Pants on Fire...

Greetings and salutations,

Well, just shy of the storied celebration of the ninth month with humanity I have found myself defining my honor. Can you believe that social morays have put me on the defensive at such a tender age? Look at the expression on my face; I was aghast at the turn of events leading me to my current predicament. I suspect that this is a valuable lesson for me moving forward, although I had not expected to be placed in this precarious situation at this juncture in my development. As a moderately successful blog author, I have elected to dispel the myths surrounding my now sullied name though this forum. I trust that you will carefully peruse the following dissertation and eventually conclude that the character assassination perpetrated upon me is completely and utterly inappropriate.

Assuredly, faithful blog followers are inquiring, "What specifically has Carter's Pampers in a ruffle today?" Well, that artful phrasing is precisely what has me concerned. Please allow me to expound. I have elected to sport a fashionable yet equally comfortable Pampers Cruisers brand of undergarment. After careful product sampling, these diapers are breathable and practical. Plus, they suggest an air of sophistication without being presumptuous. In any event, some of my colleagues at the local playdate hotspots have called into question my use of these undergarments. They cite the fact that I have not met the criteria of being a cruiser and thus should not be wearing clothing suggestive of such an accomplishment. To be honest, I could not formulate a timely retort. Raising an object to their claims at that time would amount to a fallacy, a farce if you will. These friends had insight into my development that I had yet to consider. It was true...I was not yet a cruiser.

At this moment of self-realization I had two potential options: 1) Toss the entire bounty of diapers in favor of a more sedative variety; or 2) Take the plunge and become mobile. Being the adventurous soul that I have found myself to be I chose the latter. Mama, my renowned personal trainer, and I set forth to accomplish this objective. After implementing the muscular mimicry model and hours of dedicated practice I mastered this task! You have read correctly...I am now a cruiser! A day that shall go down in history, Saturday, April 25th, marks my maiden voyage. Skeptics in the audience may request visual verification of this fact, as talk is cheap now days. Thus, I present to you the following video, serving as proof positive that Mama and Papa now must lock up everything imaginable as it is within my reach.

No longer shall my character, and chose of underwear for that matter, be called into question. To paraphrase the immortal philosopher René Descartes, "I crawl, therefore I am." Or perhaps a more apt sentiment is "I am what I wear," namely a cruiser. My colleagues shall not chant, "Liar, liar pants on fire," for I have addressed their concerns. Now, the only reason my pants may catch fire is secondary to the friction caused by my onesie on the carpet. What a relief! I must admit, this blog was cathartic and therapeutic. There is perhaps nothing more validating that successfully defending one's character.

Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...

Babies in Space...

Greetings and salutations,

I have come to the undeniable conclusion that Mama and Papa are preparing me for a trip to boldly go where no baby has ever gone before. While only eight and one-half months into my adventures on the Planet Earth, I am left to think that my parents are preparing me for a voyage beyond this domain. The unparalleled dimension of outer space is assuredly on the horizon. I have yet to book a travel agent or contact NASA, but the recent activities in our home certainly point to such an excursion.

Perhaps you are wondering what has me discussing such an apparently outlandish scenario. Well, please allow me to explain. This assertion is not based on a recent run on thermal onesies and jumpsuits. And no, it is not even in reference to my continued training regimen in the simulated zero-gravity environment provided by my Johnny Jump-Up. Instead, I draw your attention to my ever-advancing diet. Yes, Mama and Papa are feeding me astronaut food!

