<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910</id><updated>2012-01-28T10:52:03.210-08:00</updated><category term='James in High School'/><category term='Cindy&apos;s Posts'/><category term='Voting James'/><category term='James Sayings'/><category term='Family Occassions'/><category term='James Experiences'/><category term='James&apos; Summer of 2009'/><category term='Christmas Dollar Store Trip'/><category term='computer'/><category term='End of Summer'/><category term='Corrections'/><category term='James&apos; Episode'/><category term='Mystery Refrigerator'/><category term='James&apos; Videos'/><title type='text'>MyBopsBlog</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>53</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-6787731341618053044</id><published>2012-01-28T10:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-28T10:52:03.224-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cindy&apos;s Posts'/><title type='text'>Early Days With James - By Cindy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-isXVPbBjCpA/TyRDdkaESjI/AAAAAAAAAcc/34UdRT4JjYo/s1600/photo-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-isXVPbBjCpA/TyRDdkaESjI/AAAAAAAAAcc/34UdRT4JjYo/s320/photo-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702757203426167346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ej9pEOmfYYs/TyRDdYGwL1I/AAAAAAAAAcQ/YVlxiWD9qIY/s1600/photo-2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ej9pEOmfYYs/TyRDdYGwL1I/AAAAAAAAAcQ/YVlxiWD9qIY/s320/photo-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702757200123932498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Thinking back to those early days...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I got to meet the most precious new Mom and her baby with Down Syndrome this week, and it brought me back to those early days when our James was born... I loved holding this little guy and talking with his Mom as  she shared her journey with me.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;When James was born 15 years ago, we were just like everyone else...shocked, unprepared, and totally overwhelmed by our son’s diagnosis.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We started on this journey with a feeling of grief... grieving over our hopes and dreams for James...yet at the same time, we were absolutely falling in love with our sweet baby James.  I remember those first few days... not knowing what to expect.  We had never met a person with D.S.. I remember praying “God please help him to eventually be able to tell me what he needs and what makes him happy.”  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We named him James before he was born with lots of hopes and dreams of the contribution he would make to this world.  In our days following his birth, we finally turned to the book of James in the Bible... and found that passage that says “Consider it  pure joy when you face trials of many kinds...” At that moment, I felt that God was saying “As I give you James, count it all joy now- You have no idea what joy this baby will bring you... trust me... you have followed me for many years... you can trust me on this... by faith...trust that this gift of James will bring much joy... it is part of my plan for you.”  I remember feeling such a supernatural peace, grace and joy just flowed all over my soul... and I just settled in to loving and enjoying my baby.  After all, he was more than anything- my baby.  His D.S. was just part of who he was... he was precious...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;As we were settling into our new reality, we realized that he was having trouble sucking.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We were in the Philippines as missionaries.  We had good healthcare, however, we did not know anyone who could help us with James’ delay in his “suck/swallow/breath” issues.  We took him home and 6 weeks later, he still couldn’t suck and was starving to death.  We took him back to the States and immediately they started working with him at the hospital, teaching our little guy how to suck and swallow.  It was a scary time for us in that during this 7 week time, his body was shutting down and he almost died so many times.  We are so grateful to our doctor and to the staff at Cox Hospital in Springfield, Mo. who valued our tiny little baby, who did everything they could to save his life, and who understood what we were going through.  The speech therapist taught him how to suck, and taught me how to help him.  We were amazed at what they could do to help him.  After he made it through the initial health crisis, they sent us to the Development Center of the Ozarks where they taught us all about Early Intervention.  When James got back up to his birth weight, they let us go back to the Philippines. By this time, we were so in awe of how God had saved his life.  The thought that kept coming to me was- “I am so grateful that James made it... I would rather have James with the Down Syndrome and all that means- than to have lost him....” After all, my baby was James first... darling baby boy... very loved...valued...precious... little survivor....and he just happened to have Down Syndrome....We were on a new road... a new journey... we were in a new club...one that no one chooses to join.  However, we had no idea what joy our James would bring... By the way, my prayer that James could be able to let me know what he needs and what makes him happy is answered every day....We deal daily with the struggles, frustrations and challenges that come with D.S..  These realities do not take away the good times.  James is a pretty happy boy and delights  us regularly with his antics!  My hope is that with our story, other families will be encouraged and that they would be able to see the joy and precious life that God has entrusted with them. We may have challenges... but we have a lot to look forward to!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-6787731341618053044?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6787731341618053044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=6787731341618053044' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/6787731341618053044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/6787731341618053044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2012/01/early-days-with-james-by-cindy.html' title='Early Days With James - By Cindy'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-isXVPbBjCpA/TyRDdkaESjI/AAAAAAAAAcc/34UdRT4JjYo/s72-c/photo-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-5624844600422416315</id><published>2010-12-06T14:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-09T16:54:00.815-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James in High School'/><title type='text'>Today's School Project "James Christmas List"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TP1e7tplUyI/AAAAAAAAAb4/6UcmMPbjsaI/s1600/photo.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TP1e7tplUyI/AAAAAAAAAb4/6UcmMPbjsaI/s320/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547694695949620002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Today James brought home his school project. It was his Christmas list made from cut out magazine pictures. He came bouncing in my room with said project in hand ready to tell me all about it. I asked him what was on his Christmas list. He pointed out his name first, "J A M E S". "That's me, James." Then we began to review his photos. So you want a Buzz Light Year. Yep he did. He also wants a lap top and a new car - a mustang. There were other predictable things on his list like a guitar and drums. He has visions of becoming a rock star and we regularly hear him playing, dancing, singing and drumming in his room. He also wanted a pizza, and a hamburger. Both also quite predictable. He loves food. He hates to go shopping unless he is going with his Mom to "buy food". He loves the "popcorn chicken" at Walmart and we can hardly get out of there without at least an emotional appeal for some to take home. All of those things did not surprise me. Two items did surprise me. One was a picture of a dog. James has this kind of love hate relationship with dogs. He thinks they are so fascinating but he is scared of them. That was an interesting addition to a predictable list. But what most surprised me was a picture of a girl. I asked what that was. He said "a girl". My response was, "James you want a girl for Christmas?" To this he confidently replied, "Yep a girl." Times are changing for my 14 year old freshman. His teachers have recently reported that when he helps in the school store he is known to ask the girls "call me". Life is never boring with James. He has already added a new flair to Christmas for us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-5624844600422416315?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5624844600422416315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=5624844600422416315' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/5624844600422416315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/5624844600422416315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/todays-school-project-james-christmas.html' title='Today&apos;s School Project &quot;James Christmas List&quot;'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TP1e7tplUyI/AAAAAAAAAb4/6UcmMPbjsaI/s72-c/photo.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-8977407716179041835</id><published>2010-11-13T19:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-13T20:17:53.662-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>Its Mismass</title><content type='html'>It was a Saturday and James and I made our way to the local Walmart to pick up a few things. The moment we got in the door we were confronted with a Christmas tree and the newly placed Christmas decorations. James turned to me and said, "Dad, check it out, Missmass." And from there James began his Christmas list. We first ran into a display with Toy Story 3. He said, "Dad, mobie, Toy Story my Missmass present." And then behind that we saw the toys for the movie. He wanted Woody, Buzz Lightyear, Jessie. All of these he said "my Missmass present". I pulled him away from that and he discovered the trunks in the aisle and had to check them out as well. He told me that would he needed a trunk to put his new presents in. Before we made it to the electronics section he had a couple hundred dollars worth of requests. In the electronics area he picked out a few more movies a Wii and a 52 inch "flat screen for my room". With each new find came the the statement, "My Missmass present". And so thanks to our local store, MISSMASS has began for James.It is easy for us to kind of live life like James shops. We begin to think that life is all about getting everything we want. The truth is that Christmas was all about God giving us what we needed most, a Savior.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-8977407716179041835?