some girl in New Jersey sued her parents?
     Yes. As a matter of fact, I am. But that's not the only thing... there is other stuff, I just can't think of it right now because I am so mad about the stupid law suit you might file.  
     But a law suit was not the only thing that Grace may have been contemplating recently. She wants to get a tattoo. A tattoo. Can you believe that?
     Actually, she doesn't really say she wants a tattoo. But she does say that she doesn't think it's the worst thing you could do and that there isn't anything wrong with getting a tattoo. In my mind, that's the same as saying she wants a tattoo.
     What is wrong with her?  What has Cheryl done to my baby girl?
     Again, I made my position clear...
     Here are your options, carnival girl: Option 1... I pay for your college. Option 2... I pay for your tattoo and then I am done paying for anything else. You decide. 
     What if I get it and don't tell you about it?
     This just about made my head explode!
     I will find out and when I do, you are on your own. Remember the college, wedding and all that other stuff? Remember how much I am worth when I die? NOT ONE PENNY!
     Perhaps Gracie's just "poking the bear" to see the bear's reaction. But I am not taking any chances. She gets a tattoo, the bear will deprive her of all of his honey!
     Now you may see a pattern developing. Some people may think that as my kids grow up and make decisions on their own, I will try to influence those decisions with my financial resources. That I will try to control my kids with my money.
     Those people would be correct.
     Some people might say that this is the wrong approach.
     Who cares what they think!
     And I would say to those people: You do with your money what you and your inked up, litigious children want... and I will do what I want. And I will do it with a clear conscience, fully cognizant that it may not be fair to my children.
     I have told this story before, but several years ago, when my nephew made the Washington Post All-Met baseball team for the second year in a row, he was invited, for the second year in a row, to attend a breakfast to honor the athletes. He was scheduled to go to the beach with his girlfriend's family that same day, and my brother told him that he could decide what he would do. When my nephew informed my brother he was going to go to the beach, my brother told him that he was going to the breakfast. When my nephew reminded him that he had given him the choice, my brother told my nephew that he had given him the opportunity to make the right choice and since he did not, my brother made the correct choice for him,
     I love that story and have incorporated that style and attitude into my own parenting.
     If my kids don't do the right thing on their own, I will make them do the right thing... or I will do what I can to force them into doing the right thing. I will give them the opportunity to make decisions for themselves... before I step in and make them make the right decision... for all of us.
     Simple really.
     The fact of the matter is that I really don't have a ton of cash lying around. I mean we are doing okay, but in reality, the only person that will ever really be fat with cash is Cheryl... and that only happens when I am dead and gone! But what I do have, I will use any way I see fit.
     In a follow up to the tattoo discussion, Grace told me that if/when she does get a tattoo, she will get one that says "Dad."
     How ironic. You will have a tattoo that says "Dad," but you will no longer have a dad that will speak with you! 
     Grinning this whole time, Grace teased that maybe she already had a tattoo.
     Now that I think about it, if Grace really did have a tattoo, I would probably keel over and die of a heart attack as soon as I saw it. Grace would have her tattoo and Cheryl would have her cash.  They both might consider this a win/win.
     This is not good.
     You know, I would like to change something: I would not die of a heart attack; I would die of a broken heart. That's right, a broken heart. Poor old man killed by a heedless, impulsive, unnecessary act by his ungrateful daughter.
     Sad, so sad. Hard to believe that Grace would do such a thing to her dear ol' dad. Some day, you would hope that with the passage of time and some therapy, Grace would be able to forgive herself. Of course, her silly "Dad" tattoo will always be a constant reminder of me... and how she killed me!
     As you can see, money isn't the only thing I will use to get my kids to do the right thing. Guilt will do in a pinch! 

Funny Guy Friday... Click click... click click... click click...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Click click... click click... click click... click click... click click...
     They came in the mail.
     Click click... click click... click click... click click... click click...
     And they are REDONKULOUS!!! (yes... redonkulous is a word meaning awesomely awesome).
     Click click... click click... click click... click click... click click...
     What are they, you ask?
     Click click... click click... click click... click click... click click...