Sure, I suspect that our noble space cadets Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin are accustomed to jarred food similar to the chicken and apples that I now dine upon. But the entire genre of powdered, dehydrated delicacies is quite a phenomenon for me. I do not see Mama and Papa eating these items, clearly indicating that there are bigger things for me in the future. Take my rice and oatmeal for example. These food stuffs are obviously designed for space travel. And the clincher, at least for me, are the snacks Mama provides me. Consider Gerber Graduate Yogurt Melts. These concoctions of the modern culinary arts were probably developed in space and transported back for young astronauts in training. They are almost entirely dehydrated and dissolve when contacted with dihydrogen monoxygen, otherwise known as water to those non-astronauts reading this posting. In fact, early scientific testing on my behalf reveals that these entities dissolve on my highchair when I drool on them. And finally, I have recently been introduced to a snack eerily similar to styrofoam. While quite delectable, this may actually be the same substance utilized to construct the wings of space shuttles.

Now, my astronaut space pallet will require further refining prior to my actual deployment. For instance, no space traveler worth his weight in moon rocks will have failed to savor the delightfully flavorful beverage known as Tang. That, of course, shall come with time. Also, in order to emulate Mr. Armstrong in walking on the moon, I will need to continue making strides on ambulating in general. But, with the dietary concerns already addressed, it will be only a matter of time before I make one small step for babies and one giant leap for babykind.

Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...

Home Improvement...

Greetings and salutations,

This weekend brought a flurry of residential enhancement projects. Papa set forth with a rather lengthy papyrus scroll of tasks to accomplish, the vast majority of which were "suggested" by Mama. She elects to call this a "Honey Do List"; in the strictest of confidence Papa referred to this concoction of chores as...Well, perhaps I should spare Papa the indignities of having to defend himself on that matter. Suffice to say, he put a gracious smile upon his face, enlisted my services, and then called for reinforcements to tackle the tasks that lie ahead.

Papa thought this weekend hiatus would be an ideal time to invite Uncle Tyler over from Ames to assist with the festivities. This is not to suggest that Papa does not have the utmost confidence in my own abilities as a skilled laborer. I have been afforded the latest in top-end tools, including a drill, hammer, and screwdriver. However, Papa did not think that it was a bad idea to have Tyler assist as well. His reputation precedes him, which in this case is a good thing. He is quite handy to have around, even if he does have a propensity to ignore budgetary constraints on occasion. For instance, consider the implementation of outdoor, waterproof wiring in the basement addition. But, as Papa retorts, that is why one sells plasma on the side.

And there you have it...the Three Constructioneers, Drillos, Nailos, and Droolis. We set forth with a virtual cornucopia of home improvement projects. Our endeavors were similar to the hit situational comedy from the 1990s entitled Home Improvement. Now, I admittedly have but a rudimentary knowledge of this bit of popular culture. However, after watching that which transpired this weekend I am comfortable drawing a couple of comparisons. First, I think Tyler is a lot like Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor. He is always grunting and looking for a manner in which to implement more power. Papa seems to fit the mold of Al Borland. While he does not meet the body mass index criteria for this lovable character, he does seem to serve in the practical capacity, always present to assist The Tool Man in his time of need. Now, Uncle Tyler will probably insist that he is more like Mr. Borland in terms of his technical know-how. That point can be debated, but he is akin to Al in at least one regard. As you are all assuredly aware, Al Borland was notoriously ridiculed for his attire, specifically his persistent use of flannel. Although Uncle Tyler never wore any flannel, he did receive a fair share of mockery for donning grey sweatpants with cowboy boots. He should have Mama dress him like she does me.

Anyway, we did have a remarkably productive weekend. A new glass door was mounted in the enclave of our palatial home. The existing front door was spruced up with a striking shade of dark cappuccino. The interior of the home was caulked in several locales. New lighting was strewn about the exterior more accommodating to the architectural features of the house. A remarkably complicated timing system was installed to control said lights. And of course, numerous enhancements were made to the Cubs Family Museum. As you might have surmised, Papa and Uncle Tyler (along with Mama and Laura) did the bulk of the work. Nonetheless, my role as supervisor should not go unnoticed. My leadership style lends itself to sternness when needed but an overall focus on camaraderie with the proletariat that does the heavy lifting. This combination proved extremely effective, enabling us to accomplish a great deal. In the end, to conclude the Home Improvement analogy, my proclivities are similar to those of Wilson, the eccentric yet knowledgeable neighbor. Always there to provide that extra insight and wisdom, I really made this weekend happen. The key difference being, of course, that I am not tall enough to hid my face behind a fence. But Mama insists that it is far better that I show off my face, as I am far more handsome than said Wilson. And heck, who am I to argue?


Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...

Take Me Out to the Ballgame!

Greetings and salutations,

As most of you are well aware, sometimes one simply needs to get away. With all the hustle and bustle that can be the everyday grind, a refreshing sabbatical to a pleasant destination can be the key to recharging those batteries. After eight solid months of consuming countless bottles and scores of naps, I simply needed a break. Consequently, I packed Mama and Papa into the family cruiser and we all headed to Chicago.

Needless to say, this excursion was absolutely fantastic. And while I assuredly enjoyed the nuances of downtown Chicago (including Niketown...What a splendid representation of modern retail marvel!), the highlight of the trip had to be the not one, but two voyages to beloved Wrigley Field. For literally months Mama and Papa have been extolling the virtues of this historic landmark. Thus, I was truly excited to visit this sacred ground, especially during the opening week of the 2009 season.

It goes without saying that I was not disappointed. Donned in all the Cubbie blue Mama and Papa could find, we stopped to see all the highlights along the way into Wrigley. We strolled by the well-known fire station on Sheffield Avenue, visited the "Mr. Cub" Ernie Banks statue, and checked out the world famous marquee. Then, we finally ambled through the turnstiles. It was everything for which I could have hoped. Papa pointed out the optimism on the faces of the Cubs fans, postulating that this could be due to any of three potential explanations: 1) A retooled team with strong prospects for finally ending the 101 year title drought; 2) We are playing the Colorado Rockies, cause for optimism for teams throughout the National League on a regular basis; or 3) The Rockies are scheduled to pitch Jason Marquis, whom Cubs fans will recall was not exactly the bright spot of the rotation over the past two years. Nonetheless, the energy and excitement was palpable. Mix in the alluring aroma of hot dogs, the ever-smiling faces of the Cubs employees, and more Cubbie blue than even Papa has in his closet and it was the best kind of sensory overload imaginable for an eight month old. And at that point I had not even seen the actual field yet!

Awwww and what a field it is. Seeing that perfectly manicured grass with the crisp chalk lines was a sight to behold. Decorate it with nine of my favorite Cubs players in their (as Pat Hughes would say) bright white with the blue pinstripped tops and pants, blue caps, and blues shoes and one has concocted an image that Van Gogh could not replicate.

From that first view the day only got better. Before the game got underway Papa and I shared my first Ballpark hot dog, a necessity at any baseball contest. As an aside, please see the associated photograph. Again, I note that I have yet to be signed for any national advertising campaigns. Ballpark, you have, or perhaps had, Michael Jordan in your stable of endorsers. What a double play combination you could have with me on your payroll. Once again, please contact Papa as he handles my business ventures. I should also point out the excellent actor that I have become. The untrained eye may not be able to spot the fact that I am not actually dining upon the hot dog itself, but rather only the delectable bun. Rest assured, I consulted with my personal trainer who informed me that an occasional "bad" carbohydrate will not completely destroy my training regimen and strict adherence to the Atkins diet.

Anyway, I should admit that I did nod off after the first pitch and the brisk Lake Michigan winds prevented us from staying very long. Regardless, it was an experience to behold. To paraphrase the immortal Ferris Bueller (not only a famous Chicago resident, albeit from the suburbs, but also an avid Cubs fan), "If you have the means, I highly recommend" it.