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8977407716179041835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=8977407716179041835' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8977407716179041835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8977407716179041835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/its-mismass.html' title='Its Mismass'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-7483263716580430378</id><published>2010-10-28T20:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-28T20:30:38.418-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>Signed Baseball</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TMo_gMZ4uoI/AAAAAAAAAbo/8wHhyNxl9Tk/s1600/photo.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TMo_gMZ4uoI/AAAAAAAAAbo/8wHhyNxl9Tk/s320/photo.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533304914496240258" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was going to be a big day for us. Our youngest child James had been selected to throw out the first pitch to famed baseball player Albert Pujols of the St. Louis Cardinals. He had been selected because Albert was working with the local Down Syndrome Association, and James is a Down Syndrome kid.&lt;br /&gt; We all wondered how he would do, but that day he was in his “play to the crowd” mood. When asked to, he walked off with the Cardinals officials to meet Albert Pujols. We could see him talking up a storm and pointing to his family all standing against the fence. Albert waved to us a couple of times, and then he asked James to “fire away.” &lt;br /&gt; He ran all the way to the pitchers mound, waved to the cheering crowd and then, with great confidence, wound up and threw the ball. The pitch didn’t quite make it to home plate, but Mr. Pujols ran, scooped it up off the grass, and went to congratulate James. He then signed the ball and handed it to James.&lt;br /&gt; Being a good father, I immediately took the signed ball away from James for “safe keeping.” I bought the nice acrylic stand and proudly displayed it in my office at home. One Sunday evening when I came home from church, my other son, Robert, told me James had gone into my office and had taken the signed ball out of its case. Since Albert Pujols had signed the ball, James decided he should add his signature to my prized ball. My reaction was a mixture of anger, frustration and great disappointment. &lt;br /&gt; I had to do some emotional processing. After all, it was James' ball. I had kind of hijacked it. It actually makes perfect sense to a little guy to sign a ball that already had a signature. Then I realized that while this ball may have lost some of its value, signed as it was by one of baseball’s all-time great players, it now told the whole story much better. It no longer would sit on my shelf as a perfect collectible, but in its imperfect state, its value was more personal now. It is the story of the great value of the imperfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Cindy and I chose the name James for our baby when he was born fourteen years ago. There is something very classic and dignified about that name. Several American presidents wore the name. In the New Testament, James wrote one of my favorite books, and he was the half brother of Jesus. It is a significant name. As parents, we dream of our sons growing up and doing something of great significance, and we had our name ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On July 1, James was born. After the anesthesia from her surgery was wearing off, Cindy asked to see our little guy. The nurse brought him in and handed him to me. I held him up for Cindy to see. She stroked his forehead and then asked, “Eddie, is he okay?” &lt;br /&gt; I assured her he was fine. Then she said, “He just doesn't look like the other children.” I felt this dagger go through my heart. She saw something that I had not. Even as I tried to assure her that her fears were unfounded, I knew a mother's intuition is something that is not to be ignored. They took James back to the nursery.&lt;br /&gt; Later that day we had the moment with our doctor all parents pray will never come. The door opened, our pediatrician walked in. Her gait, her tone, her demeanor – all said something was wrong. She said James was doing well, and then came the pause – a pause that lasted forever. “The baby is doing well - - - but there is something we need to talk about. I think your baby has Down Syndrome.”&lt;br /&gt; Our lives changed forever that day. Having a special needs child is a problem without resolution. The news brings a heaviness, a burden, a challenge, a set of life long limitations, a fog of uncertainty that is never going to go away.&lt;br /&gt; What we did not know, that we know now, is that with special challenges also come special joys. Within this world of imperfection and struggle are some very fun times. The baseball with double signatures represents some of these great times. The truth is that God has and continues to teach me so many things through my special James.&lt;br /&gt; I have learned that an infinite God does not just love the smart and perfect. As a father, my love for my children does not increase or decrease with their intelligence or talents. Likewise, God’s love is not contingent on perfection. None of us is perfect, but all of us are deeply valued and loved by God.&lt;br /&gt; I have also learned that you can be both retarded (it took me a long time to accept that word in reference to my son) and smart at the same time. While we are all imperfect, we do have something to offer God and each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 Corinthians 1:27-29 says God has chosen the foolish things, the weak things, the base things and the despised things, “that no flesh should glory in His presence.” And so the truth is that imperfect gifts are where God does some of His most amazing things. My son James is a living testament to this truth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-7483263716580430378?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7483263716580430378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=7483263716580430378' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7483263716580430378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7483263716580430378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/signed-baseball.html' title='Signed Baseball'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TMo_gMZ4uoI/AAAAAAAAAbo/8wHhyNxl9Tk/s72-c/photo.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-2005216673081377454</id><published>2010-10-28T20:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-28T20:21:52.229-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James in High School'/><title type='text'>Hundred Dollar Bill</title><content type='html'>One school morning James was dressed and ready for school. I was shooing him out to the front porch before the bus arrived when he peaked his head out of the hall and say, "Dad, money." I answered, James come out here right now the bus is coming and I don't have money. There was a long silent pause and then he bolted down the hall just in time to meet the bus pulling up. I eventually made my way back to my bedroom and noticed that my wallet was open and some of the things inside were scattered beside it on the dresser. I began to put things back together when I decided to look in the back fold to make sure my secret hundred dollar bill was still there. It was gone. My concern was that I might have bought the most expensive can of Sprite out of the high school pop machine. Now I hate to sound cheap but that is a lot of money. I jumped in the car and went to find James. I found James in his classroom busy about his work. I asked if he had taken my money. He nodded yes and patted his pants pocket. I asked him to show me the money. Sure enough he pulled out my hundred dollar bill. He was not so happy when I tried took the bill from him and tried to explain that it as a lot of money. I said, James this is a hundred dollar bill. He looked up at me with a puzzled look and saind "rehundred?"I said yes, one hundred and I can't leave it with you. Don't worry, after taking the money back he had a great week with ice cream money coming much more often than most most weeks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-2005216673081377454?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2005216673081377454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=2005216673081377454' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/2005216673081377454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/2005216673081377454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/hundred-dollar-bill.html' title='Hundred Dollar Bill'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-8497256583000840130</id><published>2010-10-28T19:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-28T20:11:57.999-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James in High School'/><title type='text'>Waterboy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TMo7ZyqOeFI/AAAAAAAAAbg/i64sfd4K7CM/s1600/36177_1647568393039_1351821801_31779744_5319351_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TMo7ZyqOeFI/AAAAAAAAAbg/i64sfd4K7CM/s320/36177_1647568393039_1351821801_31779744_5319351_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533300406459725906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a long silence I have decided to return to my blog about James. This school year James started at Hillcrest High School as perhaps the most excited freshman student I have ever been around. Throughout the summer he woke up everyday asking if today was the day that he would go to High School. The school year finally began and James was a very happy boy. He is full of hopes and dreams. He wants to drive, go to college, get a job and get married. I pretty much have decided not to discourage his dreaming. Who knows what is ahead. One of his dreams as he entered high school was to be on the football team like his brother Robert. With great confidence he boasted all summer that he would be on the football team. It seemed like this might be one of the first dreams to not be fulfilled. And then one day when I dropped him off at school his teacher asked to talk to me outside of the class. That is always a kind of mixed emotion moment when a teacher needs to talk to you. The teacher's question was "do you think James would want to be a waterboy for the football team?" He would get a football jersey to wear and would in fact be down on the field to help. I told her that he would love it. And he has loved his new role. He has often insisted that he be introduced as James the waterboy. Some of the football players tutor in his class during the week. They are all so kind to him. And so James continues to dream. And we are glad to be along for the ride and rejoice with him each step of the way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-8497256583000840130?