     They are Matthew's new metal baseball spikes.
     Click click... click click... click click... click click... click click...
     Matthew is thirteen now and can wear metal cleats.
     This may sound silly to those of you who never played baseball, but one of the greatest days of any young player's career is the day that he can wear metal spikes.
     Why's it such a great day?
     Is it because you get much greater traction than with those old molded cleats that you used to have to wear? Is it because they allow you to get to more ground balls than you used in those old molded cleats that you used to have to wear? Is it because they come in much cooler colors and designs than the old molded cleats that you used to wear? Can you jump higher in metal spikes than you could when you had to wear those old molded cleats?
     No... no... no... and no!
     To be clear, they do give you better traction. They do probably allow you to get to more ground balls. They may come in cooler colors and designs (more on that in a moment), and they may allow you to jump higher. I mean you start a little higher because of the spikes, so it stands to reason you get higher when you jump.
     The thing is that none of those things matter.
     No... it is such a great day because metal spikes make the coolest sound ever when you walk on tile, concrete, blacktop, or hardwood... although, I wouldn't recommend walking on the hardwood.
     I came home early on Tuesday and the box was there. I went to open it and Cheryl asked whether I shouldn't wait until Matthew came home from school.
      Of course not... it has my name on the box!
      Yes, but you know it's Matthew's new shoes.  
      I don't know for sure... it could be something for me. 
      Did you order something for yourself?
      No... but it has my name on it! I have to run out for a while, so I won't be here when he gets home... and I don't want to wait. Case closed... but the box is open!
      I had a twinge of remorse after I opened them and examined them, so I packaged them back up and re-taped them. The only problem was that I didn't have any packing tape, so I had to use scotch tape. I thought: Matthew is a bit of a dope, so he'll never notice.
      Unfortunately, he's not that much of a dope. He did notice. In fact, he made me feel even worse when I called to ask if he liked his new cleats and he said, I haven't opened them yet, I am waiting for you to get back home. By the way, nice tape job! 
      Ouch! 
      We went a different route this year. Traditionally, we are a dedicated lover of the Nike product  with an occasional tryst with Under Armour. This year we went completely off the plantation and selected the high-top New Balance Pedroia 4040BR2s... and they are SWEEEET!
      We like Dustin Pedroia, but he has nothing to do with our selection, unless of course he designed the darn things. And if he did design them, he is not only the best second baseman in baseball, he is the Calvin Klein of baseball. The Yves Saint Laurent of baseball. The Giorgio Armani of baseball. If he designed these babies, dare I say, he is the Babe Ruth of baseball cleat design.
      They are red, black, and white, with a little camo working throughout!
      I love 'em!
      Now if you think that I am getting a little overly excited about a stupid pair of cleats that I will never wear you'd be wrong because I did wear them. Those babies were out of the box and on my feet and clicking away on our kitchen tile in no time flat. I was disappointed because they were a half size too small. They did fit Matthew, so I begrudgingly allowed him to keep them.
     I was not alone in my excitement.
     Cheryl also loved them! In fact, she mentioned that she is not a lover of the cleat but these were so pretty. Pretty is not a word one uses to describe spikes, but I think you get the point. She couldn't stop talking about them and would not stop staring at them. She used to look at me like that... but I wasn't jealous... I completely understood.
      Wide-eyed, she kept gazing at them... turning them 'round and 'round... commenting that they are a boy's version of Dorothy's ruby slippers... only with spikes!
      Their (the cleats) first practice was scheduled for Wednesday night. I worried aloud whether or not this was a good idea.
      I mean... shouldn't we take it easy on them for their maiden voyage? Maybe a game of catch in the front yard? Or maybe wear them for the stretching part of practice in the outfield... away from the dust of the infield... and then put the old ones back on for the dirty part of practice. They are going to get dirty if you wear them out on that field. And there is a strong possibility that it is going to rain tonight! I say wait a few days.
      Dad, they are baseball cleats. They're going to get dirty no matter what I do.
      Yeah... but they're so... pretty!       
