I Can't Unsee It

Giving Wifey a personalized license plate was a special occasion. There was a lot of build-up in 2015 as the list of possibilities became shorter and shorter. Suspense mounted while friends and family weighed-in and Wifey remained unaware. When the plates finally arrived, we triumphantly placed them on the new Chevy SUV. Years later, as the lease came to an end, we were certain that we'd transfer the personalized tags onto the new SUV.

Standing at the counter with sublime disinterest towards the contents, the dealer handed me a folder with a new set of plates. The cover flipped open to reveal the unthinkable.

The new license plate number had my initials in them! Right there in front me. In my hand. The first three digits: 4DM. How can it be!? In all of it's permutations, this universe has brought me the license plate that is For-David-Mills!

What should I do? What would you do? What do you think I did?

I'm really glad that you've read this far. Unfortunately, however, you've now been primed to notice 4DM license plates around the DMV. Like me, you'll never be able to unsee them. After a while, you might notice a For-David-Keith (4DK).

They're out there, people. Believe me. They're out there. Good hunting.

Mills Ministry Services: Now Open for Business

I became an ordained minister this summer. Did it so I could preside over Hollie's wedding. A few weeks thereafter I attended a work offsite. The icebreaker was to 1) introduce yourself and 2) share a highlight from your summer. I gave my usual introduction and excitedly shared that, "I married my sister over the summer." I'm not sure what sort of response I was expecting but it certainly wasn't the awkward silence and blank stares that I received. It took me a moment but I realized "I officiated my sisters wedding" would have been a much better choice of words. I quickly clarified but now have to chuckle and wonder if any of my work colleagues think that my sister and I are...wedded.

Ordination is quite the status symbol. It comes with a certificate, ministry license and clergy badge. It's a lot of fun too. I especially enjoyed writing (and delivering) the ceremony and being the recipient of the Officiant mug (which has taken it's rightful place among other valuable memorabilia).

I had a lot of flexibility with the ceremony. Venturing into the fringe of acceptable behavior was encouraged. While YouTube runneth-over with Princess Bride ceremony ideas, I managed to limit usage "mawaaage" to no more than 5 times. When it comes down to it, there's really only one legally required part of any ceremony: the I do's. Er...ah...the declaration of intent. Not gonna lie though, I smashed the the welcome, sermon and presentation of rings.

I smile now but was sweatin' bullets on the way to the ceremony. We were running a few minutes late and having trouble finding the building. I called Mom for directions and, for reasons I can't explain, led with, "We're having a Minister emergency." Normally, not a big deal but Mom answers her phone on speaker. Which means I declared "Minister Emergency" via speakerphone into a room filled with the bride and bridesmaids. Things got real quiet, real quick. :-)

The kids were in full toddler mode (Auntie Waa, sorry about that flower vase! Love, Kinsley.). The shrills in the background of the wedding videos are, undoubtedly, my children.

I loved every minute of the rehearsal, wedding and ministering. The venue was perfect. And I couldn't be more proud of my big sister!

Dad Level: 10,000

I had a buddy in college that kept a pet snake in his dorm room. I never would have known he had a snake except, one day, the snake wasn't in the aquarium. Instead, el serpiente was just chillin' on the desk. In the dorm room. In between me and exit. 

My lizard brain went straight into fight-or-flight mode. Flight wins. I go from zero to sixty faster than ever before. My onboard navigation system calculated the most direct route (through the shared bathroom, out the neighbors dorm room) and I was g-o-n-e. Didn't look back until I was halfway across campus. Never returned to the scene of the crime. Naturally, my buddies found it humorous.

Fast forward 17 years. There's a HUGE snake in my basement. Alex is 10' away. This is not a drill, people. Fight or flight? Place your bets...

I kicked that snakes @ss (or whatever they have)! Well, technically not. More like, I managed to keep my organs from shutting down long enough to trap the goliath in a bucket with the help of a broom and 8' piece of moulding. Pretty sure I was radiating beams of manliness at the time.

Clearly, the snake knew too much and would not be permitted to return to the woods behind the house. It's his lucky day though. This snake is on a relocation program. So I plunked a lid on the bucket, taped it down with a pretty good mix of duct tape and packaging tap, put it in the front seat and drove it down to the Ag Farm.