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8497256583000840130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=8497256583000840130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8497256583000840130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8497256583000840130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/waterboy.html' title='Waterboy'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/TMo7ZyqOeFI/AAAAAAAAAbg/i64sfd4K7CM/s72-c/36177_1647568393039_1351821801_31779744_5319351_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-1058082668307259051</id><published>2009-10-03T12:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T13:06:05.574-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Episode'/><title type='text'>JAMES’ MIDNIGHT EXCURSION</title><content type='html'>Cindy and I were asleep in our beds when an unexpected caller rang the phone at a few minutes to midnight. Unexpected late night calls always have a way of jolting you awake with a curious concern and a kind of searching for why someone would be calling so late. Your mind races through the limited possibilities. The caller was our neighbor’s daughter. She called because our 13 year old son James was at her house. We were shocked. How could that be true? It was a dark and cool fall evening. The doors were locked, the alarm was on, his two sisters were laying down in the living room under blankets watching TV and James had been properly tucked in bed hours before. How could he possibly be at the neighbor’s house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got up to go get him. His sister went outside to look for evidence of his escape. Sure enough there was one of his small chairs under the flower box that was outside his window. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The window had been carefully closed after he left. His bed was made with a strategic lump of pillows in the corner. When I brought him back home I asked what the lump of pillows were doing in the corner of his bed and he enthusiastically said, “It’s James.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James had carefully thought out and executed his plan for a late night excursion to some of his favorite people’s house, the Wilson’s. He had gotten dressed, made his bed, arranged the pillows to fool us that he was still there. He quietly opened the window. Silently lifted his small blue chair through the window and dropped it below the plant box to make his escape easier. He crawled through the window and then carefully pulled down the glass to make the window appear closed and undisturbed. And then off he went barefoot walking into the dark night, through the neighborhood his friend’s house in the middle of the night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say by the time we had him back in bed Cindy and I were still in shock. We had moved into new territory. Our escape artist has gained new savvy and skill and our efforts to keep tabs on him just got a bit more intense. Thank God for the way He watches out for him. Cindy has often said that he must angels watching over him. I know the name of one angel that night. It was our most wonderful neighbor Ashley. She has always been so kind, patient and generous with James. She was an angel watching over him that night. Thank you Ashley.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-1058082668307259051?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1058082668307259051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=1058082668307259051' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1058082668307259051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1058082668307259051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/james-midnight-excursion.html' title='JAMES’ MIDNIGHT EXCURSION'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-926721952225010782</id><published>2009-10-03T12:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T12:56:46.697-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Summer of 2009'/><title type='text'>Hard at Work</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsesX8sK2UI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/k94d7vZs2eg/s1600-h/photo-3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsesX8sK2UI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/k94d7vZs2eg/s320/photo-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388465006600444226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsesXZbIbBI/AAAAAAAAAaI/xvdDQ7kCdhM/s1600-h/photo-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsesXZbIbBI/AAAAAAAAAaI/xvdDQ7kCdhM/s320/photo-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388464997133741074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This summer I lost all of my yard help. All of the kids have jobs and schedules and so the cheap lawn labor has gone. It has fallen back on me. But then there was one more kid in the house who showed some interest. I decided that it might be time for him to try. Now before you look at the pictures and think I have lost my sense of safety, let me assure you I was always a step away from this budding professional. He tired after a few rounds and so I think the yard work is still going to be mine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-926721952225010782?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/926721952225010782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=926721952225010782' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/926721952225010782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/926721952225010782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/hard-at-work.html' title='Hard at Work'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsesX8sK2UI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/k94d7vZs2eg/s72-c/photo-3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-7414458707638936766</id><published>2009-10-03T12:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T12:53:06.207-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Summer of 2009'/><title type='text'>Indiana James</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Ssere4eWAeI/AAAAAAAAAaA/6Kgu-0-BDBs/s1600-h/photo-6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Ssere4eWAeI/AAAAAAAAAaA/6Kgu-0-BDBs/s320/photo-6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388464026216169954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James is never bored. He always doing something or pretending to be someone. His life ambition is to be a police man. He loves "spy gear", hand cuffs, walkie talkies, guns, swords and nerf guns. Here is one of my favorites moments that I call - Indiana James.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-7414458707638936766?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7414458707638936766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=7414458707638936766' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7414458707638936766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7414458707638936766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/indiana-james.html' title='Indiana James'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Ssere4eWAeI/AAAAAAAAAaA/6Kgu-0-BDBs/s72-c/photo-6.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-9161462353167540288</id><published>2009-10-03T12:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T12:49:12.411-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Summer of 2009'/><title type='text'>Lake Day with the Wilsons</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SseqrKW2iAI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/HaVxTrEoBZ4/s1600-h/IMG_1168.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SseqrKW2iAI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/HaVxTrEoBZ4/s320/IMG_1168.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388463137663387650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the highlights of summer was going to the lake with our dear friends and neighbors, the Wilson's. I am so amazed that James is fearless when it comes to the lake. He loves the tubing and insisted on jumping in the lake the swim. I did learn that when swimming in the lake with James even I need a life jacket. When he got scared he came holding on to me not realizing that I needed to keep my head above water to breath also.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-9161462353167540288?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9161462353167540288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=9161462353167540288' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/9161462353167540288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/9161462353167540288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/lake-day-with-wilsons.html' title='Lake Day with the Wilsons'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SseqrKW2iAI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/HaVxTrEoBZ4/s72-c/IMG_1168.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-7864488552123896413</id><published>2009-10-03T12:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T12:45:47.971-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Summer of 2009'/><title type='text'>Dad coherced Summer Walk</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsepyVHDGII/AAAAAAAAAZw/zq68_cmW8RY/s1600-h/IMG_0043.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsepyVHDGII/AAAAAAAAAZw/zq68_cmW8RY/s320/IMG_0043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388462161297348738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was one of the few days that all the kids were together for a summer day in Branson. I decided it was time to put down the computers, phones and turn off the TV and do something together. My plan was a walk. The cries of protest came from every child but I insisted we would enjoy it once we got out there. We began the walk through the up and down hills of the subdivision. James protested constantly. He does not love walking. With my best efforts to inspire I led the group down the hill to look at the golf course and the fountain. After we got down there we realized, we now had a long walk UPHILL back to the house. After making half way, I could take the groans and moans from little James (and his siblings) no more. We sat down on the side of the road and called Mom to come get us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-7864488552123896413?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7864488552123896413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=7864488552123896413' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7864488552123896413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7864488552123896413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/dad-coherced-summer-walk.html' title='Dad coherced Summer Walk'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsepyVHDGII/AAAAAAAAAZw/zq68_cmW8RY/s72-c/IMG_0043.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-4210196887743856154</id><published>2009-10-03T12:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T12:38:00.984-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Summer of 2009'/><title type='text'>My Project</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SseoEOhgvsI/AAAAAAAAAZg/AG9D8EWM4mQ/s1600-h/IMG_1157.