As a quick aside, April 15th, 2009 was a day of firsts for one other reason. As referenced earlier, Mama and Papa were concerned that the Windy City might have been a bit too windy on that day, so we elected to depart early and watch the game from a local establishment. And when one is in Wrigley Field there is no other place like the famed Cubbie Bear. It was this bar that shall go down in infamy as the first pub in which I was thrown out. Apparently, the bouncer did not buy my excuse that Alice ate my photo identification. Therefore, we packed up shop and headed back toward Michigan Avenue.

For historical sake, I should point out that the Cubs fell to the Rockies on that day by a tally of 5-2. Rich Harden struggled to locate the strike zone on occasion and we left a plethora of runners on base. Oh, and I really did not disucss our return to Wrigley Field the following day to take in the best rivalry in baseball, Cubs versus Cardinals. The weather was far more accommodating on Thursday, April 16th. We took in most of the contest, but alas the outcome was no better for our heroes. Again, the Cubs lost, this time by a score of 7-4. I was a little concerned that my presence at Wrigley may have contributed to our squad's demise on consecutive days; however, Papa reassured me that if I had not been present they probably would have been no-hit. Whew, then I am glad I made the voyage!

In closing, I admit that I have not seen a bevy of ballparks around the country. But, I will say that I find it difficult to fathom that any locale can top Wrigley Field. For what it lacks in modern amenities (Who wants to dine upon lobster at a baseball game anyway?) it more than makes up for in ambiance and history. Papa informs me that over the next sixty-plus years we will spend our time following the Cubs and appreciating all that makes Wrigley Field and the Chicago Cubs a joy for which to root. That sounds like time well spent to me!


Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...

Fashion Sense...

Greetings and salutations,

Have you ever heard the saying by H. Jackson Brown, Jr., "Our character is what we do when we think no one is looking."? Papa has bestowed that enlightening tidbit upon me, and I have taken in to heart. What I have found, especially at my diminutive stature, is that I can occasionally gain some insight into a person's character as Mr. Brown, Jr. suggested. With ninja-like stealthiness (minus the katana sword and excessively drab and dark garb), I often linger in the recesses to see how folks behave when it seems that no one else is peering. It just so happens that I was engaged in this past time the other day when my reconnaissance mission sparked another conversation with Papa.

While Papa was downloading the photographic evidence of our Easter celebration, I peered around the corner of Mama's office. Imagine my surprise when I actually heard Papa laughing. And this revelry was not merely a chortle but instead a abdomen-distending, calorie-burning raucous laughter. Admittedly, this did not reveal a tremendous amount about Papa's character, but it did highlight the importance of joviality. But that was not sufficient, as I was curious as to the cause of said guffawing. I politely made my presence known by rolling my cookie jar toward Papa. He subsequently put me upon his lap and began to reveal the source of his hooting.

Ol' Papa pulled up the photograph that you see at the top of today's blog entry. Before it could even be loaded Papa was laughing again. To be honest, I was a little insulted prima fascia. Hey, I know that I may not be the absolute most adorable, handsome baby in the entire world (although Mama and Papa make that argument frequently), but mocking my photographic qualities with laughter stings. Papa was quick to allay my concerns, indicating that he was actually chuckling at himself.

In a manner eerily similar to the esteemed Mr. Blackwell, Papa began to critique my wardrobe. The results were quite favorable, actually. He noted the superb use of pastels in the Easter context. Compliments were strewn about regarding the eloquent use of khaki pants with faint white pinstripping. And the pièce de résistance were the brilliantly matched socks, a carbon copy of the sweater draped over my torso. Perhaps his only significant criticism involved my chose of footwear. However, as Papa says, if it does not say Nike one will lose marks by default.

It was actually the hosiery that had Papa in stitches. As indicated above, he thought the socks were a fine touch (Sweater and socks pictured above after Easter dinner. Assuredly you are asking, where are the dapper khaki pants referenced previously? Well, of course everyone knows that post-Easter dinner one must let things hang out. Mama did such a marvelous job with our Easter meal this year that comfy pants were a necessity.). In any event, it turns out that he was laughing at an incident that has scarred Papa for life. It was the year 1989 of our Lord. At that time Papa was at the impressionable age of 7, old enough to dress himself (obviously) but still subjected to his mother's persistent desires dress him up like a Ken doll.

