I’m not considered a handy-man by anyone. My garage tool acumen is only slightly worse than my putting a ponytail in Lucy’s hair acumen. In fact, I had destroyed my stapler only moments before beginning my research on how to make Caleb’s derby car–this was three days before the race–because it was empty of staples and I didn’t find the cartridge eject button before my temper erupted.

Nevertheless, Caleb and I prevailed. And we didn’t spend hundreds of hours on the car, either.

This is the simplest set of directions I can give for any Dad who needs to fabricate their first Pinewood Derby car, and make it competitive.

1) Design your car-From my research, I’ve gathered that the aerodynamics of the car contribute little to its performance. Since Caleb’s only request was a ‘Car’ inspired design, we traced Chick Hicks on the block of wood. A band saw finished our cuts in a matter of minutes; if you only have a hand saw, don’t fret; simple cuts don’t take long. ***See step four to make sure your design allows for the addition of weight to the back of the car, however.

2) Sand your design- Lower to higher grit until you get the smooth feel you desire. Caleb loved sanding his car’s body; he really worked hard at it. This is more of an aesthetic step.

3) Make cuts for axel placement (don’t use the precut ones)–Use a saw to get wheels as far apart lengthwise as the rule restrictions allow. DO THIS CAREFULLY. Next to adding maximum weight to the car in the right proportions, this is the next most important step.  Be certain your cuts are at ninety degrees to the car’s body so the axels will run perpendicular to the body. If you don’t, the wobble will slow the car.

4) Add weight--If you are as lazy and cheap as I am, don’t go to the Boy Scout store and buy weights. Just make a design that allows you do drill out the trunk area. Then, put the car on a scale with the wheels and axels (I went to the grocery store and put it on their deli scale.) Then dump the weights in until you are 0.3 ounces from the max weight (max weight is five ounces), or if they don’t have ounces on the scale, max weight is 0.31 lbs (so fill to 0.29 lbs). The reason for not going to max weight at this point is due to the addition of Play-Doh over the weights at the end. Ideal weight distribution is eighty percent posterior and twenty percent anterior of the car.

5) Paint the Car–You can skip this step entirely if you want. I spent more time than I wanted painting our car because Caleb only cared that it looked like Chick Hicks. Still, he and I only painted a couple hours total (we added stickers also).

6) Buy powdered graphite–This lubrication is essential for your car to be competitive. It will reduce the resistance of the wheel on the axel substantially, allowing it to go much faster. Apply it to the axel and spin wheel on it to lubricate well.

7) Place axels and wheels onto car–Again, tap those axels in perpendicular, giving them a three to five degree tilt so they run on the inside of the wheel slightly. If you can, take one anterior wheel out of contact with the ground completely; it will go faster with reduced resistance.

8) Test run-run car on the floor to make certain it is running straight. Any deviation will slow the car down because it will bump into the guide the car runs on. Adjust axels accordingly until it is perfect. This was our biggest mistake. I believe, had I spent the most time working on this step, our car would have qualified for the district race.

9) Go to race site--Put car onto scale and add weight until you are at exactly five ounces, sealing the weight into the back with Play-Doh. This way you can add weight without worrying about being over the limit when you get to the race.

Optionals: 1)Some people bake their wood block in the oven before car fabrication. This removes water and allows you to add more weight later. 2) Sand axels slightly to remove any imperfections (do this carefully or you may warp or weaken your axel) 3)Sometimes the track is set up the night before; if you want to trial run, go for it. As for us, we had just started the paint at this point.

Total hours we spent on the car (excluding painting and driving to get graphite and weigh car): 2 hours. In fact, typing this blog post and loading the pictures rivals the time we spent manufacturing our Chick Hicks.

Our results? We were only like three cars from qualifying for the district race. I think with more time spent on wheel alignment, we could have easily broke the top 10% of the cars.

Even if you have no desire to participate in this race, do it anyway. Caleb and I bonded so well over the project that I feel sick about  the fact I considered withdrawing from the competition.