      The night was a complete disaster. I am not sure how Matthew played, and frankly, I don't care. He wore the cleats and it rained. First time out and they got all muddy. I should have put my foot down! I should have put on those cleats and put my foot down... of course not on the hardwood floors... and forbade him to wear them!
      As a parent, you make a million decisions for your kids and my decision to allow him to wear those cleats on Wednesday night was one of the worst!
      Look, as parents, we always like to take a bad situation and fix it for our kids. And although Matthew didn't seem like he actually cared... and he didn't actually ask me to do anything about it... I knew deep down he was hurting. Think about it, who wouldn't be upset by this cruel twist of baseball cleat fate. I had to do something.
      I knew I had to step in and save the day!
      I took an old rag and cleaned them up... good as new.
      Click click... click click... click click... click click... click click...
      And guess what...
      Click click... click click... click click... click click... click click...
      They still work!

Funny Guy Friday... Live by the quiz... Die by the quiz...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Okay, I have to ask... are you Larry, Curly or Moe? Are you George, Paul, John or Ringo? Are you a goat, a tarantula, a giraffe, or a snake? Oh, I know, you are a MONKEY because you are taking all these silly quizzes that ask silly questions to determine what flower you would be if you were a flower, what drink you'd be if you were a drink, what animal you'd be if you were an animal, or what person you'd be if you were a... person.
     If you troll around Facebook long enough, you have to have seen someone post the results of their quiz. If I were a food, I would be a _______, what are you? If I lived in another time period, I would have lived in the ______, how about you? If I were a food, I would be a ______, how about you? And my personal favorite, If I were a potato, I would be ______... What potato would you be? 
     I think you get the picture!  It's a bunch of milarky!
     How do I know about all these silly quizzes, you ask?
     Because I take them, that's how!
     Cheryl makes me... but even if she didn't, how could I resist? I mean who hasn't lain awake at night wondering what Star Wars character they are. By the way, that one is not accurate because I am nothing like Jar Jar Binks. That dude is obnoxious, annoying and funny looking. I, on the other hand, am obnoxious, annoying and handsome. See the difference?
     Up until recently, Cheryl was all in. She has taken them all, boasting of the wonderful results she has achieved with her thoughtful answers to all those penetrating questions. Every answer leads to an eloquent, albeit occasionally foul-mouthed, recap of the positive characteristics of a snap dragon or Disney's Belle or a cosmopolitan martini. After reading aloud these enlightening personality sketches (i.e. she is a feisty, fragrant woman... who has been forced to live with a beast... while leading a stylish, trendy lifestyle) she always comments... I think that is me to a tee!  
     Really? I don't think she was ever forced to live with a beast!
     Did you notice that earlier I said "up until recently?" Yeah, she used to love these little quizzes until she took the one called: Which of the 12 Apostles are you?
     She was very excited to take this one. She was sure she was going to be Peter "the Rock" who happened to be Jesus's pick to lead the church. She thoughtfully answered  every question trying to give Pope-like answers... good Catholic answers like Pope Benedict or Pope John Paul might have given. You remember those kinds of answers. They were clear answers that were consistent with the teachings of the Catholic faith. More importantly, the Vatican was never required to scramble around for days trying to explain what they really meant!
     I think you get what I mean.
     Anyway, she was very excited as the computer tallied up her responses.
     Drum roll, please...........
     Judas Iscariot.
     That's right... she isn't Peter the Rock, she is Judas the Betrayer.
     Who knew?
     At first, she tried to run from this scientific fact.
     No way! I'm not Judas! This is not right. I'm retaking the test.
     Of course, I was sympathetic to her plight: You can't retake the test, Judas. You are what you are. You were happy when you got sushi, you were satisfied with Princess Amidala, and you were just giddy about living in Italy during the Renaissance... now you poo-poo Judas? No, you are Judas. That is what the testing shows, traitor... er... uh... Cheryl. 
     Fine... I suppose there is a little Judas in all of us, she said, apparently trying to come to grips with her fate.
     Don't try to pawn your Judas onto everyone else. You couldn't get me to be Judas for... 30 pieces of silver! Which I know you have... because you're Judas!
     Defeated, she worried: I will never live this down!
     Don't worry, honey, nobody will ever know! Hee hee hee.
