(Un) Common Courtesy

This evening was, majorly, a delight. Although a little tired from a shortened nap for my son and no nap for my already tired daughter, the two of them, the two of us, my parents and sister's family all went to see "Elmo's Green Thumb" tonight. The show was OK, I watched enough to wonder at the level of anamatronics and their implementation in the performers' costumes, but the real treat for me was watching my kids. Both of them enjoy Sesame Street at levels appropriate to their ages and the two of them together seem to have some other shared consciousness which causes them to laugh, sing, bounce, etc with synchronized precision and honest joy. This interaction didn't diminish with my interposition or with repositioning to various laps and seats. Probably the most enjoyable time was the spontaneous bouts of dancing both engaged in with fascinated looks pastered on their faces. With the other stresses in the family, this was a welcome respite that did my soul much good.

Prior to this evening's festivity, we all attended church together. The priest offered a homily reflecting on the transformation of Saul's convictions about Jesus's resurrection. (Bear with me, this is related even if religious.) To overly-simplify the point, Saul was overly-zealous and overly-guilty. He persecuted early Christians with fervor because of their blasphemous (in his eyes) belief in the resurrection. His guilt was well-intentioned but proven to be misplaced and it took Saul many, many years to reconcile for himself -- in the face of the factual resurrection -- his beliefs; a period of introspection that ultimately resulted in the complete conversion of Saul's life into the reborn Peter. The priest then challenged us to be neither over-zealous nor over-guilty. We're not perfect and we must observe the world around us with tolerance so that we may gain wisdom.

Got that? Wondering where this is going?

So, after the show, we planned to go for a meal with the gathered family at a location not far away. We had parked on the 3rd level of a parking garage above the rest of the family that had parked on the 1st level having arrived much earlier. The other car was quickly out and re-parked at the restaurant while we packed up and proceeded to get into a line of cars backed up the exit ramp. A quick glance at the cars around us would confirm that this family show was attended by families. By far, SUV's and Minivans populated the parking slots -- both demarked by paint and defined by the momentary gridlock. Families of all sorts braved the wind and cold to take tired children to their cars, weaving through the same mass of viechles that saught direction.

With the kindness of a minivan driver a couple of spaces down, we both joined the stream flowing toward the exit ramp. We proceeded to the end of the row, just around the corner, then join the gridlock. I would estimate that there were about 20 slots on either side of the lane where the majority of the cars were still parked. Pedestrian traffic moved faster, but terminated in the viechles in-view and going nowhere. While engines started and drivers attempted to communicate, the most prevalent light in the row was the glare brake lights .

I can't speak for all viechles, but in my car the kids were antsy and I wouldn't think it too much of a stretch to imagine the behavior was shared in most of the cars surrounding us. One, which was to my side, had two women, dragging 3 children into the viechle; one under audible, even if unintelligable protest.

This is where things seemd to go all wrong. We had all just come from a show that embodied the good qualities for our children to learn. In sharp contrast, it's nearly amusing to see 6 minivans try to all back into the same space at the same time, none willing to yeild, while two additional cars try to navigate out of the way. While that went on, I reminded my daughter that there was no where for my car to go and that -- here's the initial tie in -- we were not the only ones with opinions on how this should go. It was not right for us to believe we knew best and had the only opinion that mattered.

I will admit, I wanted to get out and direct traffic, but eventualy the congestion started to clear. Nearly exactly at that moment, the car with the two women and 3 children, reversed quite rapidly, nearly into the side of my car. Apparently their impatience was boiling over. Their horn started honking and I could nearly taste the resentment they were projecting from not moving. To be honest, I was likely eminating much the same set of emotions, but I remained on my break while the automotive knot was unwinding. Apparently my view on the situation was not shared.

From the kindess of the mothers, a door was opened and yelling comprable to the gentleness of a seasoned drill seargent commensed. Right in the middle of a gridlocked garage and in a stellar role-model for their children and mine, the mother in the passenger seat instructed me that I should be driving like I intended to go somewhere yet that night -- along with other phrases I will decline to share. Now, I have no idea where I could have gone except to plant my viechle further into the congestion, but that was of no concern. The driver of the other viechle decided that the point was not taken seriously enough and laid on the horn continuously for 2 minutes.

After having been parked for roughly twenty minutes, the knot was undone to the point where I could move forward. As I cleared a critical amout of space, the driver quickly reversed her car out of its parking spot -- while still on the horn somehow, nearly hitting the back side of my car and I would imagine the nose of the car that has been patiently waiting behind me, pulled completely across the isle, and charged forward down the parking spaces next to me, culminating in cutting me off ("rode raging" me as my wife put it likely most accurately) while still hollaring out a window before nearly hitting a car parked in the makeshift lane. Incredible!