Just have fun with the project, even if you have expectations as low as I did.  The Pinewood Derby isn’t about winning; it’s about having fun.

At least, that’s what the losers tell me. Follow these directions, and you’ll have more than fun; you’ll have bragging rights.

If any of you handy men have anything to add, I’d love to hear it. Next year we plan on winning, and your help may make the difference.

“Ka-Chick-a!!!          Ka-Chick-a!!!”

First, we read the lesson and discuss with questions drafted from the book (and from my own genious insights).

Next, there is a map exercise. This picture is Caleb’s map outlining the fertile crescent, the rivers surrounding it and the location of the city of Jericho.

For now, when I say, “Caleb and Lucy, homeschool is a privilege, they think homeschool is like a trip to the zoo or something and behave really well. The time with my children is a blessing: they respect me better than during unstructured playtime, they listen better, and they retain more information.

So far it’s been an incredible success for me as well; each day I come away knowing something that I either once stored so deeply into the folds of my aging brain that it became inaccessible, or I had simply forgotten completely.

And the other day Lucy and I were driving somewhere and she says, “Dad, remember the nomads? Those were some really funny guys!” Not a bad lesson summary for a three-year-old, I guess.

The article is entitled, The New Standard of Care in Diagnosing Autism Spectrum Disorders.  Please, check it out. Share it with any of your friends you think may benefit. Share it on Facebook if you want. The more parents who know these epileptic disorders often hide themselves behind the veil of an autism diagnosis, the better.

From www.autismdigest.com

In the last two years, Alicia and I have heard from several people who have children with a disorder similar to Caleb’s. And because they are getting proper treatment, their health is improving dramatically.

Caleb’s story is helping other children! What a blessing!

About fifteen minutes later, I hear the bathwater running. Then a splash. Then a bigger splash. I sit up (an unpleasant action when dealing with memory foam) and I’m like, “What’s going on?”

A giant red birthing ball is bobbing in a filling bathtub. And Alicia is hanging onto the tub’s side like Stallone in Cliffhanger.

At this point I make rookie mistake #1: I ask a question during a contraction. “So, what you doing in there?” Then, “Huh? I can’t hear you over the running water.”

She tells me what she’s doing, and I’m thinking Braxton-Hicks, or the baby’s in a funny position or something. After all, her due date isn’t for two more days, right?

I fall back asleep. Sort of.

“Nick, I might be going into labor.”

“Sounds good. When you feel like you need me, let me know so I can help out.” And a minute later,

“…ZZZzzzZZZzzz…”

In retrospect, I feel a lot like the apostles in the garden of Gethsemane. What were they asked to do? Stay awake. Pray. That’s all.

But did they do it? No, they fell asleep. And now, until the sun burns out, people everywhere are going to read the story about how Peter and John opted to have a catnap rather than help during one of the most important moments in human history. They can’t blame their narcolepsy on tryptophan–I’m pretty sure unleavened bread at the Last Supper didn’t have any. Maybe it was the wine. That’s possible, I suppose.

My point is really this: Dad (or soon to be Dad), don’t be an idiot, like me.  Act like every contraction is an earthquake, and you alone are responsible for keeping your wife from falling objects. Even if you’re pretty certain it’s only indigestion.

Because it might not be indigestion. You’re wife might be at five centimeters. And then you’ll be wrong, like I was, forced to humble yourself in a blog post like this.

*****So many people wished us well after the birth of Ruthann. I want to say thank you. We feel very blessed that so many friends keep our family in their prayers!*****

Here’s a couple pictures of our daughter, Ruthann Evelyn.

We rejoice in Ruthann’s birth, not primarily because Ruthann is healthy, or that she was born to a mother and father who love her, or that she is already bringing happiness to so many in this world;

we rejoice because Christ knitted her together in Alicia’s womb, forming her inward parts, and Christ ordained every day of her life before a single one of them ever came to be;

We praise God for a daughter that is fearfully and wonderfully made!

