I love putting puzzles together. As a child, I'd usually receive a puzzle every Christmas. Even as an adult, my mom still makes sure I get one each year.
Cole came to me with his hand out. Usually this means he wants money, but this time he wanted me to take something from him, rather than give something to him.
Chloe turned on a television show. Although it was on a children's network, we knew it didn't necessarily mean anything.
I have a large glass coin jar. It's an old pickle jar I got from a grocery store when I was in college. It's a foot-and-a-half tall, with a base that's about seven inches in diameter.
For the past few days, Chloe's been rude. She's been moody. She's been downright angry.
They play it with towels, shirts, pants and blankets. They play it with just about anything they can get their hands on. I think that's why the dog has started hiding under the bed.
Once, while we were on a trip to see Amy's folks in Texas, we stopped at a store to stretch our legs and take a bathroom break. When we walked inside, we saw a large display of polished rocks.
I love to hear Cole tell a story.
When Amy came home, she got the mail out of the mailbox and laid it on the couch when she walked in the door.
The other day I made a wonderful discovery: Chloe and Cole were diligently working on improving their handwriting skills.
When I went off to seminary in Texas, I left many of my personal belongings at my parents' house.
It would have been funny if the little boy hadn't looked so pitiful.
Chloe came to me very upset. With all the righteous indignation she could muster she said, "Daddy, Mommy won't give me what I want!"
As a guy, I think remote controls are wonderful things. I love the look and feel of them. They seem to fit so perfectly, so comfortably in my hand.
We were sitting in the sanctuary, waiting for the evening service to begin. My Bible was in my lap, and Chloe asked me if she could see it.
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