More distracting than texting and driving...

First Published in The Central Virginian newspaper on 11/07/13.

   I was heading down the road one morning, my appointed rounds fresh in my mind and I saw it in my mirror...it was a new Chevy Camaro SS, silver with black trim, dual exhaust (an assumption, but all the SS models have dual exhaust, I figured), hood scoop, and a pinstripe that makes you realize why someone first looked at a car and said, "a stripe, not too big, not too small, right down the side...yes, yes, I think so."  The Camaro hurtled past m, seemingly angry that its 400 plus horses were being restrained to under 70 miles an hour, its dual exhaust ( I was right) giving guttural voice to its disdain for the laws of men.

   Then, I saw it...and I realized that, perhaps it wasn't an arbitrary limit to speed the muscle car was seeking to escape, but this assault on the history of the automobile...an airbrushed mosaic of skulls that stretch from one end of the rear bumper to the other.  Like (as a friend put it) an automotive tramp stamp, the skulls adorned the rear of this new piece of American Awesome, which, itself, is art...it doesn't need this garish display to make it more attractive.  In fact, it made it less so.  Sure, it attracted attention, but so does a traffic stop; and not because the flashing blue lights are pretty.

   I started noticing other cars and trucks over the next few days that also had some sort of personalized paint scheme or parts (we're not talking a few bumper or window stickers here) and was amazed at some of what I saw.  There were the classic rims and spinners (I must admit, when I see a set of spinning rims on a car that cost more that said car, I laugh like I'm watching Duck Dynasty, and also think about the fact that those are pretty tired by now, folks) and the fake adhesive vents (I have no idea why those sell, but they do), and the chrome flashing trim installed along baseboards and over gas caps.  The amount of personalization out there is befuddling.

   Now, I say that as someone who did some tournament fishing for several years and put a personalized paint scheme on his Dodge Ram the included an American flag motif in camouflage, fishing decals, sponsor decals, the website for my dad's wholesale synthetic oil dealership, and the name of the tournament trail with which I fished and for which I later worked.  We used to park the truck at spots to mark turns for out-of-town anglers (yep, it was a moving landmark).  Of course, I had that paint job done for a reason, to get and keep sponsors interested.  I don't know that the owner of the Camaro was seeking the sponsorship of the dead (though in this era of the Walking Dead and Twighlight, who knows?).

   What motivates so much personalization?  There are probably as many answers to that as there are fake bullet hole decals sold (another thing about which the commercial success I wonder).  It's not as simple as "overcompensating" or meeting some overall need.  For some people it's the need to fit in; for some it's the need to express themselves; for some it's the need to be seen, like their car's a giant highlighter and they're the item upon which needs to be focused.  Again, who knows?  Of course, if you have seat covers with Looney Toons or Disney characters on them, that's about you; and you should see somebody with professional training before it's too late.

   On rolls the wagon; and there's a South of the Border sticker on it.  Thanks for riding shotgun.

People You May Know...?

   Why is it the Facebook seems to want me to "Friend" people that are in no way connected to me and, frankly, are a couple of days past filming an episode of "To Catch a Predator" if someone of an adult age were to "Friend" them?

   I find myself disturbed by the nature of whatever search algorithm it is that recommends these people to me as possible friends.  These aren't random "People from Nigeria" seeking to friend unsuspecting sugar daddies for whom they can become the latest Carlos Danger.  Those are the Internet predators for whom we must all look out, we're warned about such things almost daily on our local news...but this is Facebook itself making these recommendations. 

   Of course, I worry that some my true friends may have fallen prey to these vixens, but I refuse to see what "Friends in Common" we share for fear of inadvertently friending one of these ladies (pardon the liberal use of the term) and opening myself up to perhaps more friend requests from such questionable sources.

   Maybe I'm over-thinking this, but such is the right of a parent and educator, so bear with me, or - at least - tolerate me.  

   And, I'm not changing my Facebook settings.  I mean, people still have to request me as a friend, they can't just "Friend" me.  Now Twitter, well that's different...you can follow or be followed pretty much at will...though I guess you can adjust your settings there, too.

   The wagon rolls on.  Thanks for riding shotgun; and you can send me a friend request, if you want...just be sure to mention this blog in the request, okay?  That way I'll know you're not a Catfish.

A Likely Story!