It's not worth it, I reminded my daughter as I let the other car in front of me. I could have gunned it -- my car would easily have raced into the back of the car in front of me -- but what good would that do? I would have been just as guilty in my miopic perspective and wrongly zealous by that action as the other driver already was. I would have risked the safety of my family and several others for what?

No, I'm not confessing to a peronal faith conversion from this eventm but I was quite frankly shocked and dissapointed in the behavior of many adults this evening with the safety of many families in their hands. All I can hope is to hold onto what I grew up learning as common courtesy, teach it to my children by example and pray that more people open their eyes to the world around them.

Aged or Jaded?

I have a new teammate. He's recently out of college and reminds me of me at that point in my life. He's secure in what he knows, willing to challenge the established practices, respectful of the "elders" on the team, etc. I miss the times when I didn't worry about the other dynamics of software development, when the code itself was the focus of the effort and the reward for a job well done.

So what is it that changed things for me? Some of it I would classify as maturing, seeing that there is more than code to having a successful product. Good code is easier to maintain and it is still a joy to see. But not everyone has the same definition of good. Good code simply works; both in that it is simple and that it does just what it should. Good code may also be judged for lucidity, elegance, brevity or even against "coding standards" -- someone's idea of a quantifiable measure of good. I've started to add: Good code is maintainable code, well documented and testable. Unfortunately, that starts to become a balancing act with elegance and brevity as not everyone is able to write or understand code at the same level. In this case, the maturing aspect is the inclusion of others in the goal.

But, it's more than that. Much of it is that I'm growing tired of the fight. I'm weary from nearly arguing about quality and costs with management that does not want to hear anything other than what is it going to cost the customer on contract. There's no buy-in to producing good code. It seems that the bean-counter definition that drives decision making is: Good code is shipped code. That's it, nothing else would seem to matter. I've put together justifications about technology upgrades to bring codebases into today's world (much of those are over a decade old!) The cost of being unable to attract or retain good developers doesn't seem to matter. Yet we're expected to be judged on quality, meeting customer expectations and other "Good Code" (and important outcomes) metrics. Apparently we're expected to do this for free or on someone elses' dime.

It would be nice to get back to the simple definitions, to being the happy coder truly enraptured with my job. Where I could have simple pride in the completion of the job, not, "if you qualify it thusly, make this exception, take that into consideration... Yeah, I could be proud if it!" Yet, somehow, I still enjoy the work. It's still a thrill to see the software through the customer's eyes. I really love it when on first demo they pick at little things because it means we've truly impressed them and nailed the big stuff!

So, Is it that I'm Aged or Jaded?


My answer: Yes.

You Know You're a Parent When...

Romantic time starts with, "Are they asleep?"
And ends with. " Yes, so am I. Goodnight."

Ask The Hard Questions

It wasn't all that long ago that I asked, rhetorically of my son, "Who told you that you could grow so big?" A simple enough question I've heard uttered aloud on numerous occasions. I was not prepared to receive an answer, however. My daughter, in a perfectly casual, nearly off-handed way said, "God did, in his heart." Such an amazing answer I couldn't do anything but sit there in awe.

I don't make a habit of posting religious items. For that matter, for the last nearly 6 months I haven't really posted at all. ;) But matters of faith have been in the forefront lately for me and I've started wondering if I'm missing the not-so-subtle nudge to start speaking out more. Tonight provided further fodder.

My daughter's bedtime routine hasn't changed substantially. We put on PJs, brush teeth, read books, snuggle, and finally turn out the light. I tuck her in and then wholeheartedly offer: "Good night, sleep well, God Bless you, I'll see you in the morning." There are nights where we have some discusson on how many books we read, how much snuggle time is allowed, not being ready for bed, etc. Tonight there were no arguments; she was on top of the routine.

We brushed teeth, put on PJs, picked out books, and read books as normal with my daughter keeping track of what we had done and what was next. She had picked out 3 of the Golden Book books from the collection on her shelf: I Love You, Daddy, The Little Tugboat and The Story of Jesus -- arranged into that order. None of them were new or strangers to the bedtime routine.

After finishing the books my daughter chimes in with, "Let's turn out the light and talk about after Jesus died. OK, Daddy?"

Um... woah. Wasn't expecing that one. "Sure. What about when Jesus Died?"