“Are you nesting?” I asked.

“I’m not nesting!” she said, slumping to the ground. “I can’t MOVE to nest.”

It’s true. She can’t move. And I feel horrible about it. So, I told her I’d like to be proactive.

Then she started talking about the need to rub her feet, press on pressure points in the ankles and give back rubs to quicken the effacement process.

“Hogwash,” I said. “Old wives’ tales. Let’s try the old husband’s tales for a change.”

You see, I did a lot of scientific research…sort of unscientific…more like brainstorming…okay, it was actually just a way to appear empathetic and try out a theory I once heard from a dad who heard it from his grandpa who heard it from his grandpa’s great-grandfather.

Old Husband’s Tale: If the biological father of an unborn child nurtures the growth of his mustache such that it is visible through the embryonic fluid, placenta, and abdominal epidermis, the unborn child will become excited and cause an effacement frenzy, resulting in rapid dialation and delivery.

I started a mustache. Again, fatherly, selfless effort.

It’s been almost two weeks, and I”m beginning to wonder if I should have started closer to the second trimester.

Or maybe conception.

I took a close-up pic, realizing some men like myself might benefit from a product like mustachescara. It’s like mascara but for a ‘stache.

I don’t get it. This is a picture of my dad. This is like three hours after he shaved.

So far, our baby girl is unresponsive.

This is me giving a last-ditch effort. Caleb gave it a shot as well, just for good measure.

I fear the worst: I may be rubbing feet tonight…

whenever I babysit my children,

they misbehave???

First, when we contacted our nanny to provide care for our children for New Year’s Eve day, she responded in the affirmative. After she arrived (from the backyard, she’s a Saint Bernard, of course) we traversed the northern Twin Cities in horse and carriage.

Simply delightful! Though the bumpy ride gave my innards quite the jostle, we managed to enjoy the journey. We held hands, my naked palm resting atop her lacen glove. It was a regal yet romantic ride, the whole way.

It wasn’t until the grand duke announced our arrival that I learned I had underdressed.  How dreadful to have misplaced my tweed jacket, monocle and top hat only yesterday. Still, I saved face because my table etiquette is nearly flawless.

We ordered the Keemun Panda black tea. I was much surprised to find such fruity depth and complexity within the blend. My palate was instantly rewarded with an explosion of exotic spice, all wrapped within the warmth of a dainty porcelain cup. The steaming reddish tea even took cream rather well; a necessity for an experienced tea connoisseur such as myself.

Despite my attempts to focus upon my sense of taste, my eyes continually discovered ways to distract my tongue buds. Indeed, the only thing steeped longer than our Keemun Panda tea was my adoring gaze into the beauty of Lish’s hazel eyes. But, like a true lady, she did not flinch at the conspicuousness of my fascination. Instead she batted her feathery lashes, motioned her wrist in ways a beauty pageant contestant would envy, and smacked her lips after bites of scone in a way that sent chills down my well-groomed spine.

One last thing I must share. Indulge in this, friends! You may judge my wife, Alicia, to be a proper and refined woman, engaging in etiquette fit for the queen’s dining quarters.  Not so! At one point, after removing a morsel of scone with her translucent, ivory incisors, she accidentally dropped her scone upon the floor. “Oh, my beloved scone!” she said.

And then, as though it were the most natural of responses to take, she bent over, retrieved the scone from the floor, applied jelly, and continued to nourish herself with it like it was fresh out of the oven.

A woman unashamed of getting a little dirt on her scone, that’s the woman for me.

Finally, I must share a picture of my Lady Elegant’s Tea Room guestbook entry:

Now, if you would excuse me, I’m going to my garage, to power lift, to prove that despite finding enjoyment in afternoon tea with my wife, I do possess almost supernatural levels of testosterone that allow me to dead lift hernia-inducing amounts of iron.