Chloe went to the dentist to have her teeth cleaned. No big deal. We've done it several times before and she's always gotten good check-ups.
Chloe usually calls me "Daddy." Lately, however, for some reason she's been calling me "My Daddy."
I was doing some shopping at a local department store recently, when I heard the sound of a small child crying nearby.
A couple of months ago, I went to a local home improvement store and bought a big bag of topsoil.
Chloe and Cole have not yet learned that sound travels. Nor have they learned that whispering isn't whispering when you do it louder than a freight train.
I call it Chloe's "Story of Love."
At dinnertime one evening, Cole wasn't eating his sandwich. He did, however, make several references to dessert.
When I was a child, my father refereed basketball games. I remember two or three nights a week, he would come home wearing his black-and-white-striped shirt.
Chloe and Cole still sleep with a light on in their rooms at night.
I've shared before that I am, by nature, a saver.
Tonight in the Myers household we had our first occurrence of a broken heart. Honestly, I thought it would be much longer before this happened. I also expected that when it happened, it would be Chloe.
I blame the wise men. Honestly, if they were all that wise, shouldn't they have known they were setting a dangerous precedent? But there they were, bringing gifts to Jesus.
A few days ago, Amy brought home two copies of the same children's magazine for Chloe and Cole.
Thanksgiving is a self-defining holiday. It's a time for giving thanks; more specifically, it's a time for giving thanks to God for his provision in our lives.
One day while we were at one of Cole's soccer games, a bee stung Chloe on her cheek.
When I went off to seminary in Texas, I left many of my personal belongings at my parents' house.
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