I can't do the conversation justice, nor does my gramatical sense stay out of the way enough to be able to faithfully reproduce it here. What I did come away with was the thought that I need to call a good friend (and Priest) to come have a better conversation with her. We touched on subjects from how Jesus was conceived, born, why he died, where he is now and even a little on Heaven and afterlife. Nothing like asking the easy warm-up questions first.

If there's anything from what happened tonight that I would emphasize it is simply this: I hope that people never stop questioning items of faith, that we can approach the questions, no matter how hard, with an open mind and search for answers even if they remain beyond our reach.

My daugher has started on this path, and for that I am grateful. May I never stand in her way.

Mellow Rib Rub

(originally posted to the wrong blog... my apologies)

Wanted to do something with some pork spareribs that wasn't a heavy Southwestern blend and that would complement smoking with Apple Wood chips:

• 1/4 C Brown Sugar
• 1 tsp ea:
• Kosher Salt
• Fresh Ground Black Pepper
• Sweet Hungary Paprika
• Crushed Marjoram
• Ground Ginger
• Ground Coriander
• Ground Cloves
• Crushed/Ground Fennel

Personally, I'd go on the light side (3/4 or less) with the Cloves and Fennel to help keep the more subtle apple wood flavor come out more.

Who Cut the Cheese?

If you will forgive me the junior-high level joke for a title, this was actually a question with much weight on it as both my wife and I palled at what could be implied by the unknown answer.

The back story:
Sunday mornings are always a bit of a challenge. I like to try to sleep in at least one day on the weekend; something that hasn't happened effectively since my son was born nearly a year ago. My daughter has always insisted on breakfast, ideally pancakes, muffins, or some other home-cooked meal for Sunday breakfast. So, she would come in, join us in bed for a snuggle and snooze, then my wife, feeling much hungrier than me, would take the girl downstairs and prepare something.

(I would guess she's already posed a rant about wanting me to help with this activity. Much as I would try, it's just not something I find I'm able to motivate myself to do consistently and for that I'm sorry.)

Now, with my son deciding to wake up at the usual morning time to eat -- why should he break routine for this weekend thing he doesn't have any concept about just so I can nap? -- that starts the day a little earlier. I do try to be the one to go get him and bring him to my wife in bed for the morning start. I then lie back down, half-snoozing until, inevitably, my daughter comes in. From there, the quiet morning snuggle becomes more like a circus as she and the boy play/fuss/tunnel in the sheets/fuss and otherwise act like their ages.

Back to the story:
Today there was no difference other than we all managed to stay in pretty good moods, even to the point of getting everyone dressed and working in showers after breakfast. My son was the first one done, followed by my wife, then my daughter and finally me -- IIRC. It was at this point where we heard a melodic, "I need a snack," followed by the pitter-patter of my daughter's little shoes going down the stairs and around to the kitchen.

We heard the pantry door open, rustling in the pantry, the door close, drawers open and shut, nothing outside the noises you would expect to hear for the preparation of a snack. So, it was with quite a shock when my daughter came back upstairs and my wife asked, "Where'd you get that?" "That" was a big hunk of cheese from the fridge. We were not upset with the choice of snack, but this is precisely where the question at hand came into play as both my wife and I stared at each other. We decided, in that parental-telepathy kind of way, to wait a few minutes as we were all going to be wrapped-up and headed down anyway.

So, we get downstairs and my wife asked, "How did you get the cheese?"
"I cut a piece."
"With what, honey?"
"A knife."
"From the drawer?"
"Yes."
"Where's the knife now" (it wasn't on the counter as far as we could see)
"I put it back."
"Ok, in this drawer?" asked my wife, pointing at the drawer with our eating utensils.
"No, the other one."
** Panic sets in at this point as I start moving across the kitchen **
"Which one?" my wife asks again.
"That one." my daughter answers, sorta indicating with her head in the direction I feared before returning to another bite of the snack.

Sure enough, I get over to the drawer, open it, and see the tell-tale streak of cheese along the blade of our butcher knife. I think I laughed as I pulled forth the blade to clean it and check the rest of the drawer for escaped cheese, but I was quick to mentally count the fingers toes and other body parts I'd seen in the last few minutes.

We've moved the knives.

What Did You Leave For Santa?