   Ah, summer...pretty much over, by the way.  If you're a kid in Fluvanna or Louisa, it's already done.  Other places are counting down and so many kids are going to be asked to tell the class "how they spent their summer."  How'd you spend yours?

   Did you go on a missions trip?  Did you go to a sports camp?  Did you plant yourself in front of a TV for Law & Order marathons and summer premieres? Maybe the beach, the mountains, or a lake trip were on your agenda.  But, how will your kids remember your summer?  Did you take them to a zoo?  To a museum?  To a park?  To the movies?  No judgments, just questions.  Don't start lamenting a lost opportunity here, okay?

   I look back on my summers and don't so much think about the destinations of our family trips in the Mercury station wagon and then later in the Honey RV (that was just slightly smaller than that Mercury).  It wasn't just that we were going somewhere, it was that we were together; that my parents took an interest in me and in my brother and wanted to be with us.  

   Now that I think about it, that's not such a likely story anymore, is it?  So, how'd you spend your summer?  

   The wagon rolls on - destination irrelevant.  Thanks for riding shotgun, know any roadtrip songs?

I Wasn't Listening, But I Wanted to Be...

The following was originally published in the August 29, 2013 edition of the Central Virginian newspaper.

   I actually said that to Sarah one day not too long ago.  There was this pause in her soliloquy, and that was an indication, one that all men know, a pause that suggests a question has been asked and an answer is expected.  See, that's the thing, we guys tend to turn dialogues into soliloquies.  We kind of drop out of conversations, but that's because we simply can not multitask when it comes to live interaction with someone.  I can text, email, watch TV, and have thirteen games of Words with Friends going at once; but I can't seem to keep up my end of a conversation while there's a commercial for Justified on TV.

   So, back to the issue at hand, I could have given Sarah some sort of canned answer.  I could have said, "yes..." (this, in response to a question that wasn't a yes or no question is disastrous, incidentally, like Titanic-hitting-the-iceberg disastrous) ; or I could have just blurted out, "eleven!" when it wasn't a math question, or I wasn't asked to find the value of X.

   So, after carefully considering my options (if I'd been listening as carefully to the conversation, none of this would even be necessary), looked deep into Sarah's (amazing) eyes, and finally said..."I wasn't listening, but I wanted to be."  She looked quizzically at me for a moment, then smiled and burst out laughing at me.  It was then that I realized I'd been holding my breath; I mean, really you know, this could have gone either way for me, but I was far more interested in being honest than in trying to guess what might have been said.  And, of course, she's amazing and can laugh at the things that make me so...unusual, I guess is the word.

   But while I'm here, let me say something universally...sometimes, women stare deeply at the fella there with and ask wistfully, "what are you thinking?"  Sometimes the question is exploratory in nature, sometimes it's a carefully-laid trap.  

   Now, when the answer from the guy is, "nothing," that is very often true.  But, rarely is it satisfactory.  "Nothing," is often heard as "I'm-hiding-my-thoughts-from-you."  Sometimes, maybe, but not generally. 

   A lot of times, "nothing," quite literally means "nothing."  We're staring at the TV, but couldn't tell you what we just watched.  You want to know what it's like?  Here's a simile men and women can both get:  It's like when you're reading a book and you realize that you need to reread the page because you have no idea what you just read.  What were you thinking about?  You don't always know, do you?

   Sometimes we're just not thinking, our brain is doing a soft reset; we're defragmenting our hard drive; clearing our desktop.  Other times, the things we're thinking are so outlandish that we're terrified to share them with you, ladies.  I mean, if I'm wondering if I can train the dog to fetch the remote control or build a toilet into my recliner, I'm NOT going to reveal that in a "penny for your thoughts" moment with anybody.  (Sometimes we don't want to share our ideas until we patent them, that flushing recliner is a great idea, right?)  

   Other times, we're just ignoring you.  Sorry.  It's not about you, it's just us.  

   On rolls the wagon...I think...I'm not paying attention.  Thanks for riding shotgun.

Mosquitos May Well Be, in Fact, Specific...

   I always thought I was a target of the little bloodsuckers, and it looks like I might be right!  According to an article by WWBT12, the local NBC affiliate in Richmond, mosquito bites are not nearly as random as I'd always thought...before you accuse me of a persecution complex, read http://bit.ly/136oZGF as posted by Channel 12.  Here are some highlights through my (admittedly, rather distorted) lens.