     Hey... Live by the quiz. Die by the quiz.
     Ah... but these quizzes are contagious and have spread to the kids.
     Matthew brags that he "aces all these tests!" He claims to get all the "cool results." For instance he is Luke Skywalker, ice cream, The Incredibles, Flash, and Saint James.
    Dude, what is so cool about Saint James? Did he blog on Fridays?
    No. He is cool because he ain't Judas! 
    In an ironic twist, Grace took time out of her work schedule at California Tortilla to find out that she is a burrito. You are what you eat.
    As for me, evidently I'd like to party with Meryl Streep. I don't even like Meryl Streep. What a terrible twist of fate for a guy that looks like a cross between Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt... with the rocking personality of Jar Jar Binks... to have to hang out all night with Meryl Streep.
    What could possibly be worse?
    Oh, I know. I could have been stuck partying with Judas.

Funny Guy Friday... Have I ever told you about my freshman year?

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Grace wants a panini maker. Not sure why, but she has mentioned that she needs one for when she goes away to college in the fall.
     Ugh, my daughter is going to college. I am not old enough to have a daughter in college.
     It was only about four or five years ago that I, myself, graduated from college. I don't want to be one of those old coots that rehashes everything buuuut...
     My freshman year, I lived in the athletic dorm at the University of Maryland on the same wing as most of the basketball players. My roommate and I shared a room that had belonged to Buck Williams the previous year. Buck was an All-American basketball player at Maryland who left a year early to be the first pick in the NBA draft. We used to get his mail which, in my mind, qualified me as some kind of celebrity.
     That room was too small for two guys. I am pretty sure that Buck stayed by himself, but one of him equalled two of us so it was understandable. We had two beds, two desks and a tiny little refrigerator. The refrigerator was kind of a big deal.
      I remember one night I was studying with my door open to the hallway and my desk pushed up against the wall. All of the sudden the room got dark as the door spontaneously shut itself... only it wasn't the door. It was a six-foot-nine hulk-of-a-guy that had two bowling balls strapped to his chest standing in our doorway. He had just transferred in from the University of Minnesota to play basketball. He too eventually played both in the NBA and professionally overseas.
     He asked if he could store his vodka in our little freezer. I told him not only could he store his vodka, he could have the entire refrigerator if he just promised not to eat me. He was a nice guy who limited himself... and his vodka... to some simple storage space.
     The star player that year for the Terps was a kid who chose Maryland because it had a great engineering program, and ever since he was a kid... he loved playing with trains. I remember getting up early one morning to go take an eight o'clock final. As I was getting on the elevator, all of the sudden, this superstar asks me what time it was. I told him it was 7:45 and he looked at his roommate and said, We need to get us an alarm clock next year. 
     How is it possible that an individual could go an entire year of college and not have an alarm clock?
     I suppose it is possible if you are six-foot-six with some sweet moves to the rack, because this guy also made it to the NBA.
     I remember, on the weekends, I used to throw my dirty laundry in a magic bag and head home. I could drop it off in my mother's laundry room on Friday, full of dirty clothes... and POOF!... on Sunday evening, all the dirty clothes were clean and folded and back in the bag.
     Oh, how I wish I still had that bag!
     What a year. But what does my freshman year have to do with Grace's request for a panini machine? Nothing really but.....
      Because Gracie was so excited (and more than willing to make dinner that night), Cheryl ran down to our basement and recovered a brand new George Foreman grill. Only... it was not technically brand new. It had been sitting, unopened, in our basement for nearly twenty years.
      Grace asked why we had never used it before.
      Because it was a gift for your cousin Jonathan. 
      For what? she asked.
      For his high school graduation. We thought it would be a great idea for a college kid to have a George Foreman grill for his dorm room.
      Dad, Jonathan is in his thirties.
      I know. He probably doesn't need it anymore, so we can use it. I don't think he'd mind. 
      I went on to explain to the kids who George Foreman was... an unlikeable young heavyweight champ who lost the title before regaining the championship belt as a lovable 46-year-old teddy bear of a man.
