Aw, shit.

Shit is an interesting word.  How many definitions can you think of right now?  Or maybe . . . what is it used to define?  I'll spare you the list I made prior to posting this, but I suppose you can come up with quite a list yourself.

So . . . I've been thinking about a lot of shit lately.  I feel like I've stepped in a plethora o' crap.  And I feel like the world is filled with too many pieces of it.  The strange thing is when I think of all the pieces of it in the world, I gain perspective on the fact that what I feel like I'm stepping in just isn't that horrible.

And shit is funny, too.  Yesterday, our family had a great day playing outside, doing yard work, shooting baskets, riding bikes, and playing golfquet (some of you may need to ask about this Matt Pries-original that dates to 1990).  Our family usually reserves Sunday nights for a light dinner (popcorn and apples is a favorite) and either games or a movie.  Last night, we watched the first half of Field of Dreams.  For our Pennsylvania friends, yes, that is the movie where Iowa is compared to heaven.  Just sayin'.  Anyway . . . during the movie, a character says something and spells the word "shit": "S-H-I-T".
After she spelled it, Owen asked, "What does that spell?"
Before I could answer, his mouth was agape and his eyes big: "That is not a good word."
"Why not?" I asked, wondering if he had identified it.
"It's the S-H-word," he said.
"Well, how do you know it?" I asked.
"I sounded it out," he said.
"So what is the word?"
He looked at Heidi and me, a look of wonder coloring his face, clearly thinking to himself that he should not say this word.  Wanting to see how this would go, and not wanting to make too big a deal, I said, "You won't get in trouble."
And then he said it.  "Shit."
AHHHH!  Heidi and I had to hide the laughter.  I pulled myself together enough to say, "So you know that isn't a word we should use."
He said, "Yeah.  That is a bad word."
"Well, Owen," I said, "Where did you hear it?  Mom and I don't talk that way in front of you."
He leaned back, raised his eyebrows, and said, "I don't know about that, Dad."
HA!  I guess we need to work on it.  And we told the kids that, too.  Not that telling kids is signing a contract in blood, but we thought we did a good job of not dropping any swear words around the kids.  Gotta do better.  At any rate, this was quite a moment.  Field of Dreams kicks ass.  Oops.

And in terms of shit . . .

I heard a great anecdote last fall.  Basically, we often think that the grass looks greener on the other side of the street.  But maybe there's more shit in that yard.

That is a helpful reminder for Heidi and me as we navigate surprise expenses for refrigerators, carpet, treadmills, washers and dryers, and water regulators . . . .  It's a bunch of shit.  But you know, when I think about how good our life is . . . our shit smells like roses.

As an addendum . . . while finishing up the movie tonight (guys' night while Heidi is at dinner with friends) . . . we were near the end when Alex asked, "Is he talking to his father in heaven?"  I cry every time I see Field of Dreams.  And this time, with both boys on my lap, I was pretty weepy.

Yep . . . shit happens.  And so do dreams.