   I was flummoxed when I read that the consumption of even a single beer can lead to the production of ethanol (yeah, sure, a meager amount, you're not improving your mileage here) that will attract mosquitos your buffet-like epidermis.

   Ironically, sweat from a good workout will also lead to the production of chemicals that will attract the little suckers (pun very much intended).  So, if you work out, then have one of those low-carb beers...yeah, have some cortisone cream handy.

   The article from 12 News goes on to say that dark-colored clothes will further draw the attention of mosquitos.  So, let's go through this...you build a sweat through a workout, have a low-carb beer, and have on dark clothes...you're like a mosquito smorgasbord; a West Nile Petrie dish waiting to happen.

   Now, there are some suggestions in the article for prevention of mosquito bites (at least how to avoid a bevy of them) and you can read the link for those tips, but I have done my part, folks.  I have raised the alarmists' flag!  I have given you just enough information to create fear and panic; or some slight discomfort; or maybe a source of discussion at one of those picnics where you don't know anybody and the person you came with has gone off to talk about something with somebody who started their conversation with, "O-M-G!" so you know it'll be a long conversation.  It beats talking about the weather...not by much, but, whatever.

   The wagon rolls on, folks.  Thanks for riding shotgun.  Please apply bug spray liberally.

Pre-Season Football!

Yep, the Redskins are playing the Titans even as I write.  Finally!  I've been waiting, willing the season to start, really.  The two best nights of my NFL year last year were watching the 'Skins handle the Cowboys from Melisa Campbell's living room and then watching the All-Harbaugh Superbowl at Sarah's house.

See, football brings us together.  Even strangers come together when they have like colors on their jerseys.  It's things like that that I'm ready for, that's what football's about.  Once we get the NCAA going, all bets are off. 

I hope everybody's ready for some football!  I know I am.  Now, if the Redskins would just bench Rex Grossman...

The wagon rolls on.  Thanks for riding shotgun!

300+ Juveniles Charged in a Game of Hide and Seek...Yeah, This Happened This Week...

   There's a more complete story in the link included (thanks to WRIC TV for posting it) with this (http://www.wric.com/story/23062854/300-juveniles-charged-with-trespassing-during-game) but, long story short, a BUNCH of kids were trespassing and they're in trouble now. 

   Today, dozens of people have weighed in on my Facebook timeline as to whether or not the kids should have been charged.  They've broken down to attacking each other and even to accusing the President to being a bad example for today's youth.  I'm no fan of liberal politics, but verbally assaulting Obama over this is like railing against Truett Cathy because you got a bad Chick-fil-A sandwich (I, frankly, can't imagine ever getting a bad Chick-fil-A sandwich).

   Look, if the law says people on the property after dark are trespassing...should the police ignore the law?  If so, are they in violation of their oath to uphold the law.  I'm in no way advocating or condemning the actions of the kids, but for those on Facebook saying, "go get the real criminals!" I submit that, per the law, the people in the park were breaking the law, ergo they were real criminals.  I further submit that their behavior kept the police from going after any other criminals during the time that they were at, - what we all agree, regardless of what side you're on - was a time waster.

   I must say, as an educator, I'm not as sure as many that no one was behaving dangerously, thus putting someone's child - or children - in danger.  Aren't the police also sworn to protect the safety of the public?  Over three hundred kids running around in the dark don't present a possible threat to themselves or others?  My brother and I managed to get hurt running around with the lights on in the daytime.  Not because we meant to, but because stuff just happens.  Multiply that possibility by three hundredish.

   If the kids want to play Manhunt in the park, I'm willing to bet the Prince George board would establish a night for that, but that would go against the idea of being a "rebel."  Problem is, none of these kids know what rebellion really is because they don't really have anything to rebel against, save their own sense of boredom.

   Again, I am in no way condemning the kids for their behavior.  They're kids.  Kids do stupid stuff; its in their nature.  Who knows what might have motivated them?  But, the police were following their orders to deal with a situation.  Sorry if the actions seems Draconian, but the letter of the law was being upheld.  See, I can no more condemn the police than the kids.  And really, if it were your land, wouldn't you want the law enforced? 

   Hey, maybe the charges will be dropped, but that's not a police decision, is it?  That'll be up to the PG Commonwealth's Attorney.  One thing's certain, there'll be no lack of opinions about that decision when it comes time.