      In between, he made a fortune selling these grills. I concluded by telling the kids that everyone we knew had one of these babies.
      Everyone... except, of course... Jonathan! Matthew chimed in.
      This was true. I bet he would have enjoyed the wonderful paninis Grace made that night. Just as I am sure that he won't mind when she takes it with her to college in August.
       Ugh! My daughter is going off to college.
       I am not old enough to have a daughter going off to college.
       Have I ever told you about my freshman year?

Funny Guy Friday... Shepherd's Pie, you say?

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I do most of the grocery shopping in our family. In fact, Cheryl does not like shopping of any kind. This can be a good thing because she does not spend any money. On the other hand, it can be a bad thing. See sentence number one.
     Actually, I do not mind doing the shopping because I get to buy stuff that I like. I refuse to buy the fake stuff that the grocery stores try to trick us into thinking is just as good as the "real stuff." They even try to give those products fake names that are similar to the original. For instance, instead of Cocoa Puffs they try to sell you Choco Puffs... or Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops... or Crispy Rice instead of Rice Krispies... and my personal favorite: Dr. Perky instead of Dr. Pepper. Like we wouldn't notice.
     I do my shopping at Safeway. I used to go to Giant, but they reorganized and that threw me off my game. I knew what I wanted and I knew where I could find it. Once they rearranged, I was looking for milk in the seafood department and getting my prescriptions filled by the florist. It took too long, so I made the switch.
     Safeway is much easier. Everything is always where it is supposed to be. I even have my own personal checkout lady that gets my name wrong... in a different way each time... every time she tells me how much money I'll save on gas. Do you know how much money you have to spend to save ten cents a gallon?
     The answer is a lot.
     The worst part of shopping is when I get a call from Cheryl asking me to buy some obscure item. For instance, Sunday afternoon, I was at Safeway when Cheryl called to advise me that she had a great recipe for Shepherd's Pie and would I mind picking up a few things.
     Terrific...what is Shepherd's Pie? Sounds like a yummy dessert!
     It is not a dessert. You need to buy some chopped steak?
     Who sells chopped steak? Do you mean ground beef?
     No, I mean chopped steak.
     This wasn't too bad because if they sell such a thing, it is in the meat department. But then she followed up with a request for beef bullion.
     What is that?
     It should be with the spices. Yet another thing that is not on my normal shopping list.
     Is it really necessary?
     Yes, just find it.
     The hunt was on. Noah and I found the spice aisle and there was not a beef bullion in sight. This is when my survival instincts kicked in. As women walked by, I pretended to be confused and helpless. You may think that I am typically confused and helpless, but I was just setting a trap for the more experienced shoppers... preferably of the female persuasion.
     The first gal must not have seen me because she walked right by without offering any assistance at all. She must have had a heart of stone.
      I made a few adjustments as lady number two approached. I was not taking any chances with this one. I turned to nobody in particular and as pitiful as I could, I said,
     I hate when Mom sends me on these wild goose chases... who ever heard of beef bullion? 
     I think Noah began to respond but who knows... who cares? What really mattered was that my unsuspecting prey bought it hook, line and sinker.
     Excuse me sir, I couldn't help but overhear... are you looking for beef bullion?
     Oh, I am so sorry, was I too loud? I was just talking to my poor little boy over there. Hey Tiny Tim, limp on over here and try to stay close to Daddy.
     Oh... he is cute! Little did she know that the boy was just a prop in my web of deceit.
     Well, the beef bullion is over in the next aisle. Come with me, I'll show you. 
     Boom baby! Beef bullion bought!  
     So we bought all the ingredients for Shepherd's Pie... chopped steak, onions, potatoes, peas, carrots, corn, and worcestershire sauce. This was going to be yummy!
     On Sunday, we ate at California Pizza Kitchen.
     On Monday, we had tuna sandwiches.
     On Tuesday, Green Turtle.
     On Wednesday, Chinese.
     On Thursday, we ate the ground steak with baked potatoes.
     Do you notice what we didn't have? That's right... Shepherd's Pie!
     Perhaps, I should stand in my kitchen and look confused and helpless, with Tiny Tim by my side, and, as pitiful as I can, ask...
