Please bless the food

The other night, Noah offered our dinnertime prayer. In the middle of his expressions of gratitude for a myriad of animals, their stuffed counterparts, and imaginary beasts, he managed to bless the food as follows:

"Please bless the food... that it will not be poisonous..."

So let this be a friendly reminder to us all. I think that we're much too eager these days to "bless the food that it will nourish and strengthen," while failing to acknowledge the real possibility that our enemies might have broken into the kitchen in the dead of night and poisoned our pot roast right under our noses. I, for one, am grateful that at least Noah hasn't ruled out middle-age feuding tactics when it comes to family prayers.

B-b-b-benny and the Trax

Who hasn't heard the story of the household canine who gets out of the yard and, like Forrest Gump on all fours, starts running for the closest state line? Been there, read that, right?

Well, in honor of the Climate Summit in Copenhagen, the Smurthwaite household increased it's carbon paw print this past month when Benny, our six year old pup, (a mixture of breeds that defies multiple natural laws and probably even Geneva conventions) used Trax, SLC's lightrail, to get away.*

Now I know what you're thinking. You're probably picturing five little Smurthwaites lined up nicely on a train platform, decked out in matching Burberry winter garb. Snowflakes float down from above like sprinkles of powder sugar while a leashed Benny simultaneously sits and stays close by.

"Choo-choo..." A train approaches and hisses to a stop.

Train doors open. Benny, without provocation, breaks free and hops all aboard. Doors close "thump." Burberry-clad Smurthwaites then run along next to the train, pounding on the side of train like slightly modernized gorillas, pleading with the conductor to open, but to no avail. The train slowly pulls out of the station... "Ding-ding," with Benny's head sticking out a nearby open window, tongue out and ears flapping in the frigid morning air.

That would be a fun mental image, but that's not what happened. Think less "It's a Wonderful Life" and more "The Great Escape." In hindsight, I'm positive that Benny had actually memorized the morning Trax schedule weeks prior. Biding his time like Steve McQueen, he feigns interest in a half-eaten tennis ball until the window of opportunity arrives. Window of opportunity arrives. Benny begins to yodel-lay-hee-howl in his "I really have to go" voice. Marisa (pictured in an SS uniform solely for the purpose of furthering the mental image) reluctantly allows the furry POW out in the backyard, where he breaks for the escape hole he's been digging through the frozen tundra of our backyard.

Hitting no man's land, Benny flies like a furry dart across the neighbors yard, over our busy street, and up to the Trax station. Now an escaped con, he decides not to purchase a ticket via the teller just to stay in character. However, he does simultaneously sit and stay.

"Choo-choo..." A train approaches and hisses to a stop.

Train doors open. Benny trots aboard. Doors close and classic escape music begins playing. At this point, the furry version of Mr. McQueen has got it all. He's heading for who knows where and no one can stop him. He's only forgotten one thing: to ditch his dog tags in the nearest deep puddle. Which is precisely why, 15 minutes later, Marisa (no longer dressed in SS uniform) gets a phone call she never expected. You know, that one where somebody tells you your dog has just taken the train.

Editor's note: It is controversial as to whether Benny actually increased the Smurthwaite household's carbon footprint since public transportation was the escape method used. However, duly noted is the writer's opinion that a canine, having never before used any form of transportation, augments the overall ecological footprint of it's master the moment it decides to take a train, plane, or automobile to further it's own agenda. Had Benny learned to ride a bicycle to escape, greenhouse gas emissions would not have been mentioned in the article.

What We Didn't Do in 2009

The Smurthwaite Christmas cards are going out over the next few days and, while I've never been one to send out the annual summation of familial highlights, this year I did mention on the back of the card that people could find out more about us by going to this very blog. So here are some things to know did not happen to the Smurthwaites this year:

1. Sammy and Noah did not empty an entire 25 lb. bag of flour on the kitchen floor on New Year's (see top left picture above)
2. Noah did not exhibit any symptoms of OMS
   
3. Dave and Marisa did not end up last in their categories in their first ever Olympic triathlon (second to last is so far away from being last)
4. Dave and Marisa did not have any more children
5. Noah, Sammy, and Oliver did not spend any time in the Emergency Room (although Marisa did)
6. Dave and Marisa did not visit 190 of the world's countries
7. Dave and Marisa did not miss the boys terribly while traveling
8. Noah, Sammy, and Oliver did not miss their traveling parents
9. Dave did not almost drink a pint of Guinness, no matter what you might hear from others
10. Marisa did not manage to stop becoming more beautiful with each passing day
11. Noah did not even come close to passing his annual eye exam
12. We did not move to Hawaii, no matter what Noah says
13. Due to an unexpected email notification, Marisa did not manage to surprise Dave with a birthday trip to Washington DC 
14. You, most likely, did not even make it to the end of this list and that's okay

We do, however, wish you all a very Merry Christmas and the best New Year imaginable.

Voila the inspiration behind this blog

In the past ten days, our boys Noah and Sam have caught a nasty bug. It's not tied to swine or foul, equine, or even Velociraptor. In fact its origins are somewhat of a mystery. Having consulted the finest  journals, I've determined the medical term for the condition must be yourenotcomingtomybirthdaypartyitis (Latin: yourenotcomingtomybirthdaypartitia). Yourenotcomingtomybirthdaypartyitis can occur in children of all ages, although it seems that three and five-year-olds are most susceptible. Symptoms include, but are not limited to:

• Red face
• Grimacing
• Growling
• Huffing and/or Puffing
  
• Gnashing of teeth
• And (most notably) sudden outbursts of the phrase "You're not coming to my birthday party!" Most disturbingly, flare-ups typically occur months away from the child's next birthday party, leaving parents flummoxed while attempting to maintain a current invite list.

I figure Noah and Sam must be in the throes of this unforgiving maladie because at least eleven times a day an unmistakable "You're not coming to my birthday party!" comes from one of their petit yet potent lips. Tell them to clean their room and "You're not coming to my birthday party!" Ask them to eat their corn and "You're not coming to my birthday party!" Today was especially worrisome as at dinner I was informed that our cat Sasha almost bit our dog Benny and thus, you guessed it, was not coming to either of their birthday parties.

The best way to combat yourenotcomingtomybirthdaypartyitis is to confuse the infected child by responding randomly to their uninvited demands. For example, this morning I asked Noah to cross the street with me while walking Sam to school. A normal request, I thought, given that he would otherwise be smooshed by an oncoming wall of traffic. With "You're not coming to my birthday party!" busting forth, I informed him that I was in charge of his birthday party this year and would no longer be ordering dancing llamas. A lie? Perhaps, but by his perplexed stare I could tell that Noah was indeed reconsidering his disinvitation. And that, my friends, is what you call a medical breakthrough.