This morning I took Abby to her weekly ‘gymnastics’ class at Gymboree.
Maybe it’s not technically supposed to be gymnastics, but it usually turns out to be a paying play group.
It’s fun none the less.
However, this morning Abby was rather sedate because the class was so large.
Normally she goes on Thursday mornings with Jessica but, as you may recall, Jessica was not feeling well on Thursday.

Abby would play for a while, and then she would walk over to the large mat where the group gathers, sit down and just sway back and forth to the music playing overhead.
I didn’t consider that to be too valuable for the time so I kept getting her up and encouraging her to do other things.
I plan on making her do lots of other things when she becomes a teenager to vicariously become a popular cheerleader.
This of course will cause her to separate herself from me, and in the end we’ll have to switch places due to a fortune cookie switch up so that she’ll understand I love her, and that I’ll know what it’s like to be a teenage girl.
Actually, I have no desire to be a teenage girl.
I think teenage girls don’t want to be teenage girls.
Women don’t want to be teenage girls (many don’t want to be college girls).
In fact, I think that women in many ways wish they were men, mostly because men are so focused and narrow minded.

We as men have put forth a tremendous amount of effort in the last 30 years to make computers that multi-task so we don’t have to.
We have earned ourselves countless hours of extra time simply by making machines that can grill the fat out of our meat, ride on our gas powered lawn mowers, and with a knife slice through an aluminum can effortlessly.
Why would I want to slice through an aluminum can?
Because someone made a knife that can do it.
They make knives for all sorts of culinary things, knives that turn your kitchen into a culinary playground.

I should just buy a set of those knives and let Abby play with them in the kitchen and save the money spent on her indoor playground at Gymboree.

Resting in Him,

Randy “Coach Dad” Peterman