Twerps and zambonis

I taught Clara two new phrases today: "Happy Father's Day," and "Daddy is being a big twerp." So it all kind of evens out, right? In my defense—he was being a big twerp. And also in my defense, twerp is practically a term of endearment in my book. 'Cause there never was a twerp better than my dear Tom Thomas.

Last night we strolled around the shops at Riverwoods. First we went to Blickenstaff's, which is a toy store I've been wanting to check out. Tom and I really love a good toy store, and it didn't disappoint. I found something to give every last one of my nieces and nephews for Christmas. (But since I have more nieces and nephews (21 of 'em) than my finances will allow, I'll be accepting small "Aunt Appreciation" tokens from now until then to help narrow down the gift recipients.) Clara clung tightly to a little bouncy ball the entire time we were in there. Shoot, if that girl doesn't love balls. "Ball" was her first word as a matter of fact. Unless you count "Helga."

Outside the store was another ball to behold, and it was about a zillion times more intriguing than her precious bouncy ball.

I spy a 33-week tum.

After that we got straight down to business with soft-serve ice cream, cookies (for me—and the baby of course), and water fountains. Clara slowly (and I do mean slowly) inched her way towards the fountains and pretty much just stood there—and it was thanks to another helpful little girl with a cup who dumped water all over Clara—and in her face—that she ended up soaking wet. (Said little girl was promptly reprimanded by her father and lost her fountain privileges. ...Because of her timid nature, our little miss seems to have a knack for attracting—shall we say, over-bearing?—little girls at parks and such. It's not like they're trying to be mean to her. But at the same time, it's like, yo—get out of my girl's Kool-aid. You know what I mean?) Clara seemed to enjoy every minute of it, despite the shock of getting water dumped in her face.

What's this? Another glimpse of the 33-week tum?

We finally left once Clara's violent shivers hit the richter scale at a 7.9 and her diaper weighed as much as she did. I don't know about anyone else, but I always consider an evening a success when it involves toy stores, ice cream, and water-logged two-year-olds.

So happy father's day. If you're not a dad, happy father's day all the same. Dad's rock, wouldn't you agree? This past week has been a crappy one for my dad, yes sir, and my heart goes out to him. His platelets and white blood cells are acting like a bunch of jerks that can't seem to get along. As a result, he abruptly had to start chemotherapy. I've included a little somethin' at the bottom that is just for him. When I was little he'd take me to the Thunder hockey games at the Thomas and Mack Center. I thought I was pretty cool, and we even had matching Thunder shirts with the mascot of the polar bear on the front (what was his name?). The highlight of each game for my dad, though, was each half-time when they'd bring out the zamboni and blast that horrible country song "I Want To Drive The Zamboni." My dad would sing along and enjoy the heck out of those two minutes and 35 seconds. I've had the song rolling around up in my head today, thinking about my papa.



I love you, Dad. You show that chemo who's boss.

And next year maybe I'll post a Tina Turner song!