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SseoEOhgvsI/AAAAAAAAAZg/AG9D8EWM4mQ/s320/IMG_1157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388460269743685314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-4210196887743856154?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4210196887743856154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=4210196887743856154' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4210196887743856154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4210196887743856154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-project.html' title='My Project'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SseoEOhgvsI/AAAAAAAAAZg/AG9D8EWM4mQ/s72-c/IMG_1157.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-8430663650437774713</id><published>2009-10-03T12:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T12:36:10.958-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Summer of 2009'/><title type='text'>Kung Fu Fireman</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsennZjXDqI/AAAAAAAAAZY/5h4Ilkrs58s/s1600-h/IMG_0626.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsennZjXDqI/AAAAAAAAAZY/5h4Ilkrs58s/s320/IMG_0626.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388459774488022690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Ssenm6S6xJI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/vSTvsse3Lsw/s1600-h/IMG_0615.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Ssenm6S6xJI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/vSTvsse3Lsw/s320/IMG_0615.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388459766097560722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-8430663650437774713?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8430663650437774713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=8430663650437774713' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8430663650437774713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8430663650437774713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/kung-fu-fireman.html' title='Kung Fu Fireman'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsennZjXDqI/AAAAAAAAAZY/5h4Ilkrs58s/s72-c/IMG_0626.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-4530866967790172879</id><published>2009-10-03T12:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T12:33:20.734-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Summer of 2009'/><title type='text'>The Big Birthday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsemxmGv0MI/AAAAAAAAAZI/6uehsIuFukw/s1600-h/photo-7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsemxmGv0MI/AAAAAAAAAZI/6uehsIuFukw/s320/photo-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388458850144735426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been a long time since I have updated this blog. It is not so much because James has not provided more stories to report, just kind of got out of the routine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well it has been a good summer with some great moments. First of all James turned 13. And so now we have a teenager. It is an interesting combination of teenage attitude, desire to be independent and yet there is this developmental lag that combines for some interesting challenges.&lt;br /&gt;He talks constantly and is convinced that the problem is not that his speech is unclear but that his listeners just don't get it. As the vocabulary and understanding grows so does the complexity of the game of charades and "guess what word this is". The great thing is that every time we finally "get it" there is a great shared sense of accomplishment and fulfillment for both him and us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will post a few pictures in the succeeding posts with an explanation. Most 0f the shots are pretty understandable. Here he is at the big 13th birthday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-4530866967790172879?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4530866967790172879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=4530866967790172879' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4530866967790172879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4530866967790172879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/10/big-birthday.html' title='The Big Birthday'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SsemxmGv0MI/AAAAAAAAAZI/6uehsIuFukw/s72-c/photo-7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-6321322771777412457</id><published>2009-06-10T22:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T05:55:50.022-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>GUN FOR COCO'S TRIP</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SjCQ2dX8p8I/AAAAAAAAAXo/JGqJwKDY1Dw/s1600-h/gunphoto.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SjCQ2dX8p8I/AAAAAAAAAXo/JGqJwKDY1Dw/s320/gunphoto.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345932022961186754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We got Coco up at the 4:30 am wake up time. She got dressed, bags packed and we loaded up the car for the airport. The group going on the Thailand mission trip was to meet at the airport at 6 am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went with Coco up to the counter and we checked her bag and got the boarding passes all the way to Bangkok. Just before the group went to clear security they gathered for prayer. Coco made one last check of her back pack and noticed a bulge in one of the pockets. She had not put anything in that pocket so she investigated further. When she opened it there it was. The gun. It was not some plastic squirt gun. It was James' cowboy revolver. It had a long silver barrel and a big white bone handle. Although it was plastic the silver barrel and the bone handled toy looked very much like the real thing at the airport. Cindy realized that now they needed to smuggle the contra ban out the airport. She slipped it into a friend's bag. We prayed with the group and off they went to clear security. It was only after we got outside of the airport that I was told what had just happened. James had "pranked" Coco by sending her off with one of his toys. It would not have been funny for the authorities to discover the toy gun. Cindy and I got into the car just thankful that none of us had ended up in the county jail. We were also glad that Coco got off in spite of her little brother's prank.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-6321322771777412457?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6321322771777412457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=6321322771777412457' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/6321322771777412457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/6321322771777412457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/gun-for-cocos-trip.html' title='GUN FOR COCO&apos;S TRIP'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SjCQ2dX8p8I/AAAAAAAAAXo/JGqJwKDY1Dw/s72-c/gunphoto.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-1174298629773539299</id><published>2009-04-20T18:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T18:49:58.343-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Episode'/><title type='text'>Woman!</title><content type='html'>The other day Cindy went to James' school to pay for his lunches. When she got to the lunch room and told one lady she wanted to pay for James Lyons' lunches she lit up and called all of the other ladies out to meet "James' Mom". They told her how much they loved James. He apparently provides some good entertainment. He is probably at his best at lunch because James loves to eat. The ladies ask Cindy if she had ever seen "the chicken dance". Cindy responded that she had not. So they proceeded to demonstrate that because James loves chicken so much, when that is what they are serving he does this celebratory jig.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They also went on to ask if she knew that James had a girlfriend. She was aware of this since notes are regularly exchanged and brought home in his back pack. They told her that lately he had been buying ice cream. And he even buys ice cream for his "girlfriend". And he calls her "WOMAN!" and then gives her the present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James is at least two heads shorter than his WOMAN. His confidence level is off the charts. He has no insecurities to get him down. He does not care that the girl he likes is two heads taller or that she might reject him. I never had such confidence when in Jr. High School. I was too shy to talk to the girl two heads taller than me no matter how pretty she was or how much I liked her. I was too worried about being too unlikeable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a great thing to have this kind of moxie in Jr. High. We are however doing what we can to discourage the budding romance. We feel like he would be better served by math and reading.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-1174298629773539299?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1174298629773539299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=1174298629773539299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1174298629773539299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1174298629773539299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/04/woman.html' title='Woman!'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-863349796789356043</id><published>2009-04-20T18:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T18:40:42.657-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>That's My Car</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Se0idh2OeQI/AAAAAAAAAXg/1zqAWVlISu8/s1600-h/viewsingle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Se0idh2OeQI/AAAAAAAAAXg/1zqAWVlISu8/s320/viewsingle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326951824946526466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The other night James and I were on our way to see "Hotels for Dogs". As we stopped at a light this white mustang convertible with the top down pulled up beside us. James had been pretty occupied with his drawing but he popped his head up and declared, "THAT'S MY CAR". What do you mean James. "THAT'S MY CAR". I asked him if he meant the car beside us. He insisted again, "THAT'S MY CAR". "DIAL 911 THEY GOT MY CAR". This little guy has great taste in cars. In his mind "his car" would not be the boring minivan, sedan or vanilla Taurus his Mom and Dad drive. His car would be a cool Mustang convertible. Well, to him the world is his and all of his dreams can be as true as ever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-863349796789356043?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/863349796789356043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=863349796789356043' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/863349796789356043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/863349796789356043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/04/thats-my-car.html' title='That&apos;s My Car'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Se0idh2OeQI/AAAAAAAAAXg/1zqAWVlISu8/s72-c/viewsingle.