My daughter continues to surprise us. We were preparing for Santa's visit last night, setting out a snack. Traditionally we place out a couple of cookies, milk, and a small snack for the reindeer. However, in an unexpected turn, my daughter looks at me and says, "No, Santa not want cookies. Make him tummy sick." while rubbing her tummy and looking quite sad. "He need... nana with him's milk." So we put out a glass of milk, a banana and some baby carrots for the reindeer. Santa was pleased and left several nice gifts for the family. I guess there's room for changes in all traditions.

Warm Your Belly Rub

I do a fair amount of grilling throughout the year. I'll stand in rain, snow, hide from sleet, and bundle up as appropriate to complete a meal with some nicely grilled, preferably smoked, meat. In the course of dinners, I've played with various wet and dry preparations. The following recipe will be inflicted on my in-laws and relations via their Christmas stockings this year. It is my understanding that they enjoy a little kick to their spices so I aimed to deliver. This has been kitchen and friend tested and has received the "Scott Safe" label by the narrowest of margins.

My wife and I are admittedly spice snobs, we like fresh spices and frequent our local Penzy's Spices store.

With no further ado, here is a dry-rub blend I'm calling "Warm Your Belly Rub." (sized in parts)

12 parts Brown Sugar
4 parts Medium Hot Chili Powder
2 parts Ground Cumin
2 parts Ground Chipotle Chili Powder
2 parts Kosher Salt
2 parts Course Ground Black Pepper
2 parts Garlic Powder (not salt)
1 part Lemon Zest (I used a dried Lemon Peel)
1 part Ground Allspice

Surgery ?= Developmental Milestone?

Sorry to post a lot about the Little Trooper, but he decided to crawl and transition to/from sitting tonight. He wasn't full-on crawling before surgery. This isn't the first time he's made a transition to a new developmental milestone immediately following surgery, it's the 3rd!

Guess he's like me... wont' take a challenge without a good hard fight! We don't start tasks without finishing them... even if surgeries interrupt!

The Little Trooper Is Home.

Surprising all of us a little, Little Trooper was discharged this morning. He can eat whatever he feels like (although we'll probably ease his way back into solids). When I arrived to pick him and his mother up he was giggling and playing, rolling around the crib before I could change his diaper, and pretty much back to normal!

He's home now, taking a nap in his car seat from which I will not wake him. Time for the rest of us to recover.

An odd thing to celebrate.

Sometimes being a parent is just plain strange. Like tonight:
After 2 days of very very bad sleep schedules resulting from being with my son in the hospital pre- and post-op with the constant stream of checkups I am only barely qualified to even type this entry.

My wife came over after taking our daughter to her swimming lesson; bringing lunch for us. Sometime after she had arrived, we were taking turns holding the little trooper and eating lunch. I held first, then finished lunch. With things settled in, I decided it would be a decent time to shower and started preparing. I was about to step into the bathroom when I heard quite the rip from where they were sitting. Looking over, my wife confirmed my thoughts: it really *was* the little trooper! We figured it was just gas... exciting enough as that is as it actually came from the proper place. Instead, we started doing the happy dance as I checked out the results and found that we actually had encountered our first soiled diaper!

Now... bring on the paste and more frequent diaper changes.

The surgeons were happy when they came and did rounds. We had a further 2 examples for them to review and they were quite happy. If he keeps responding this strongly, he could be on clear liquids tomorrow, then breast milk. He might even be able to come home as soon as Tuesday evening! Surgery was Friday morning and we were expecting 3-5 days minimally with the operating surgeon hinting that, based on little trooper's reaction when the ostomy was first performed, that we'd be looking to the longer side of that range.

There may be more cheering in the future, but for now I must sign off as I believe my pillows are calling my name.

The Pedicurians Are Coming!

To start off this Independence day, my headstrong daughter wanted to have a little home pedicure. My wife did the honors, soaking feet and trimming toenails. Then my daughter insisted that it was time to switch. My wife started soaking her feet and then the phone rang.
Answering the phone, I started to do my usual wandering around while talking routine. Unfortunately, my kind daughter decided that I was to be included in the pseudo-spa day and started to follow me around with a pair of toenail clippers saying, "Dad, give me your foot!" loud enough to carry over the phone and dropping down to my feet whenever I paused. This lasted for about 3 minutes before I had to beg a moment away from the conversation to respond.
Beware! The Pedicurians are coming!

Interesting Sandwich Toppings

Over the weekend we decided to have a lazy lunch and went to Subway as a family. My daughter was her usual independent self, insisting on doing things her way. I must credit her, however, for fairly clearing expressing her desires. The most interesting part was in selecting toppings...

Lettuce, cucumber, pickles, tomato and Olivers.