The ensemble that Papa was "forced" into for that year's Easter festivities is immortalized in photographs still utilized to mock him to this date. Those pictures have not been included in today's blog at my discretion. I love Papa; he need not be subjected to the eternal harassment that would ensue with the posting of said pictures on the Internet. But please allow me to paint the visual imagery for you. Conjure up a navy blue, long-sleeve sweater with a red and white diamond pattern accented by white (yes, white) dress shorts. And then you have the matching socks. Just as I donned, twenty years my senior Papa to displayed such fashion mastery. Here is the critical difference: Papa's socks were actually his mother's! Top that off with a pair of hush puppies and the outfit was complete...almost complete. The mental image is not complete without picturing Papa's brushed-back, spiked hair. What a look!

Folks, I cannot fabricate this imagery. After seeing the tangible proof, I can completely understand Papa's hysterical laughter at my own outfit. He was careful to explain that it was not a reflection of my own attire; he thought that my eloquence was brilliant. My own fashion sense is certainly not something that will result in the apparent trauma that Papa has suffered. In the end, this trip down memory late revealed to me that when no one is looking Papa still loves to laugh.

Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...

Happy Easter!

Greetings and salutations,

Life seems to be a trial and error process, at least in some regard. It would seem that I might just have figured out a critical component of succeeding in life. While Papa insists that it may not always hold true, good behavior tends to be rewarded. For instance, the fact that Mama and Papa had to rent a U-Haul to bring the bounty left by Santa Claus serves as a poignant example. Today appears to be another striking verification of this maxim. The hopping hare left not only a copious amount of goodies for me to savior, but also provided the ambiance for one of the best components of a marvelous Easter weekend celebration.

Easter Sunday itself began with Mama, Papa, and I scouring the homestead in search of a treasure trove left by the Easter Bunny. Eventually, with Mama's keen directional sense, we uncovered a wonderful selection of interesting treats. From a large bouncing ball to an abundance of bubbles to a bathtub football the ensuing mischief to be created was written all over my face. And that Easter Bunny clearly has been paying close attention. He brought be my very own Elmo remote control; now I need not nosh on Papa's remote any longer. Lastly, the ol' hare dropped off my very own Kosuke Fukudome jersey shirt. My extensive research indicates that Easter is not quite the event in Korea as it is here in the United States; thus, I would like to think that this act of generosity is the Easter Bunny's way of going global, crossing cultural boundaries aimed at expanding his worldly presence.

But even with the booty that the Bunny bestowed, that was not my favorite part of the day. After my afternoon siesta, while strolling by the living room window my keen vision noted multiple brightly colored objects strewn about the yard. I immediately asked if Alice got into the household cleaner, but Papa assured me that this was not the case. Mama explained to me that these three dimensional elliptical entities were left by the Easter Bunny for me to collect. And collect I did! With bloodlines suggestive of a Christopher Columbus lineage, I discovered a plethora of these eggs. Mama and Papa were exceptionally useful in assisting me in this endeavor, and I had a fantastic experience. It turns out that finding the eggs was only beginning. They were laced with something called money, of which I am only vaguely familiar. More importantly, there were sweet potato puffs and yogurt melts in many of the eggs. Now that is living! If this is my reward for being pleasant, cordial, and mild-mannered, consider it lesson learned.