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-459201166049386949</id><published>2009-03-07T14:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T14:59:35.408-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>The pain of haircuts and the joy of grooming.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbL6j98CdyI/AAAAAAAAAWo/rMnCWSj_CYQ/s1600-h/IMG_0578.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbL6j98CdyI/AAAAAAAAAWo/rMnCWSj_CYQ/s320/IMG_0578.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310582406451984162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it was time. The haircut could not be put off one more day. Now haircuts have never been an easy thing with James. When he was very little he would scream so loud and so hysterically Cindy and I worried that the neighbors would call the police. There is something about the cut hair falling on his neck that makes him hate haircuts. This has gotten better over time but it is still not easy and without protests. Cindy called me in to sit on the bed and just be in the room while she got the scissors going. Double teaming seems to help the whole thing. And so after yet one more less than enjoyable haircut James was done, bathed and back to his joyful self. He was profuse with thank you's. It is always kind of funny because he combs his hair and thanks his Mom and says, "I got my hair back". Feeling very dapper with a new hair cut and a fresh bath he often stands in front of the mirror to comb and pose. We usually get a few muscle man poses with the guns in full display. "I got my hair back." He is glad to have that over with for a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His overflowing euphoria about the finished hair cut put him in a grooming mood. After his hair was good and combed he gathered all of his stuffed animals and combed their hair one at a time until everyone in the room was ready for the paparazzi.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-459201166049386949?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/459201166049386949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=459201166049386949' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/459201166049386949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/459201166049386949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/pain-of-haircuts-and-joy-of-grooming.html' title='The pain of haircuts and the joy of grooming.'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbL6j98CdyI/AAAAAAAAAWo/rMnCWSj_CYQ/s72-c/IMG_0578.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-2845972164456432455</id><published>2009-03-07T14:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T14:49:48.086-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>James Lyons "High St. Baptist Church"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbL2reNz7YI/AAAAAAAAAWg/6qO9fyO2lno/s1600-h/IMG_0577.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbL2reNz7YI/AAAAAAAAAWg/6qO9fyO2lno/s320/IMG_0577.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310578137329036674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi, I'm James Lyons, pastor's son, High Street Baptist Church" We had a new receptionist the other day at the church office when Cindy and James dropped by. Always looking for something to explore James found the phone in the fax room with the headset. Immediately he put the head set on and went to work answering the phone. Thankfully it was mostly pretend and since there were no calls routed to that desk. All was well, or so I thought. I went on with my work and then later walked back through. I began to listen and then he gestured to me. Dad, "mean guys". "Where?" I asked. His response, "Means guys here, I call police." I didn't think much of it but happened to notice him actually dialing. I got there just in time. He whispered as he punched the buttons, 9-1-1 but before he hit the second 1 ...  I grabbed the phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"James, do not call 911. The police do not like it when we "pretend" and call them", I scolded.  I know this is a necessary warning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few Sundays ago, the house was full of the kids and some guests for lunch. James was in my bedroom watching tv. I went to check on him and saw that one of his favorite movies was on, Home Alone. He loves the pranks, the "mean guys" and the police. No worries, he was quite occupied so I went back to our guests. A few minutes later the phone rang. It was the 911 operator and she asked if someone had called about an emergency. Cindy assured her that all was well and that nobody... and then she paused and looked me. Well, maybe somebody did dial. It was James. Profuse with apologies to the operator we went back to talk to James. When I asked him if he had in fact called 911, I realized by the look in his eye and the hessitation that he had. I we had a little talk followed by a few minutes in the thinking chair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again we had our 911 lecture after the church office near missed call. Life is never boring.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-2845972164456432455?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2845972164456432455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=2845972164456432455' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/2845972164456432455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/2845972164456432455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/james-lyons-high-st-baptist-church.html' title='James Lyons &quot;High St. Baptist Church&quot;'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbL2reNz7YI/AAAAAAAAAWg/6qO9fyO2lno/s72-c/IMG_0577.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-659727008790423105</id><published>2009-03-06T16:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-06T17:01:19.412-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Episode'/><title type='text'>Shrek is cleaning James' room</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbHGqcAhqxI/AAAAAAAAAWY/aGs5-spgSkk/s1600-h/IMG_0573.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbHGqcAhqxI/AAAAAAAAAWY/aGs5-spgSkk/s320/IMG_0573.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310243868021730066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a few minutes before our small group arrived last Sunday. With the family in a mad dash to put everything in order we heard the sound of a vacuum cleaner going in James' room. We thought that James had gotten in gear to help. Little did we know that it was actually Shrek cleaning his room. Why "just clean" when you can do so much more like pretending to be this amazing cartoon character and get the job done with gusto. Never a dull moment. We love it and the little guy that keeps things mixed up for us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-659727008790423105?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/659727008790423105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=659727008790423105' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/659727008790423105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/659727008790423105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/shrek-is-cleaning-james-room.html' title='Shrek is cleaning James&apos; room'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SbHGqcAhqxI/AAAAAAAAAWY/aGs5-spgSkk/s72-c/IMG_0573.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-3084444861845171665</id><published>2009-01-23T14:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-23T14:58:07.729-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Videos'/><title type='text'>James "How to shuffle cards" instructional video</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;James is growing his skill set. He has long enjoyed playing with, organizing, counting any kind of cards. When we go to the dollar store he often asks for another deck of cards. Well James came bounding into our room last Saturday with computer in hand. It was early in the morning and so he jumped into the bed and snuggled up in between Cindy and myself. He then asked us to look at his latest video production. He had figured out how to shuffle cards. The amazing thing is that he clearly used his production eye to adjust the angle of the camera until he got it just right. Now this may not win an Academy award but for us it is a winner. He is thinking and growing and integrating so many new skills. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;In the office we are working to learn how to make and upload videos. It has stretched me and others. The truth is I am inspired by my "Jamie boy". If James can make a video, then we can make videos. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Now I just hope James does not realize that some people do this card shuffling thing for money. If he does he may be off to Vegas. Not the job I am hoping he will get. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-f148a83741cdfe4" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v14.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D0f148a83741cdfe4%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330206424%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D6186F10536012AA5538EF646A0CC6A870AA2817D.3CD35DFE8B42637431C6C35C7E8338E2D86DA3D%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Df148a83741cdfe4%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DCQ6jyB8lYg1-5s3XlvWAopx5c6M&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v14.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D0f148a83741cdfe4%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330206424%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D6186F10536012AA5538EF646A0CC6A870AA2817D.3CD35DFE8B42637431C6C35C7E8338E2D86DA3D%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Df148a83741cdfe4%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DCQ6jyB8lYg1-5s3XlvWAopx5c6M&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-3084444861845171665?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=f148a83741cdfe4&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3084444861845171665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=3084444861845171665' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3084444861845171665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3084444861845171665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/01/james-how-to-shuffle-cards.html' title='James &quot;How to shuffle cards&quot; instructional video'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-5238709432199456521</id><published>2009-01-23T13:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-23T16:10:45.480-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Voting James'/><title type='text'>James at the Church Business Meeting</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Last Wednesday was the annual Church business meeting. It is one of the few nights where there is no child care and so James had to join Cindy and the adults in the chapel. Most kids,  mothers and others stay home because the meeting is... well let's say business. It is more about facts and reporting than teaching or an engaging presentation. We do our best to make it interesting but budgets always look like a lot of numbers on a page.