     Does anyone know how to make Shepherd's Pie?

Funny Guy Friday... Mamas... Don't let your babies grow up to be cussers...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I love my wife. Let me just get that out of the way before I move forward.
     I caught a lot of flack for my very sappy post last week about our marriage retreat. I don't care... I love her... and I don't care who knows it.
     Now... that being said... Cheryl drives me crazy.
     Take this morning for instance.
     We woke up to a foot of snow, and my office did not close, but instead, opened late. Now, I am one of the bosses, and I can do whatever I want; however, I think it best that if the office is open on a snow day, I should show up. I may show up later than everyone else, though, and perhaps even leave earlier than everyone else... being the boss does come with some privileges.
     Anyway, I got up and ventured out to dig myself out of our driveway while everyone else slept. I contemplated waking Matthew and having him help, but I thought I would let him sleep in. Everyone had stayed up late figuring that we were getting the "biggest snow storm of the year." Mind you that our kids are home-schooled and school cancellations don't really mean what they used to mean.  
      After two hours of shoveling, I came back in the house and found the boys watching a show on the laptop and Cheryl reading on her ipad. I thought that I deserved pancakes for breakfast, and so I said, Who is making the pancakes?
     This can be translated to, Cheryl, get out of bed and make me some pancakes.
     Cheryl slightly misinterpreted it to mean, Matthew, get out of bed and go make everyone pancakes. so she said, Matthew, get out of bed and go make everyone pancakes.  
     Matthew, in turn, completely misunderstood Cheryl's demand and interpreted it to mean, Hey, Matthew, go take a shower.  So he grabbed a towel and started for the shower.
      I must admit, I was not too upset by this turn of events because I wanted Cheryl to be the morning chef. I was in a hurry, and Cheryl is way more efficient in the kitchen than everyone else besides maybe Grace, but she was asleep. Mind you, Matthew is capable. He can follow directions. It is just that he is thirteen years old and... how can I say this without offending him.... at times he can be a little bit goofy.
     There, that shouldn't be too offensive.
     I half-heartedly ordered that he put on some clothes and head downstairs. Dutifully, he left our bedroom and headed for the kitchen.
     When Cheryl and I walked into the kitchen, Matthew was busy stirring up the pancake mix.
     I was, at the same time, satisfied that he was on task... but horrified about his wardrobe. He was dressed in his underwear and had his towel wrapped around his neck like a cape. Who dresses like this when they are preparing another man's meal?
     I said the first thing that popped into my head: What in the hell are you wearing?
     Cheryl, too, was offended but surprisingly not at my half-clad, superhero, pancake-making son.
     No.
     Cheryl was offended at my language. She labeled me as a "cusser" and worried aloud that the boys are going to grow up to be cussers. I pled my case: I rarely cuss, except, of course sports cussing (when you are either playing or watching a sport), funny cussing (to emphasize a good joke or story) and then there is the mad cussing (out of anger).
     Truth be told, you don't even have to confess to sports cussing and funny cussing.
     She did not agree and again pointed out that I am a bad example for the boys who will grow up to be cussers.
     Ninety-nine percent of what I do in my life is positive: I am a faithful husband, a good dad, and a good friend. I work hard to provide for my family, and I go to church every Sunday. Apparently all of that is destroyed by a teeny weeny little humorous inquiry as to why my son is making my breakfast dressed like Captain Underpants.
     Cheryl mentioned that the cussing thing was not just this one time but that she has noticed it more and more lately. So I asked for examples and she came up with two words that are not even technically curse words. Even Matthew had my back on this one. Admittedly, they are not the best way to say something is "not good" or that something is "junk" but, they are not curse words!
     Noah walked in the room and I asked him if he thinks that I cuss a lot. He said that he has heard me "bad cuss" about fifteen times.
     Fifteen times for bad cussing? No way! Again, I asked for examples.
     When we couldn't go to Grayson's baptism because Rocky had messed all over the place, and it took you two hours to clean it all up. I heard you cuss then.
     Oh yeah. Cussing about missing a religious event. Hmm.