And while the Easter egg hunt was quite a joy, it pales in comparison to the most memorial aspect of the entire Easter celebration. This was assuredly Mama's rite of Catholic initiation on Saturday evening. What a spectacle that was! The church was illuminated with a large bonfire (just outside the doors, of course), the church choir rang out with booming musical accompaniment, and viewing the congregation holding candles in the darkness of the Easter Vigil was a Kodak moment to be certain. They really went all out to welcome Mama into the Catholic church! I did my best to hold out untilthe end, despite the rather late start to the evening. I watched Mama get confirmed and saw Papa have the privilege of providing her with her First Communion. I am very proud of her, and I felt honored to be able to view the proceedings. Toward the end of the service I admittedly checked out for a brief nap. Sometimes a gentleman needs his beauty rest as well. And it was probably wise that I did given the festivities that then ensued on Easter Sunday, as detailed above.

In closing, it is difficult for me to imagine a more perfect weekend. With a strong faith component, a magnificent ceremony with tremendous personal importance, and the right mix of Bunny bounty, I had a fabulous Easter holiday. I hope that you enjoyed the splendor of the occasion as much as I did.

Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...

Reminders...

Greetings and salutations,

Papa and I have been conversing again, which inevitably means that I have ample fodder for the latest blog. Lately, over a cup of formula (caffeine-free, of course), we discussed the nuances of memories. As one might imagine, my catalog of memories is relatively short, spanning perhaps a volume or two. However, Papa informed me that as I begin to encounter varying experiences in life my repertoire of vivid recollections will expand exponentially. He told me that the strangest things will create lasting synapses. For instance, when Papa visited Disney World at the tender age of seven he was instructed to remember precisely where the family had parked or a return home would be impossible (See "The Parking Garage", episode six of season three of the epic comedy Seinfeld. More information available at that pesky, "definitive", and "authoritative" resource Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Parking_Garage). To this very day he recalls that the family truckster rested in lot Donald Duck 65. Papa retorts that he struggles to recall the Wells Criteria for risk stratification of pulmonary embolism but apparently inane trivia leaps from his cortex at almost every turn.

This discussion included the related topic of reminders of memories. I struggled to grasp this notion initially, perhaps because I was still wrapping my mind around the concept of memories, in and of themselves. But, Papa found a way to explain this subject to me. He reminded me of my Christmas gift to him last year. Anybody who knows Papa is keenly aware that shoes hold a sacred place in his nexus. Two types of shoes in particular strike his fancy, one of which are Nike Shox. This point was not lost on me, readily apparent at even the tender age of five months. Therefore, Mama and I were able to locate him a splendid pair of Nike Shox Turbo VII kicks for this past yuletide season. Papa elected to designate these shoes as a critical component of his work ensemble. He informed me that this was by design so that everyday when he laces up his shoes and puts his stethoscope around his neck, he will be reminded of that which has most blessed his life. For I gave him his shoes and many years ago Mama gave him his Master Cardiology stethoscope. These tangible things not only remind him of us but also of the memories of time spent together and the anticipation of the additional time together just around the bend.

This is exactly why Papa says memories, and little reminders of those memories, are of the utmost significance in life. While Papa has the privilege of returning home after work to see Mama and I, sometimes future time spent together is not feasible. Thus, memories may be all that remains and should be coveted. Papa asked me to cherish those around me and the experiences we share. He stated that, while cliche, life is short (sometimes far too short). To that end, one should attempt to create vivid imagery of the special people and moments that inhabit our lives. Mama and Papa are grateful that someone imparted that lesson to them for it has enabled them to remember those that have come and gone in their lives and share the associated lessons learned with me.

Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...

Worth the Wait...

Greetings and salutations,

Continuity is something that humanity tends to embrace. So as not to offend my colleagues in the human race, I shall aim to provide such an entity. My most recent musings concluded with a reference to the start of Holy Week, namely "Holy Cow" Day. While not recognized by Pope Benedict XVI (yet), this is a day meant to celebrate the start of the regular season for the Chicago Cubs. 2009 represents my first experience with this day, and I thought I should share my reflections.

