Sounds like...

I only recently played Pictionary for the first time. It's turned out to be a good game for our whole family because everyone, even the 5-year-old, can draw something.
I never knew, however, that the funniest part about playing Pictionary is not making fun of everyone's marginal artistic ability. It happens when you look at your team member after they didn't figure out what your drawing represented and say, "How could you get that close and not get it?" In other words, why would my husband say, "It's a, uh, a speaker...in...your earhole!" Why would he not just say "hearing aid"?
Other gems from our last round include "spinning rocks," Mason's guess for Rolling Stones, and "ramp a kid goes down next to the swings on the playground." Just say "slide" already!
Tim definitely had the most obtuse guesses, which should be no surprise because it's pretty much how he communicates on a daily basis. He explains things in a vague, deconstructed way, such as,"You know, the guy with the thing in that place that time?" and expects me to translate. So I guess I should not be surprised that instead of "vampire," he said, and I quote, "A flying bat man...through the air... with fangs."

So that's why it's called VACATION Bible school

In the book of Matthew, Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them.”
However, I do not recall Jesus ever saying, “Let the little children attend every vacation bible school in the county so Mom can get some cheap, scripture-based babysitting.”
I was unaware that people were sending their kids to multiple vacation bible schools until one year a schedule conflict kept my kids from attending VBS at our church. I wondered if they could attend at a friend’s church.
Believe me, missing VBS is a loss for our family because our church puts on one heckuva bible school. I don’t mean hymns, Hydrox and pineapple juice. With crafts, outdoor games and multimedia presentations, our church serves nearly 500 happy kids that week.
Like most kid stuff, VBS has mutated into something that can seem huge and chaotic. Our volunteers pack a lot into those three hours a day, and they manage to keep the message at heart.
I just never noticed how many churches advertise their vacation bible schools as community outreach. I always assumed those ads were for people who don’t go to church, or “the unchurched,” as I’ve heard them called in committee meetings.
But then I heard a woman at the pool veritably bragging about signing up her daughters for three consecutive vacation bible schools.
“It’s cheaper than any camp, and I get a few hours off,” she giggled to her friend. I moved away in anticipation of the lightning strike. Fortunately, the Lord is more forgiving than I.
If your first-grader truly needs a Bible immersion program, then I guess hitting every VBS you can get into would do it. Most of the local churches use variations of themed curricula from Cokesbury or LifeWay, though, so your child might tire of it by the second week.
We all know parents who would drop off their kids almost anywhere there’s an adult with a name tag on and a craft to be made. That’s the beauty of church programs, though. Regardless of Mom’s intent, the kids will have some fun, sing a few songs, eat a snack and learn about God. The churches don’t care how you get there or why; they just want you to show up and get the message.

Dads rule

As we approach our national day for fathers, it is my journalistic duty to blow the lid off a secret society men have kept to themselves for too long. It’s called Dad School.
My own dad finally told me about Dad School one day as he helped me pack the car for college by consolidating the contents of two large suitcases into one duffel bag.
“I learned that in Dad School,” he said before highlighting a few points of the Dad School curriculum.
Most dads, it turns out, are not the hapless extra children in the family as portrayed on TV and at Bunco. In fact, much like stuntmen, dads have to be really good in order to pretend to be really bad at certain things. These valuable skills can only be perfected after a rigorous program of study at Dad School. A sampling of classes:
Dad Cooking Quirks
Once a man becomes a dad, he is only allowed to cook a few things, but they must be prepared in the most complicated way possible, with much Shogun-style flipping of utensils and jars of “secret” ingredients, which are usually cinnamon and garlic salt. Dads hate herbs.
After preparation, the meal is given a special name to make it seem better than Mom’s version, such as Alacapooper Macaroni.
Dad at the Drive-Thru
When Dad’s meal burns, the family must go out. The drive-thru, however, seems like a persistent problem for dads, who cannot master this marvel of modern technology. In Dad School, fathers learn new ways to embarrass their families by taking classes like How To Pretend You Can’t Understand the Order-taker, Concepts of Confusing your Kids’ Food Choices and Advanced Fast-Food Lingo.
My husband, a father of three, cannot exit a drive-thru without muttering about how you can talk to a person in Japan on a wireless computer but, at Back Yard Burger, somehow the only word you understand is “waffle.”
My own dad, an honor student in the lingo class, once ordered a Wendy’s single with mayo, lettuce and mayonnaise.
Mall Etiquette for Dad
This class is required for all dads with daughters. Contrary to the myth, dads do not hate to go to the mall. It’s almost like continuing education for them, a chance to show off their expert dad mall-walking stance (innocuous facial expression, hands clasped behind the back) and to pick up tips from all the other dads waiting outside Kirkland’s.
In fact, if you see a dad inside Kirkland’s, you’ll know he’s a Dad School dropout since, for Dad School alums, scented candles really are like kryptonite.

Dreadlocks optional

I wish I could buy this house just because of the address. Then I would joyfully sing the lyrics to Eddy Grant's 1983 smash hit every time I drive down that street into my driveway.

"OH, we're gonna rock down to..."

You know you know the words.