She was mumbling a little, but it was fairly clear... especially repeating Olivers several times because we didn't know what she was saying! Once I figured it out it was time for a good laugh. We have had one of our friends' son over more for some play time. His name is Oliver. I would suspect he doesn't know that he is now a part of my daughter's diet!

Requirements Gathering: 101

... and Piglet said, "if you see what I mean, Pooh," and Pooh said, "It's just what I think myself, Piglet," and Piglet said, "But, on the other hand, Pooh, we must remember," and Pooh said, "Quite true, Piglet, although I had forgotten it for the moment." And then, just as they came to the Six Pine Trees, Pooh looked round to see that nobody else was listening, and said in a very solemn voice: "Piglet, I have decided something." "What have you decided, Pooh?" "I have decided to catch a Heffalump." --Piglet Meets a Heffalump, A. A. Milne.

I have been working on gathering requirements for the last several weeks. Once again, it was may daughter who found the proper reference to frame my experiences. If you were to randomly stick your head into any one of the myriad of meetings I've been in lately it would invariably come to a similar discourse within moments. At least, even if not completely relevant or in the normal conversation flow, a decision is made: "I have decided to catch a Heffalump."

In my career as a software developer I've been the target of criticism for incorrectly implementing a dream set of software in someone's head. If you were to hold up the requirements I was given along side the above paragraph it is likely that the excerpt contained more meaningful statements than the requirements themselves.

For Pooh and Piglet the adventure continues. They start with an Idea and then bat it back and forth until it is deemed a Clever Idea. This is a step that really should be considered more frequently than I have seen. Ideas are wonderful, they bring value to a project at any stage, and they should be given respect.

What is not so wonderful is when an idea is presented as fact. Ideas should never find their way into the process without a proper challenge at any stage; requirements, analysis or implementation. This is not to advocate squaring off in a boxing ring, but a simple idea can turn into a nightmare if not properly analyzed and weighed against the risk involved.

When and idea is conceived, the originator must not feel unappreciated or the idea will either stagnate or slip in under the radar. The recipients of the idea must not discard the idea without proper reasoning or the individual presenting will stop presenting. Recipients must also resist the urge to bless the idea because it is "obviously beneficial," potentially starting down a very slippery slope.

Pooh and Piglet press on, the Very Deep Pit is built, seeded with Pooh's Hunny, and the Trap is set. It is only after implementation, upon waking in the middle of the night, that Pooh realizes he has provided the last of his most valuable resources, his Hunny, to the project and the jar is now sitting at the bottom of the Very Deep Pit.

Unfortunately, this is too true in software development as well. The idea is agreed upon, developed, implemented, and then suddenly the realization of the commitment sinks in. Resources are spent that can not be reclaimed and the risk, not fully understood, comes to show at last.

Hopefully the end for us can be that we learn to use a little more discipline and empathy throughout the development process. The consequences of not learning these lessons can be costly and embarrassing; although we likely will not be found wandering around with a Hunny jar stuck atop our heads.

Remember the Sacrifice

I have the privilege of living with the complication of my life but not having to worry about my freedom. This is something that I will never take for granted.

Today is Memorial Day. It is a holiday not just for us to appreciate a day away from work and time with families but it is a day in which we remember those who sacrificed, sometimes everything, for us.

Just in case someone happens across this entry who has become directly impacted in their lives by the sacrifices of their family members, loved one, parents, children or friends, know that today especially I hold them in my heart and prayers every bit as much as they held me -- and all of us -- in theirs.

Thank you, and God Bless.

D&D Wisdom

At the end of the evening last week we wrapped up one story line element. Our new benefactor (NPC) proceeded to reward us by completely healing our warforged fighter with a very paladinish laying on of hands.

Of course, as level 1 characters this seemed a most impressive feat. To put it in perspective (and to keep this post somewhat in focus) I offered into the ensuing conversation, "We look at our benefactor with bewilderment and mutter, 'You are a god!'"

My daughter was sitting in my lap at the time, nearly asleep, and surprised us all by very clearly saying with a voice reflecting a bit of awe, "Mom, you... are... a... god!" So, while it struck us all very funny at the time it made me think...

Yep. Mom, you *are* a god. And we seldom recognize all the work you do.

The Big Sister

When my son was born we fully expected that my daughter would have a period of adjustment to endure. At times we joked that it would be the next 16 years and there is still truth in that. What I did not expect was my daughter's set of reactions in the last 6 weeks.