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well James sat in the back between one of his favorite people Lisa "Moisin" (Wilson) and Cindy. James is most blessed to have a friend in Lisa who somehow sees past all of his antics and loves him while not letting hime get away with murder. When it was time to pass out the ballots to elect Deacons James insisted on participating. To tell him that he was not 16 and really not an eligible voter would not suffice. He was determined to be a part of the voting process. He took his ballot and they heard him say as scribbled, "Vote, Eddie Lyons, Pastor, Yes". They all chucked as he joined in the voting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is great to know that I will always have at least one vote in the crowd. I get that vote even when I am not on the ballot. I get that vote everyday I am home when he comes bounding off the school bus. With all of the enthusiasm he can muster he yells, "My Dad!". This is followed by a hug and most often a request for a snack.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-5238709432199456521?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5238709432199456521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=5238709432199456521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/5238709432199456521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/5238709432199456521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/01/james-at-church-busniness-meeting.html' title='James at the Church Business Meeting'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-4114102557100552692</id><published>2009-01-03T19:13:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T19:45:16.254-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Episode'/><title type='text'>My Birthday and James</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SWAvKK1L_eI/AAAAAAAAAUo/bg9Jjtd7wjw/s1600-h/IMG_0413.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SWAvKK1L_eI/AAAAAAAAAUo/bg9Jjtd7wjw/s320/IMG_0413.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287277814285598178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SWAvJ0-dCVI/AAAAAAAAAUg/uPsqBqImfTs/s1600-h/IMG_0412.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 282px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SWAvJ0-dCVI/AAAAAAAAAUg/uPsqBqImfTs/s320/IMG_0412.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287277808418883922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well today was my birthday. The big 5 - 0. While this breaking into a new decade was significant, like turning 13 or 16 or 20 it came with the sentiment of, "I can't believe I sound so old". For James however, what was important was there was another birthday in the house. Another cause for celebration. Gifts, cake and of course the "SURPRISE" moment. Cindy was busy in the kitchen preparing a great meal, my non-diet birthday fare and I was watching. James came into the kitchen to drag me out and pull me to wait in my room for the "SURPRISE". I will never get over how it is possible for him to derive great joy from a surprise that he is fully aware of. Joy comes so easy for him. At times for the rest of us we are bored with what has been or is and stay on this insatiable quest for something just that much more exciting. Not for James, repeat "surprises" work every time around. I was secured in my room with instructions to wait for him while he gathered his siblings into the dining room. He made sure they were crouched down behind the table and the dining room light was off. I then got the call to come in. And when I did everyone jumped up to yell "surprise" but the biggest smile and the greatest joy came from my little James who rushed up to give me a big hug. The birthday song began and James added his signature dance move with "cha-cha-cha" after each phrase. It truly was a great moment. James had taken us to the next level and we were having fun. Then it was time for the gifts. James on his own had gone to Mom's stash of gift bags and had his gift proudly prepared to present. I opened it up and discovered the plastic holder for the wet wipes. It was empty and purple and he and all of us knew what it was but it was something he found to give. If there ever was a time where it was "the thought that mattered" it was this. He was not going to come to the party empty handed so he found something to give and give it enthusiastically. He also took credit for all of the other gifts given by his siblings and his Mother. All in all it was a great night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James truly did bring more joy than the rest of us would have thought to bring. He is a gift that continues to give us this joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. His autie Karen gave him a wallet with 17 dollar bills for Christmas. He has been big stuff carrying around his wallet and repeatedly counting his dollars. He took his sister Holly out on a "date" to McDonalds and enjoyed paying for their ice cream with "his money". This idea of money in a wallet had captured his fancy. Today when I went to put my wallet and money in my pocket I found the wallet but no money. I asked him if he had it. He had that look in his eye like he did not want to answer the question. Sometimes that means he really does not know, at other times it means he is guilty as charged and I really never know for sure. I did not have time to pursue the questioning because I was off to do a wedding. On the way home from the wedding I asked him if he knew where my money was. He took me down to Coco's room and began looking on the bed and in the closet. I asked if he had brought it downstairs. His answer, "no, detective". He was playing the part of the detective and was starting in Coco's room. The money is still missing. If he did take it we will find it when it turns up in his wallet or when we clean out his room. I will need to secure my cash with a bit more care from now on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-4114102557100552692?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4114102557100552692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=4114102557100552692' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4114102557100552692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4114102557100552692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-birthday-and-james.html' title='My Birthday and James'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SWAvKK1L_eI/AAAAAAAAAUo/bg9Jjtd7wjw/s72-c/IMG_0413.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-8640993359843543420</id><published>2008-12-28T19:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T19:49:00.014-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mystery Refrigerator'/><title type='text'>The Mystery Refrigerator</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVhFsIGuneI/AAAAAAAAATw/_UjUp0qVM-8/s1600-h/IMG_0363.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVhFsIGuneI/AAAAAAAAATw/_UjUp0qVM-8/s320/IMG_0363.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285050787111542242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;For about two months now Cindy has been asking me and the children if we have been turning off the refrigerator. James has been interrogated but somehow he could sense in his mother's voice that an admission to the crime implied by her tone would not  be a good idea. Since it did not appear that anyone was turning off the refrigerator we thought maybe it was part of the new noises coming out of our old refrigerator. Maybe there was a mysterious explanation like the new noises caused enough vibration to move the dial around from cold to warm and warmest and then to off. While it seemed like a quite absurd idea, we had no other solution. Tonight while sitting in the living room with the family Coco went into the kitchen and returned to report that once again the refrigerator ghost has struck again. James had been in and out of the living room and had for sure been scoping out the food supply in the refrigerator. His mother faithfully informed him that supper was over and there would be no more helpings of chicken and rice. Coco insisted that it must be James who is turning off the refrigerator. I called James in and took a different approach. I asked James if he knew how to turn off the refrigerator. He hesitated and then I suggested that if he knew how would he please teach Coco how to turn it off. He very confidently marched into the kitchen as the expert and promptly gave his sister instruction on how to turn the refrigerator off. The mystery had been solved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next effort was to convince him that he must not keep doing this little trick. I tried to explain that if the refrigerator gets warm, Mom will have to throw away all of the chicken and he would surely not be able to snack. His auntie explained that he better not do that again or he would not have any chicken to eat. To which he replied an emphatic "WHAT?".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time will tell if he understands the importance of this instruction but at least the mystery is solved once and for all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-8640993359843543420?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8640993359843543420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=8640993359843543420' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8640993359843543420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8640993359843543420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/12/mystery-refrigerator.html' title='The Mystery Refrigerator'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVhFsIGuneI/AAAAAAAAATw/_UjUp0qVM-8/s72-c/IMG_0363.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-3607730227243462725</id><published>2008-12-28T19:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T19:50:07.334-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Episode'/><title type='text'>My own "mamote"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVhEPi-D7II/AAAAAAAAATo/pF1F2zXaf5s/s1600-h/IMG_0362.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVhEPi-D7II/AAAAAAAAATo/pF1F2zXaf5s/s320/IMG_0362.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285049196595113090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One of James' favorite Christmas presents this year is his very own tv remote control. I finally had a stroke a genius and came up with an idea that hopefully will help us keep our remote in our room. James is always absconding with our remote. It is not so much that we are unwilling to share, but it seems that these remotes somehow find the "black hole" of tv remotes that is located in James' room. When Cindy feels it is time to do a deep cleaning and total re-organization of his room, we often find the missing remotes. The problem is we don't have time for the cleaning as often as we lose another remote. James loves his new remote control. I put his name on it so there is no confusion about which one is his. He is protective and very careful so far to keep his remote from the "black hole of tv remotes" in his room. All are happy. Christmas is great.