Since moving to our new house, I have spent weekends outside trying to reclaim our historic domicile from weeds, limbs, overgrown bushes and the like. Not only has my family benefited from my willingness to confront the various forms of poisonous ivy and death-infused spiders, but some eastern bluebirds benefited too.

One afternoon, my son Bergen (who is crazy about birds) and I put our heads together to create a much desired birdhouse.

Materials used:
2 pieces of awesome-looking reclaimed barn wood
Scrap piece of an old crusty leather glove

Tools:
Super annoying/cheap drill
Old rusty nails from barns that are falling down
Small tacks
Screwdriver
Random brass handle
Strapping forearm muscles
Beard (optional)

Time:
Depending upon tools, 2 hours or so

Shortly after making the bird house, Berg crafted a small sign that reads “Home Tweet Home”.
It hangs underneath the entrance.

Have recently set out a bird feeder or a bird house?
Who are your visitors?

Yesterday I took my son, Bergen, to the driving range.  My goal was just to get him in front of a bunch of golf balls so he could just swing away.  Not only did he swing away, he also smacked one about 75 yards.  I was quite the proud daddy.
I had him pose for a photo to remember the day.
The exchange went like this:

Me: Son, stand straight up with both hands on the club.
[Berg struggles with both requests as he fidgets about]
Me: Berg — all you have to do is put both hands on the club and stand there for a second for the picture.
[Still struggling with the simple task]
Me: Okay Berg, come on son — just real fast.
[He barely manages to get both hands on the club and still squirms about as I take the photo]
Berg: Daddy!
Me: Yeah Berg?
Berg: I have to pee very badly.
Me: Let’s go whizz son.
[We go whizz]

Today something very special happened in the life of my son and I.
We crossed streams for the first time as father and son.
If you don’t know what that means, then you:

1) are a girl
2) have not had male siblings
3) have not had male friends
4) owe me $40

So which are you?  I can forgive 1-3, but if you are 4, please get my money to me immediately.

Not long ago, I crafted some Wolverine claws for my son Bergen.  I fashioned them out of some old mittens, some foam core, glue, paint, and a whole lotta love.  Once I added the love, everything caught on fire so I had to start again.  This time, I used needle and thread to attach the claws to the mittens with much success.
Bergen played with those claws for days, yet there were some that feared my gift was too violent.
After I punched all the naysayers in the throat, they took back their remarks and applauded my efforts.

Here are the Wolverine claws…

As I was attempting to leave the house this morning, I walked over to kiss the heads of my little children.  To achieve this goal, I had to obscure their view of the television for at least 2.3 seconds.  As I leaned over to kiss the head of my son, Bergen, he let out a little sound of dismay because he was unable to see the cartoon he was watching.  I felt it to be my duty to block his view for a moment longer as I asked him the expected Dad question.

Me: Son, what is more important?  The television or me?
Bergen: (Trying to use his x-ray vision to see the show through my body.) God.
Me: Good answer son. (Kissing his head.)

This is a look into the mind of my 5 year old son, Bergen, on the soccer field.
His goal is to run from one end of the field to the ball at the opposite end of the field.

Must get the ball.  Coach lady told me to run to the ball.
(Laughing/running while running.)
Bergen:  Aaaaghgh ha ha ha ha!  Here I come!
(Makes some sort of whooshing noise — probably like a jet — with his mouth.)
Hey.  Look at my arms.  Why are they moving like that?
(Begins to make wild concentric circles with his arms.)
My arms are moving so fast.  I am so fast.  Like a jet.
(Bergen makes more whooshing sounds as he begins to run in circles while swinging his arms.)

Coach:  Bergen!  You have to run to the ball buddy!
Bergen: (Stops dead in his tracks and looks around the field for the source of his directions.) What?!
Coach:  You have to run to the ball!  You are out of bounds!  Turn around and run to the ball — ants in your pants buddy!  Run fast!
Bergen:  I can do that!

(Bergen jumps in place 4 times before turning around and running straight for his coach.)

Coach:  Bergen!  Run to the ball!  The ball!  It is where every other kid on the field is huddled together!  Run to them!
Bergen:  (Again, stopping dead in his tracks.) Huh?!  (Looks down and sees a bug.  He then kneels to get a closer look.)
Coach:  Bergen!  C’mon, Buddy!  Run to the ball!  Run, run, run!
Bergen:  (To me.) Dad, why do these bugs have red dots on their wings?
Me:  Son!  I don’t know!  Run to the ball!
I wonder why Dad doesn’t know everything about bugs?
(Bergen falls to the ground and begins to roll.  He looks up smiling and gives me a thumbs up.)

Me:  Good job son!  Lookin’ good out there!

The other team scores and they win the game 8-2.

The other day I was out for some Mexican, and I came across something amazing — a small boy, about 2 or 3, that had to be a genius.  I mean, there is no way that this little guy could be anything but.

There he was, sitting in a high chair in a restaurant, surrounded by a group of people that I could only assume was his family.  They were all talking to one another — about this and about that (I could not understand them), and every now and again, they would say something to the little boy.  The boy would respond and everyone would coo and smile.  Here is the part that proves he was a genius — they were all speaking Spanish!  Every single person at the table was speaking in Spanish, including — get this, the small boy!  How amazing!  And hats off to that family for being so committed to broadening the young lad’s horizon.

I don’t have a photo of the family, but the father looked a little like the man shown below.

Magnus, our new dog, is learning the ropes of being a member of our family.  One of the things that he is working on right now is trying not to poo on our driveway.  In the dead heat of summer, no one wants that fresh-baked smell greeting them when they arrive at our home.   Therefore, Bergen and I go on Poo Patrol where we scour our yard and drive for Magnus treasures.

Today as we were searching, I came upon an unusually “healthy” Magnus marking.  The following is the verbal exchange between Bergen and I.

Me: Whew! Man Berg, this one has been bakin’ in the sun!
Bergen: Daddy, why does poo become bacon in the sun?  Why does it?

He also recently changed the celebrated Sunday School classic, “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” to “He’s Got the Whole World in His Pants.”  Berg is a comedic genius.

Some of you may remember my encounter with Sally Beauty Supply. As it turns out, that encounter has turned into something larger than I could have expected.  They gave me a complimentary Sally Beauty membership and they have also asked me to be a product tester for their line of men’s hair care products.  I agreed and they followed through by sending me a box full of goods – almost $50 worth of their stuff.  In the coming weeks you may see how those items were field tested in the Keigley house.  I might even use it on Berg’s man hair.

Today Bergen declared, “When the letter ‘X’ grows up, it becomes a cross.”

Think about it.