I Say It Best When I Say Nothing At All.....

So apparently, I borrowed a dude's flatbed trailer over the weekend and I didn't get his permission. Yep, that's right! I just drove up to the house, hitched it onto my suburban and drove away. I used it to haul a chicken coop. Granted, I did ask permission from the guy I thought it belonged to, but in the end, it wasn't his trailer I borrowed. Some friends of ours are moving to Alaska and had to get rid of their chickens and coop. We jumped all over this opportunity, because it was something we wanted to do this year. We made arrangements to pick up the chicken coop on Saturday morning. On Wednesday of last week, I asked my Bishop if I could borrow his trailer. He said that would be fine, but his nephew had the trailer but was bringing it back on Thursday. He said he would just leave it out in front of his house and I could swing by on Saturday morning to pick it up. Saturday morning arrived with a heavy downpour of rain, but we decided to proceed with our plans...

It's still early and the house is mostly quiet. I say mostly, because our lightest sleeper and earliest riser has already sprung out of bed. As I'm unloading the dishwasher, Matt comes around the corner, "I want cereal." "Okay, we'll get you some cereal after you get dressed." I then escort him back to his room and find some clothes for him to wear. I lay them out on the floor next to him and tell him to dress quickly, but quietly, so he doesn't wake the others in the house. I leave him to his newly assigned duties and put a load of laundry in the washer. I step down the hall and listen at my bedroom door and realize the shower is running and opt not to turn on the washing machine until Coralee has finished showering. From experience, I've learned it's best not to turn on "water-abusing" machines in the house until everybody is done with baths or showers. I peek in on Matt and see that he is completely naked and is now distracte...

I helped my brother-in-law tear down a fence and remove fence posts over the weekend. It was a nice, sunny day. I forgot to wear a hat. Head burned. It hurt to sleep. Pain is now gone. Head itches. I scratch. Scalp and hair fall out....in small flakes. Particulates fall from the sky and blanket my yard. Particulates fall from my head and blanket my shoulders. Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

I don't know why I'm telling you this, but if you put me in front of a keyboard and you ask me to type something, my first impulse is to type:   Corey Moser is a cool dude and that is the truth so there. I've often typed out those words while sitting in front of a blank screen.  Back in the old days, I would punch it out on a typewriter.  Some of you may not know what that is.  You may have to visit a museum to find one, but they were once the latest and greatest in our advanced technological world. I don't know why those are the special words that have often found their way to paper.  Perhaps it is my justification in trying to live with myself.  If I continue to tell myself that, perhaps my arrogance will only shine brighter?  You would think I would just stop with Corey Moser is a cool dude...  but no...I have to accentuate it with and that is the truth so there!   Well anyway, you won't believe what I did on Saturday.  Okay, perhaps you have already guessed, bec...

I have a black, furry cat named Timber.  He thinks he is a dog.  If I pull a post-it note from my desk, he snaps to attention and waits anxiously for me to wad it into a ball and throw it across the room. If only for my own amusement, I acknowledge and participate in my cat's request. He bounds (yes I said bounds, because there is nothing graceful about his attack) after the paper and retrieves it with his mouth and then will bring it back and drop it at my feet. I bend over to pick up the paper.  It is slimy and gross, much like the tennis balls my dog, Jack, would chase and then slobber all over.  Is is supposed to be like this? The cat stands at attention and follows every movement of my hand.  If I wait too long, he'll try to take the paper from me.  I think his tail is wagging; not flicking.  Did he just bark? If I forget to put him in the basement and close the door at night, he'll come knock on my bedroom door at 4:30 in the morning and ask me to let him outside. He ...

Anytime we, as a family, get into our Suburban to head somewhere, my kids will start shouting, "Beat Mom!"

Anytime we, as a family, get into our Chevy Suburban to head somewhere; my kids will start shouting, "Beat Mom!"  All six of them will shout this.....multiple times.   This chorus will continue at ever increasing decibels. My wife is not a punching bag.  This is the victory chant and the competitive streak in all of my children to get seat belted before "Mom" does.