The Cubs are a proud organization, rich with baseball history. Admittedly, my knowledge of said history is rudimentary at best. My insight into the historical tales of the Cubbies is limited to the stories that Papa has shared with me. We have, at least superficially, covered the gamut of Cubs lore. From the famous combination of Tinkers to Evers to Chance to Mr. Cubbie himself and into the contemporary conglomeration of stars. One particularly noteworthy discussion focused on the aforementioned double play combination and their World Series title, the last one secured by the Chicago Cubs. To that end, I recommend that you peruse the following article regarding this season: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1908_Chicago_Cubs_season. While I occasionally cringe at the overutilization of the pop culture icon that has become Wikipedia, I think this article is sound. It shows that talent, heady play, and a little luck can take a team a long way.

In any event, as Papa and I spent the winter gearing up for the regular season by learning about the Cubs, a tremendous excitement began to percolate. I simply could not wait to witness the Cubs' latest pursuit of a coveted World Series title. In fact, one could say that I have been drooling extensively over the prospect (or maybe that is just the result of my teeth). With the Cubs Family Museum coming along nicely, adorned with my own Cubs recliner (including sippy cup holder), I was apparently all set. The only thing remaining was for "Holy Cow" Day itself to arrive.


And at last, Monday, April 6th brought with it a wonderful celebration. Needless to say, it was everything for which I had hoped. Mama and I settled into our posh yet not overly ostentatious Cubs Family Museum in time to hear the analytical stylings of Len and Bob. With a frosty beverage in hand, I believe it is called water, I settled in for a nine inning duel between my beloved Cubbies and the division rival Houston Astros. And just as Alfonso Soriano started off the year in style by hitting the second pitch of the season over the left field fence at Minute Maid Park, I let out a resounding...snore. It seems that the hype, anticipation, and pregame festivities had exhausted my energy. I later awoke to find the Cubs victorious (4-2 for those keeping score at home) and all right with the world. Boy, if the first two pitches of the season are this exciting, I wonder if I will be able to contain myself for 161 more contests.


Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...

Holy Week...

Greetings and salutations,

Recently you have become acutely aware of my fondness for the English dialect. While I meander toward its mastery, I have begun bellowing out my own dulcet interpretations of said language. However, my propensity for conversing does not preclude me from being an astute listener and observer. The last few months have taught me more than a thing or two, and one such enlightenment is about to culminate this week.

Many of you might be aware that this is Holy Week, a series of sacred religious days leading up to the celebration of Easter. This, at least in the Catholic faith, is the most important week in the entire calendar year. Now, I have yet to experience a full calendar year, so I am taking their word for it on that matter. In any event, this year is especially significant in our home. Sure, this is my sentinel gathering with the Easter Bunny. The lore of this creature is fascinating, but a topic for another day. No, Holy Week 2009 is pertinent because Mama will be joining the Catholic church.

Every Sunday for the past several months we have bundled up and traversed the highways and byways to attend both Mass and the associated educational classes. Surely, there are earlier services and hauling me around on late Sunday evening is less than convenient. However, Mama has found the endeavor important enough to see it through. And to that end, she is not merely punching the clock. I have been impressed with Mama's interest, sincerity, and level of participation throughout the process.

As Mama tells me, honesty is the best policy. Consequently, I must admit that I understand few of the nuances of the theological discourse that transpires in that classroom. However, there are a lot of other people there for me to peruse; thus, I am content. But more so, Mama is serving as a great role model for the importance of faith in one's life, regardless of said faith. I am looking forward to attending church with Mama and Papa in the future. And why would I not? Every other little person in the church is eating Cheerios. First a few more teeth and then Cheerios for everyone (on Papa, of course)! In any event, congratulations to Mama on this step in her life, and I thank her for serving as such a role model. I love you, Mama!

And for the non-religious blog followers, Holy Week has a secular component as well. The Church of Harry Caray convenes this week, meaning that tomorrow (Monday, April 6th, 2009) serving as Major League Baseball's Opening Day is actually "Holy Cow" Day. Go Cubbies!


Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...