I knew the snake needed a name. Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was a nickname for someone at work. Now, when we drive past the Ag Farm (twice a day), we all shout, "hello" to the snake named after one of my colleagues.

Bjoern the Unicorn

This is Bjoern. He's a Unicorn. And when connected to a garden hose, water shoots out of his horn. While it's clear why he joined the team, Bjeorn has a critical shortcoming: he takes a loooong time to inflate with the included pump. We're talkin' 15-20 minutes.

This is a Ridgid 12-gallon high performance wet dry vac. It's 5 horsepower, 145 CFM are best used to power a workshop dust collection system, scare a toddler or suck up anything smaller than an apple. With a simple configuration change, you can reverse the flow of air through the hose.

Discovering I could inflate Bjeorn with the Ridgid was the highlight of my day. I took that thing from empty to party-time in 15 seconds. Then I giggled. Deflating was fun too.

Update (July 7): I went a little overboard with the vacuum the second time. 15 second: just right. 18 seconds: unrecoverable malfunction. Bjeorn is no longer with us. ...was a challenge to "retire" him without the kids seeing.

Blood, Sweat and (preferably no) Tetanus

I've been working on the basement office project for several months. Recently, I've be focusing on the space under the stairway. It's a junk-zone today but with some love, we think it can be something special.

The original vision was to create a bench nook sort of thing for readers and/or loungers. That didn't make it past the approvals board so now I'm building a playhouse! Something like this:

An important early step is removing an old shelf system and building a wall to enclose the area under the staircase. Over the course of a couple of weekends, a nice pile of wood scrap and other construction stuff accumulated in the corner and I finally decided to haul it out to the trash today. ...without gloves. And that's how to spend the morning in the hospital, children.

Lots of blood. 6 stitches. 1 tetanus shot. Two parts embarrassed, one part regret. Sigh...

Project status: on hold.

That's Enough Sleep for One Night

When I was growing up, we'd spend holidays with grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. Thanksgiving's were mostly spent at Mom's parents house in Towson. Children and grandchildren descended and temporarily forgot that they didn't own the place.

It was fun. We played marker tag and made cookies. Grammy and Grandad lived in the house at the corner of Cottage Lane and the back alley which meant they had a larger back yard than most. We'd play any- and everything in that yard: soccer, basketball, football, badminton, golf, etc. And the tire swing was a popular attraction.

I remember that (accidentally) sending a ball over the fence into the neighbors yard was avoided at all costs. Can't remember why though. I bet more than one tennis ball was lost forever on account of a grandchild's fear of the neighborly unknown.

If you stood on the back porch, you could pull seeds off of the tree and wing 'em at your siblings down below. Of course, if you were down on the ground level, you could sneak through the basement, up the stairs and into the kitchen to lock the Winger outside on the porch.

Grandad was a late-riser. In his defense, he was probably a normal-riser. ...children wake up early just to mess with parents (and grandparents).

If it was your turn, Grammy handed you a googly-eyed-fuzzy-pencil-looking-thing and asked you to go wake Grandad. There was only correct way to wake Grandad; twist the hair into a tight swirl, sneak-up on the unsuspecting fella and shove the hair twist right up his nostril (then duck any reflexes that may have been triggered).

I couldn't believe my eyes when I was clicking around the web yesterday and found this (the one on the left): the googly-eyed-fuzzy-pencil-looking-thing! The only difference is that ours was a yellow pencil with green hair. Wild.

Turns out that every generation enjoys waking someone from a sound sleep...

Fuel for Sleep Deprived Parents

I have front row seats to this amazing moment that's been happening each night for weeks. It happens a few minutes before Alex goes to bed and only lasts for 10 seconds, if I'm lucky.

After his bath, we put Alex in his pajamas and read him a few books. Ali takes Alex to go through the rest of the bedtime routine and I take Kinsley for her bath. Just as I'm finishing her bath, Alex comes out to say, "good night." With Kinsley in my arms, I kneel down to his level.

And then it happens. He gives her the most gentle hug I've ever seen, kisses her on her cheek and then hugs her again. Kinsley smiles right back at him and my heart swells.

I have no idea where he learned it or what compels him to do it. He just does it and it's arguably the best part of my day. And each night, I start looking forward to it all over again.