   The wagon rolls on.  Thanks for riding shotgun.

Cut-and-Paste...

   A truly exceptional friend that LCPS was lucky enough to have as part of its staff posted something on Facebook and asked that we cut-and-paste it along with a description of how we met as a show of friendship and solidarity.  There were many replies already and I wanted to add mine to the mix.

   Try as I might, the Facebook mobile app wouldn't cut-and-paste anything for me, so here - in part - is my response to her... 

We met at the LCPS administrative retreat in Williamsburg where my smart-aleck, "Hey, you're not IN Goochland anymore, 'kay?" got its start.  And Facebook Mobile (at least mine, anyway) won't let me cut-and-paste, so I'd have to Share this and it clearly says I shouldn't share and then it would be like "Chuck Moss shared Heather Larabee's status," and everybody would be like, "did he NOT read that?" and they'd message me and I'd respond to a few and then just end up commenting on my own post to say that I DID read it, but I couldn't copy and paste it and then I'd get some comments that asked if I'd tried so-and-so for Facebook for iPhone that lets you cut-and-paste stuff and it's a free download from the iTunes Store and I'd say, "no, but I heard about it," even if I hadn't...

   The reply was to be one word.  Oh, well.  If you've never met Heather, you should!  She was absolutely great as our math specialist in Louisa, helping me in my development of an electronic observation tool for math teachers and in the alignment of our math curriculum.  Since leaving Louisa she's taken the risk of following the American Dream and opening a Mathnasium learning center in Elk Grove, California.  On top of that, she's a tireless advocate for the search for a cure for MS, for which I simply can't thank her enough.  She's one of those people that the West Coast shared with us on the East Coast for a few years before she headed back to California to follow her dreams.

   So, what's the point today?  Well, maybe I couldn't cut-and-paste, but the sentiment was clear.  And Heather may be gone from Virginia, but - like all friends - you can't say she's "cut" from here so she could be "pasted" somewhere else.  Her mark, like the mark of all the people in our lives that have made an impact, is indelible; it is not to be "cut" out.  If anything, more people in more places will get to benefit for Heather's mark and, as with all people who make the world better, that can only serve to improve the world. 

   We all have friends like Heather, and my challenge for us is that we arrive to be the people they believe us to be.  Imagine a world where we were all the people our friends see when they look at us?  I don't know about you, but that would certainly make me a more forgiving and far less judgmental person.

   Incidentally, there's no app for that.

   The wagon rolls on.  Thanks for riding shotgun (it's a valuable spot).

School Shopping on a Tax-Free Weekend...Hide Your Valuables

   The sea of people envelopes me; suffocating me.  I look left, I try to look right, but I can't; my head mashed against the shoulder of a bathrobed woman to my side who is screaming for her husband.  She, too, has lost the party with which she came.  Drowning in this wave of humanity, I realize the painful truth...it has happened...it is upon us...I stand among the masses, and we are being herded.  I choke back a sob...they WILL NOT SEE ME CRY.  Not here.  No, any sign of fear will single you out in this herd.

   I look up, exposed metal girders and fluorescent lights whose sodium glow illuminate us all as we roil forward.  I am propelled forward by the crowd; by this mass, this herd of human chattel. Overtaken and driven towards the ground, I thrust me hand into the air.  Am I forsaken?  Is all lost?  I feel a warm hand grasp mine.  I close my fingers around it as it pulls me forward.  I find myself face-to-face with Sarah who says, with a strength that has long since abandoned me, "We need nine composition books.  Can you do that?"

   Yeah, it's back-to-school shopping at Walmart on a tax holiday.  I don't know how chickens feel as they head for the slaughterhouse, but I bet it's like this (hey, PETA, that's a metaphor, I still think you're stupid, okay?).  I'm brought back to reality as I am reminded of my task,  "Nine composition notebooks."  Sarah looks at me with a confidence I can't help but think is misplaced.

   "Yes, nine, okay," I smile, the same smile Bruce Willis gave before he detonated the nuke in Armageddon, and head towards the notebooks.  The cutesy ones are gone...all that's left are the black and white marble cover notebooks, sitting alone on a shelf as neglected as that one house in the neighborhood that always gives out apples instead of candy on Halloween.  I sigh, but start counting.  I get to seven when I feel a blow that an NFL linebacker would envy force me out of the way.  I look up and see a woman, repeat with house shoes, what are either pajama pants or Nickelodeon has busted out a line of distressed-look Rugrats-themed ladies wear, a faded navy blue t-shirt that has the Superman "S" on it and a hole at the seam where the collar meets the right shoulder, and sponge-rollers (here before me stands a Walmart veteran, no doubt). 