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-3607730227243462725?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3607730227243462725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=3607730227243462725' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3607730227243462725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3607730227243462725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-own-mamote.html' title='My own &quot;mamote&quot;'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVhEPi-D7II/AAAAAAAAATo/pF1F2zXaf5s/s72-c/IMG_0362.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-1810998196384759714</id><published>2008-12-24T23:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-24T23:26:44.573-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family Occassions'/><title type='text'>Christmas Eve</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMycQjhHPI/AAAAAAAAATM/R52_Wlx6XGI/s1600-h/DSC_0187.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMycQjhHPI/AAAAAAAAATM/R52_Wlx6XGI/s320/DSC_0187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283622248897387762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMybmZrZGI/AAAAAAAAAS8/X_xg1wQnC2Q/s1600-h/DSC_0174.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMybmZrZGI/AAAAAAAAAS8/X_xg1wQnC2Q/s320/DSC_0174.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283622237581829218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMybUo7_xI/AAAAAAAAAS0/1UwXBpw6THY/s1600-h/DSC_0150.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMybUo7_xI/AAAAAAAAAS0/1UwXBpw6THY/s320/DSC_0150.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283622232813993746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMya9jtrHI/AAAAAAAAASs/mKHJV77jiAs/s1600-h/DSC_0168.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMya9jtrHI/AAAAAAAAASs/mKHJV77jiAs/s320/DSC_0168.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283622226618068082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas Eve is a great time with the family. For James, family is everything. This year after meeting a real live Santa Claus at the Down Syndrome of the Ozarks Party James is convinced that Santa Claus is coming. He asked tonight during our meal "Ata Claus, Where!" We asked him what about Santa Claus? His answer was quick and to the point, "toys". Well one thing is certain. When he wakes up tomorrow there will be toys around the tree.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-1810998196384759714?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1810998196384759714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=1810998196384759714' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1810998196384759714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1810998196384759714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas-eve.html' title='Christmas Eve'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMycQjhHPI/AAAAAAAAATM/R52_Wlx6XGI/s72-c/DSC_0187.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-2070163922927604712</id><published>2008-12-24T22:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-24T22:54:52.620-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas Dollar Store Trip'/><title type='text'>GO TO STORE!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMtqOjrFfI/AAAAAAAAASk/d_-Lz3QA1yQ/s1600-h/IMG_0350.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMtqOjrFfI/AAAAAAAAASk/d_-Lz3QA1yQ/s320/IMG_0350.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283616991321200114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMtqIMFXII/AAAAAAAAASc/hg2He2fCfcg/s1600-h/IMG_0347.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMtqIMFXII/AAAAAAAAASc/hg2He2fCfcg/s320/IMG_0347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283616989611646082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James came home Tuesday very much in the Christmas spirit. When I got home he immediately asked me to take him to the store. James what do you want to buy at the store? "Whales and green chips and Sprite" I told him that maybe after the news I could take him. I really thought he would forget all about it but he did not. He came in dressed and ready to go and so off we went to the dollar store. We got our basket and after about a 20 minute walk down the toy aisle where all of the interesting toys got a good demonstration we  went on to buy what he came for. In the mean time, I got some great ideas for a few more gifts for him. He loved the little plastic basketball game, the funny teeth, every ball in the store, the rifles that made a shooting noise and the recorder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We found the aisle looking for "green" pringles his prevailing favorite chip. I told him he could get two of each item. We found the "Whales" (for those who don't know what Whales are, they are cheese crackers in the shape of whales). He knelt down and looked up at me and said, "one for me... " and put it in the basket. Then he got another box and said "one for...me again". And then with a hopeful look in his eyes, perhaps hoping to capitalize on the Christmas spirit in the air, he put a third box of whales in the basket and said, "three for...me". I had to play the scrooge and told him only two boxes. then I tried to get him to buy some off brand of Sprite. He would have none of that and ran up to the front of the stores to the cooler and pulled out Sprite. Two bottles of Sprite. Before I knew it he had gone up to the counter and was checking out. I ran after him and thanks to some money sent from Grandpa and Grandma in the Philippines he got to buy everything in his basket. He was one happy boy and is loving Christmas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-2070163922927604712?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2070163922927604712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=2070163922927604712' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/2070163922927604712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/2070163922927604712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/12/go-to-store.html' title='GO TO STORE!'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SVMtqOjrFfI/AAAAAAAAASk/d_-Lz3QA1yQ/s72-c/IMG_0350.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-3783458998614534392</id><published>2008-11-22T11:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-22T11:21:55.317-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>NO SHOT!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SShbvFMENWI/AAAAAAAAARs/wbhpoxCgsmc/s1600-h/Lyons-7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SShbvFMENWI/AAAAAAAAARs/wbhpoxCgsmc/s320/Lyons-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271564228241929570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Wednesday I got James up and we started the "get ready for school routine".&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He was not particularly cooperative and did not want to go to school. This is not the first time he has been less than enthusiastic about getting up and going to school. Then he pulls out his secret weapon, "I sick". While this tactic is often effective in getting his Mom's sympathy and consequent investigation as to the true state of his health, I am not easily convinced. I am more inclined to believe that he is working me and so my response is more an effort to convince him how well he is. We are going to get dressed and we are going to get on that bus. There are things to do, schedules to keep, obligations to fulfill. A sick boy at home changes everything. I am more of the mindset that goes like this, "throw up and prove it if you are sick". And even then, I am not totally convinced. With my firm and salesman like response, I got him dressed and we had him on the bus and he was off. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Within the hour I got a call from his teacher at school. James is sick. He threw up all over his shirt and he is now lying down in the nurse's office. Can you please come and get him. So much for my parental discernment. I kind of felt like a heal for my insensitivity. I did go to school and there he was sick and wearing a borrowed "Missouri Lottery" t-shirt. He was quite enthusiastic about the new purple shirt and handed me the plastic bag containing the soiled shirt we had put on him an hour before. I walked out with my little guy and with a repentant and more sensitive attitude. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;James was hot with fever and he was throwing up anything we gave him. Cindy continued her phone consultations with the doctor's office. They suggested that we go to the only other way of giving medicine and called in an order for a suppository. Cindy called me to come home because when James learned about this grossest of ideas; he was not going to allow it. Thankfully we all got through it and his fever did go down. But after 3 days it was time to take him to the doctor's office. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The doctor's office is full of great people from the receptionists to the nurses and nurse practitioner we saw. The swab to check for strep was a bit traumatic for our already very sick guy. He did ok and in a few minutes it came back positive. After a quick discussion about how to get the antibiotic's going we decided that since he could not swallow and keep things down the best approach was a shot. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;When the nurse came in the room with the silver tray in hand and the shot clearly displayed James knew what was coming. He was not about to give in to this previously experienced pain in the name of healing. He used all of his opposition behaviors from crying, pulling away, and sitting on the floor. When he realized he was outnumbered he did stand up and the three of us held him down while the shot was administered. All the stickers in the office could not erase the pain and trauma but they did help. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Today, some 24 hours after the shot he is much better. I sat him down to drink his vitamins shake while I ate breakfast. We bowed our heads to pray. In my prayer I asked God to heal James and help him feel better. I also thanked God for the doctors and even the shot. Out of the corner of my half closed eyes I watched him. When I thanked God for the shot, he quickly turned his head toward me in amazement. Why was Dad thanking God for a shot? He cried out, "No shot. No shot ever again." I tried my best to recite the benefits of fast acting inject able antibiotics but he would not be convinced.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Thankfully, James is much better. After three days of not wanting to eat or drink he is clearly improving. He was asking for chicken and rice and even requested that I go buy some "whales". &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-3783458998614534392?