     And when we left Vermont that one time. You cussed a lot that day! 
     Oh yeah, the Vermont trip!
     That Vermont time only counts for one time even though I may have cussed all fifteen times in one steady stream. We had driven halfway home before I realized that I had left my skis in Vermont, so I should get a pass on that one!
     Funny thing about that was that I realized I left my skis as I was bragging about how much better I had packed on the trip home than on the trip there. Want to guess as to why?
     Anyway, Cheryl was convinced that the boys were going to grow up and become serial cussers. I tried to explain that I don't cuss that much and they'll be fine.
     She then she re-told a story about her dad... a story I hear every time she accuses me of being a cusser.
     Growing up I never heard my dad use bad language. Never. He always said that people who cuss lack real intelligence and imagination. 
     Oh yeah... I got a surprise for you... I have heard your dad cuss. 
     This, I will admit, was a bald-face lie, but I was not about to go down without taking someone else with me. It's true... her dad never cusses. Rotten, goody-two-shoes ba$&@*>!
     It was about at this time that I remembered my and Cheryl's little unity battle cry: "It is always us against them."
     This did not feel like "us against them at all." In fact, it felt a whole lot like them against me.
     I had to devise a way out of this. A way to change the topic. Fortunately, just then, Grace walked into the kitchen, took one look at Matthew in his get-up, and asked... What in the hell are you wearing? 
     Look, I never said that my daughter wouldn't grow up to be just like her old man.

Funny Guy Friday... Mawwage...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     We walked the church grounds, hand in hand, having some of the most serious discussions we have ever had about our marriage. We did not discuss the kids, my job, or the work that had to be done around the house. We talked about the good, and we talked about the bad. It was a heartfelt effort to strengthen the bonds of love that we had pledged to each other more than two decades ago.
     Okay, full disclosure... when we had these discussions, it was Cheryl doing all of the talking and I said things like... Uh huh... Sure... Yeah, yeah... I agree... I know. 
     And get this, typically, I said these things at the appropriate times, tricking Cheryl into thinking that I was actually paying attention.
     At one point she told me: You need to agree to do more things that will strengthen our marriage.   
     Liiiike agreeing to go on an all-day marriage retreat? 
     Yes! That is exactly what I mean! she said excitedly.
     Well... cross that off the list because here I am... walking hand in hand around the grounds of the church... listening to you talk... and except for a few texts trying to find out how the boys did in their basketball games, I haven't thought of our kids one time! Oh... maybe two times... Gracie wants to go to a movie tonight!
     If you haven't guessed yet, last Saturday, Cheryl and I attended a marriage retreat at our church.
     I must admit, Cheryl used her usual tricks to get me to go. You know how she works it... on Monday, she asks if I want to go and I say no. Same thing on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Then, on Saturday, she tells me that anybody who is anybody will be there and that two of my favorite people, Mike and Michelle, are leading it. So, in an effort to appease her and prevent her from asking me again on Sunday, I say... Oh, okay, maybe! I will think about it! Never really intending to think about it.
     That was the chink in the armor that she was looking for, so she immediately booked us a spot for the day.
     With the lone exception of Cheryl always bugging me about ways to improve it, my thought was that our marriage was just fine. Why do we have to go on some silly Catholic retreat?
     Well, let me tell you...
     We started the day off with Mass. The first reading was about how King David had sent his faithful soldier Uriah to certain death so that he could have Uriah's wife Bathsheba for himself.
     Great start to the marriage retreat! I wondered, do I love Cheryl enough to have killed her first husband so that I could be with her? The priest admonished that the church would not recognize such a coupling, so I let that thought go. Just so you know... I was leaning towards no on the whole murder the other guy thing!
     On a side note, once the actual retreat started. I could not help but notice that Mike of the Mike and Michelle "two of my favorite people" leadership couple was conspicuously missing.
     It appears that Mike had a shooting lesson that he had previously scheduled with his grandkids... you know, in the event that one of them ever has to knock off some girl's husband. So, somehow he got permission to be late!
     After Mass, the rest of the retreat consisted of two morning talks followed by each couple breaking away for discussion, lunch, time for confession, an hour of Adoration, a couples blessing, and the renewal of vows.