She is 2.5 and acting all of it and in many ways even older when her brother was born. Personal independence at the fore, she had envisioned herself only important person in the house. Thankfully this behavior, which we are working on daily, is constrained only to the house and our cars.

She has an active interest in her baby brother and wants to see what he does. We were not sure how she would react at the time, but she was absolutely wonderful in helping to prepare his room, crib, changing table, closet, etc as we made her an active part of that process. However, she doesn't recognize any boundaries on when she needs to leave him alone. Pacifiers can be shoved in his mouth with the most honestly good and helpful intent. It can be playtime for them while he is in his crib, trying to relax. And, apparently, sleep is a temporary state which can be invalidated at a moment's notice.

On the other hand, we've encountered a significant amount of regression. Little darling has decided she can play the "I'm a baby" card at will. She claims that she needs diaper changes, to be rocked to bed, to sleep with us in our room, and the most frustrating item being that she can cry whenever she doesn't get her way. We've lost all of the good potty training we'd had, although apparently she still takes herself while at daycare.

But, in the end, she is watching out for his best interests, at least as much as can be understood by a 2.5 year old. When he cries she tries to comfort him. When it's dinner time she makes sure he has a seat at the table. When he won't stop crying she offers to get his medicine. She enjoys holding him and he now smiles back at her. They snuggle together on the couch in the most darling positions. And, probably the best sign of success that has been there from day 1, she talks more proudly about him than I do to everyone she knows. (Even if it does include a little too much detail about "his owies" than most people need to hear.)

Childhood Truth

My daughter, finger on the pulse of reality, recently said:
"It's not sweet candy, it's chocolate!"

QFT.

Prescious Wisdom

If you haven't heard by now, my son was born and has several issues. They are all things that can be addressed but he will be highly monitored for at least the first several years of his life. My daughter, at 2 1/2, has done an absolutely amazing job of maintaining a normal life while her parents are flipping out, short-fused, and emotionally spent.

About a week after the boy was moved to the children's' hospital in town we took the girl to see her brother. I was in the room with her and had placed her on a chair at crib-side. While she was admiring him, gently feeling arms and hair, smelling him, but being very careful he woke up enough to start fussing.

Without any prompting, my daughter took his hand, moved close to him, and softly said "It OK, I here." Then she gently caressed his cheek with the back of her free hand while I went off to a corner to grab Kleenex.

She's becoming a big sister right before our eyes. It is a role she appears to be relishing and I couldn't be any more excited or floored by her compassion and understanding.

That's my girl! May God continue to spread His love through you.

Shake Your "Groove Thing"

This morning proved to be quite entertaining. Between frustration and fascination I am caught with the observations of my self-defining 2 year old daughter.

It appears that my daughter has picked up a new clue. To put things in context, we engaged in delightful conversations, as much as that term applies, covering the range of finishing cereal, wanting juice and which juice, wanting an orange and wanting to squish bananas. Then, during the usual morning struggle over breakfast, dancing or playing and not wanting to go to daycare, I took my lunch box and portfolio to the car as much to give me a break and a chance to cool down as to speed up the inevitable support getting my daughter into the car. When I returned all of 30 seconds later, my daughter asked for a bag for her orange, her sunglasses and her coat. Yep, she started getting herself ready for the ride to daycare. Moments later she was in coat with sunglasses in one had and bag of oranges in the other. If she is using preparing the car as the clue to get ready to go I will be delighted.

On the way to daycare I stopped around the corner to fill up the car. I'd rather not run it on fumes. She sat happily in the back seat, radio playing, watching the cars and trucks move about the lot. With the extra influx of trucks supporting clean-up of the ice storm she was in heaven pointing out all of the "differen" (still missing the 't' on the end) big trucks, often accompanied by "oh, another one" and a finger pointing. I left her in the car and pumped gas. She continued to point and made the effort to talk to me through the rear window, looking back over her shoulder since she was restrained in her car seat still.

Minutes later I settled back into the driver's seat and my daughter was still giggling and babbling about trucks. KC & the Sunshine Band was on the radio. You can probably guess what was playing from the title of this post. Just as I was making my way through the lot I hear, "Shake boo boo, Daddy! Shake!" Somewhat shocked, I quickly hit deliberate word confusion mode, singing, "Shake your groove thing" to prevent any unnecessary learning and then started asking if she wanted to dance. We had as reasonable a dance session, enjoying the remainder of the song, as could be had while I was driving and she was strapped in her chair. When the song ended she disappointingly asked for me to play "Shake Shake" again.

I'm still smiling about it and probably will the rest of the day.