   Without so much as a glance at me, she begins to count, "1...2...3..."

   I push my way back and grab my eighth notebook.

   Angered, the Kryptonian Rugrat bellows, "You gonna push a LADY?"

   I consider stopping to argue that point (and not the one that I pushed her, the one designating her as a lady), but instead grab the ninth notebook and flee like my hair is ablaze, the sponge-rollered terror shouting threats and questioning my parentage as I go, clutching my notebooks like Golem with his Precious. 

    As I return to our cart, our metaphorical slab of wood in this Atlantic Ocean in which Sarah and I find ourselves adrift with the other passengers from the school supply Titanic, "We need a Primary Journal Creative Story Tablet."   At Walmart?  How the...?  You know what one is, right?  It's a composition book where only the bottom half of the paper has lines and the top is blank, for pictures.  It's fairly specific...and...where the...Walmart?  Target?  No...when I worked at an elementary school we supplied them to students because we figured parents probably couldn't find them...but not here in this school division; nope, in addition to the two dozen gluesticks, thirty-six (I know, right!?!) pencils, four notebooks, pens (two different colors), folders, sheet protectors, Trapper-Keeper-style binder, sheaves of loose-leaf paper, ruler, pencil cases, partridge in a pear tree, et al...we gotta find a Primary Journal Creative Story Tablet?  For the love of Pete...

   Did we find one?  Nope.  

   Now, after a few groceries were added to the cart that represented an acre of rainforest defoliation; we headed to the check out.

   Oh, what a sight we beheld...this woman was in line in front of us with dozens and dozens and dozens of items in her cart.  And, when she came across items she decided she didn't want, she loaded them up on the shelves of the candy aisle.  What sort of items?  Bags of shredded cheese, two blocks of cheese, a bag of potatoes (had to leave those on the floor because those would not fit on the Mr. Goodbars).  Now, you might be wondering, "doesn't cheese have to be refrigerated?"  Sure...but the candy aisle at Walmart is always a balmy 76 degrees, and that's good for cheese, right?  And it's perfect for potatoes.

   So...it's time to leave Walmart...time to head home.  So, we do, wading through that same sea of humanity that washed us in; its waves crashing on the beach of school supplies like breakers against the shores below the cliffs of Dover.  

   The lifeboat that is the Nissan minivan swallows us and our purchases.  We head out of the parking lot, counting ourselves among the lucky who fled the HMS Walmart in one piece...we still gotta find a Primary Journal Creative Story Tablet, though.  Crap.

   The wagon rolls on, or bobs on along on a sea of humanity.  Thanks for riding shotgun - in the event of an emergency, your seat cushion doubles as a floatation device.

Couple of Tackle-Box Tips...No Charge

   I promised that I wouldn't be blogging just about fishing; and those of you who've read more than one of my blog entries know that's true.  But I'd be lying if I told you I didn't love bass fishing and here are two little tips that I've embraced that have made my life both easier (the first one), and more cost effective (the second tip).

   So, Tip Number One...every angler has a box (well, in my case, boxes) where s/he keeps hooks.  Consequently, those of us who wet a line from time-to-time have all dealt with pulling out that tangled mass of hooks when we just needed one.  Sometimes a hook has gone through the eye of another hook past the barb (in what seems to have been a physics-defying act because, try as we might, getting it back through is simply impossible).  And, what's worse, you wind up with fingers like pin cushions.  So, how can we avoid this? Styrofoam.  Simple enough, right?  Yes, but it can revolutionize your tackle box.  

   So much of what we buy comes packed in Styrofoam (you need to capitalize it because Styrofoam is actually a branded name, like Q-Tip, Band-Aid, or Kleenex - I know, right?!?).  When you get something you ordered off eBay, or a new TV (who doesn't need a new TV?), Styrofoam is often the packing material of choice.  Now. Take the Styrofoam and cut it into 3/4" (or 1" is fine) cubes.  Write the size of the hooks you'll keep on it in Sharpie (again, a proprietary name, but any permanent marker will do just fine).  Now, take a bunch of hooks and stick them into the cube of Styrofoam.  Line them up so they're next to one another (like ribs - mmmmm, ribs...).  Now, you've got nicely arragned and organized hooks from which it's easy to get just one to tie on to your line.