     A visiting priest, Father Wilson, led the retreat.
     People may wonder what a priest would have to offer to a group of married couples ranging from newlyweds to 60 year vets. The answer is... quite a bit. To be honest, it was as if he were right there with me whenever Cheryl and I argue.
     He pointed out that priests are married... to the Church, the perfect spouse.
     And all this time, I thought I was the perfect spouse!
     Father Wilson's first discussion dealt with the Holiness of Marriage and the Family as laid out during Vatican II. On a side note, as a converted Catholic, I notice that Catholics say the words "Ever since Vatican II..." quite a bit. I digress.
     A portion of a handout included the following:
     For God Himself is the author of marriage... and has endowed it with various benefits and with various ends in view: all of these have very important bearing on the continuation of the human race... on the personal development and eternal destiny of every member of the family... on the dignity, stability, peace, and prosperity of the family and the whole human race.
     Wow! Talk about pressure.
     I looked at Cheryl and told her that we need to work on this marriage thing so we get it right... for the good of the whole human race. No more fooling around!
     Then Father went on to explain that we should strive for perfect love in our marriages, like the love that Jesus has for His Church. Some may think that that relationship did not end very well for Jesus. Certainly man got the better end of the deal. So... after that, instead of thinking about whether I would knock off Cheryl's first husband so I could have her for myself, I began to consider... Would I give up my life for her?
     Just so you know... I am leaning towards yes on this one. It would be the right thing to do and kind of heroic on my part, don't you think.
     Father Wilson then went on to explain that it is our duty as a spouse to make sure that our partners make it to Heaven. This was encouraging for me because Cheryl takes this stuff very seriously, so I should be covered. Conversely, I just have to get out of her way and Cheryl should be good!
     The second talk discussed a passage from 1st Corinthians. You all know it; you all love it; you all have heard it at most of the weddings you have attended.
     Love is patient... love is kind... love is blah blah blah... love is blah blah blahtty blah blah!
     Now substitute your name in there and see what you get. Go ahead... do it!
     Yeah. That's what happened to me... not a pretty picture.
     But the good news is that we can continue to strive to be that perfect love, and it is Cheryl's responsibility to make sure I get there.
     Perhaps the best part of the day was Adoration and the renewal of our vows.
     Someone in the group pointed out the awesomeness of what had occurred. We stood before the Real Presence of Almighty God in the Holy Eucharist exposed... and we renewed our vows.
     I felt blessed and embarrassed at the same time. Blessed to be part of the whole experience... and embarrassed by the fact that I giggled like a eight-year-old throughout the whole thing. Why did I giggle you ask? Father Mike told us that it would be just like the day we were married.
     I will start you with "I (state your name), take thee, (state her name) to be my lawfully wedded wife."
     Simple enough. So Father started us off with "I"... and I took it from there. Only I did not just state my first name, I stated my first and my last name... to my wife... whom I have been married to for more than twenty years... you know... just in case she forgot which Mark she was marrying.
     When I realized that I had fully identified myself, I began to chuckle.
     Poor Cheryl was staring at me with her beautiful smile and her bright, soft eyes... looking every bit as gorgeous as she did on the day we were married... and I could not stop giggling. So Cheryl did what any woman would do in her position, she ran her tongue across her teeth, assuming that she had something stuck there.
     At this point, I was out of control... and it all happened right in front of our most Honored Guest.
     Getting me to Heaven is not going to be easy. My girl has her work cut out for her.  
     We concluded the retreat by writing a Valentine. Not to get too mushy but...
   
Cheryl,  
     As we renewed our wedding vows today, I could only think of one thought... yes, yes, a thousand times, yes. I have never questioned my decision to spend my life with you and would never change a thing. Each week I pray for our family and thank God for your presence in our lives. You provide guidance for all of us and lead us by your example. You are a definition of God's love. 
     No matter what happens, you know that I love you more than anything on this earth and will always be here for you. 
     I love you!
                          Mark Palumbo  

    When all was said and done, it was a pretty good retreat. I hope I can convince Cheryl to go again next year.