   Now for Tip Number Two...How many times have you gotten your favorite lure or a hook out only to see that its metal is covered in rust.  You raise your face skyward a cry out, "WHY?  Oh, why?"  Oxidation caused by moisture, that's why.  Class dismissed.  Well, anyway, I have an easy fix...and it again involves packing material.  

   Electronics, medication, shoes, backpacks, and who knows what else comes with a little package that says "DO NOT EAT."  First off, if someone eats the little translucent yellow balls in there (yes, I had one tear open inside a shoebox once and my "...'the hell is this crap?" was answered when I saw the torn package, not by my tasting it like Sonny Crockett testing a stash of Bernie's Gold Dust on an episode of Miami Vice).  

   Anyway,  those little things are called "desiccants."  Now, how can a tackle box benefit from those?  Just toss a couple in the box.  The desiccant will absorb the ambient (you're welcome for your word of the day) moisture in the box and keep your hooks and lure components from rusting.  I once read that a light spray of WD-40 (or Amzoil Metal Protectant) over an open tackle box would do the same, but knowing (well, reading that) fish are so keen on smell that I cannot bring myself to do that, and I'm a firm believer in WD-40 and in duct tape, too.  Since I started using the desiccants, I have never faced the horror of a rusted lure or hook straight from my tackle box.  And they're easily replaced, too.  Those little "DO NOT EAT" packs can be found just about anytime you want them.  I even labeled an old Tylenol (another brand name, see the capital "T"?) bottle "DESICCANTS" and started putting them in it as I came across them, so I have a generous supply at hand now.  You can tell your non-fishing friends (yes, we all have them) to save those little packets for you.  They'll look at you like you're crazy, at first; but, once you tell them why you want those annoying little packets, they'll give you a, "Huh, that's pretty smart.  I usually just threw them away."

   That's it for some terminal tackle ease and preservation ideas.  Hope it provides some ideas for you all who fish, and I hope you non-anglers got a laugh somewhere.  The Bernie's Gold Dust thing with the old-school Mismi Vice pull - I thought that was pretty good...

   The wagon rolls on.  Thanks for riding shotgun.

Gravity at the Ag Fair...

  Nine years ago, I remember my daughter winning the Toddler Trot at the Louisa Agricultural Fair.  It was a shining moment.  I, proud father, watching as my genetic product outshined that of all the other parents who had entries in the race.  Yes, truly a proud moment.  I, of course had nothing to do with it; but also felt like I had everything to do with it.  After all, I operated the video camera that recorded the victory!  Yeah, doesn't really translate to a Rocky training montage, but still...

  Fast forward to this past summer...the Zucchini Car Races.  My son's entry, the "Zoom-Cchini" (yes, you know that name was my idea - see, I contributed, friends and neighbors) ran into some technical issues, but it looked awesome, Angry Birds duct tape decorating it and really making it pop.  Now, my daughter's car, "ZuQueeni" blasted the competition.  It was like there was an engine powering her great big squash-car to victory while the other cars merely depended on gravity...but, there was no engine, there was simply the impeccably-constructed "ZuQueeni" harvesting the power of the force Sir Isaac Newton sat down and described with pen and paper (he didn't "discover" gravity, it wasn't like people were floating around aimlessly before he authored his treatise - but he's credited with making its study more accessible to academia).

  Her car was an amazing piece of vegetable engineering (there's a terminology I never figured I'd be using when I woke up that morning) and she, again, proved her moxey at the Ag Fair.  

  You know, if you think about it, she had to master gravity in both of the races (acrawl and, hum, acchini); but, in two completely different ways.  In the Toddler Trot, she had to overcome gravity - she had to beat the force that seeks to pull us to the ground as she made her way to the finish line.  In the Zucchini Car Races, she didn't so much master gravity as much as use it as an ally - and she used it both effectively and efficiently!  And it wasn't even close when she raced!  She blew the competition away...and I was beaming!

  It's funny the things in which a father takes pride.  But, news flash, fathers take pride in pretty much everything.  My little girl makes me proud every single day, and so does her little brother!

  The wagon rolls on (well behind the green and pink blur that is "ZuQueeni").  Thanks for riding shotgun.