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3783458998614534392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=3783458998614534392' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3783458998614534392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3783458998614534392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/11/no-shot_3024.html' title='NO SHOT!'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SShbvFMENWI/AAAAAAAAARs/wbhpoxCgsmc/s72-c/Lyons-7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-507076070306623727</id><published>2008-11-07T13:20:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T14:28:13.000-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>Limousine</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SRSyCL2cVeI/AAAAAAAAARc/s6cUeA2QWlU/s1600-h/IMG_0233.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SRSyCL2cVeI/AAAAAAAAARc/s6cUeA2QWlU/s320/IMG_0233.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266029614913574370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James has long been fascinated with limousines. I think he has seen them on television and things they are pretty cool. When we see them in traffic they always get his attention and start his imagination thinking about riding in one. When DJ and Sarah Kelley got married, one of the decorations at the reception was a match box car limousine. DJ knowing about James' fascination with them gave him the toy to take home. It is one he loves to play with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day he told me that he was going to go on a date in a limousine. While we do our best to downplay any kind of dating ideas, they are a part of life and have not been ignored by our little guy. When I asked who he was going on a date with he answered "my girlfriends". Girlfriends, I responded. How many girlfriends do you have? He responded quite confidently, "twinny (twenty)". So that's why you need a limousine. I guess as long as he has twenty girlfriends that sounds more like a group of friends than a date. Friends are good. The limousine? Who knows, maybe someday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-507076070306623727?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/507076070306623727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=507076070306623727' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/507076070306623727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/507076070306623727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/11/limousine.html' title='Limousine'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SRSyCL2cVeI/AAAAAAAAARc/s6cUeA2QWlU/s72-c/IMG_0233.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-1850244228976183041</id><published>2008-09-22T19:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T19:43:02.562-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>Our Daily Game of Charades - Talking</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-4eee625e9585c1d9" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v9.nonxt2.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D4eee625e9585c1d9%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330206424%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D169AAB1B7FEEC646CF0202990C82997256C4FA29.5D0F83AC5D30BADF5ECA9A2F286245828404F919%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D4eee625e9585c1d9%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DnpS-X4xmdruwKf2XeyRhvUSylyQ&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v9.nonxt2.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D4eee625e9585c1d9%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330206424%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D169AAB1B7FEEC646CF0202990C82997256C4FA29.5D0F83AC5D30BADF5ECA9A2F286245828404F919%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D4eee625e9585c1d9%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DnpS-X4xmdruwKf2XeyRhvUSylyQ&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The key word in this video is GRADUATION. It is a typical thing for us to do a kind of charades as we talk with James. We made this video tonight and when I asked James about school he was glad to report that he was doing well - grade 17 (not sure what that is about other than he wants to be 17 years old very bad). He also is glad to say that he has an A+. At least he shoots for the top. He also is all about something else that I did not pick up on right away. If you watch carefully, he puts on the graduation cap and then buttons the graduation robe. It took me a while, but I did finally get it. (I don't always get it,) When James is tired and less than enthusiastic about getting up in the morning and getting ready for school reminding him if the goal - GRADUATION - is a great motivator. He has watched his two older sisters graduate from high school and Tiffany from college. He knows all about the excitement of that moment and the GRADUATION PARTY that follows. He is all about celebrations and especially parties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a great reminder to us all to just keep our eye on the goal. There will come a graduation day and a party if we keep going. James gets this. We can all benefit from simple reminders like this. Whatever our challenge, keeping the vision and goal in mind can help us overcome the daily struggles with greater energy. Thanks James. You often remind me of the important things.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-1850244228976183041?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=4eee625e9585c1d9&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1850244228976183041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=1850244228976183041' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1850244228976183041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1850244228976183041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/our-daily-game-of-charades-talking.html' title='Our Daily Game of Charades - Talking'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-183380585127338681</id><published>2008-09-22T09:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T09:41:37.183-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Corrections'/><title type='text'>Correction</title><content type='html'>After posting the picture of James thinking he took it of himself, I was informed by Holly that she actually took the picture. While it is not a self portrait everything else I said about him taking multiple pictures of himself and his love for a computer is still true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to give a shout out to all of my other children who have complained that Dad has only put up a blog for one of his kids. Hey kids, I have not favorites. I love you all with everything in me. I am not so sure you want me blogging about everything going on in your lives. Furthermore, I just would not have the time to chronicle all of the fun stories and drama we share around the table. James does not ask to be able to shape my posts to his liking like as you all would. So just a word of clarification. You all are great but you if you want a personal blog, you will need to write you own. Love you, Dad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-183380585127338681?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/183380585127338681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=183380585127338681' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/183380585127338681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/183380585127338681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/correction.html' title='Correction'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-7141716084270906394</id><published>2008-09-20T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T21:29:48.039-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='computer'/><title type='text'>James Self Portrait</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNXM5gEUU2I/AAAAAAAAAPc/cnnKrrYVPsc/s1600-h/DSCF5921_3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNXM5gEUU2I/AAAAAAAAAPc/cnnKrrYVPsc/s320/DSCF5921_3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248326229002834786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;James loves his Mom's new Macbook. It is amazing how much he can do with that computer. Most of what he knows he has taught himself when he steals away with this wonderful machine to experiment. He loves the photo booth program. The built in computer allows him to look at himself, pose and then snap the photo. We are constantly taking pictures of this little guy of ours. Amazingly one of our favorite pictures of all times was one he took of himself. It says, life is good and I am a happy boy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-7141716084270906394?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7141716084270906394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=7141716084270906394' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7141716084270906394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7141716084270906394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/james-self-portrait.html' title='James Self Portrait'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNXM5gEUU2I/AAAAAAAAAPc/cnnKrrYVPsc/s72-c/DSCF5921_3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-8111486070211036325</id><published>2008-09-16T21:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T22:03:04.105-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>A picture is worth 1000 words.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNCPQ24a4_I/AAAAAAAAAOc/q3KRFy3Sa1E/s1600-h/IMG_0108.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNCPQ24a4_I/AAAAAAAAAOc/q3KRFy3Sa1E/s320/IMG_0108.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246851085659464690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Motorcycles are cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNCNB_1uG9I/AAAAAAAAAOE/Av9gibg9hoo/s1600-h/IMG_0140.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNCNB_1uG9I/AAAAAAAAAOE/Av9gibg9hoo/s320/IMG_0140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246848631342767058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;School I like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNCM1dlSA3I/AAAAAAAAAN8/3I_2J2V530E/s1600-h/IMG_0170.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNCM1dlSA3I/AAAAAAAAAN8/3I_2J2V530E/s320/IMG_0170.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246848415988581234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haircuts I could do without.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-8111486070211036325?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8111486070211036325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=8111486070211036325' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8111486070211036325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8111486070211036325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/picture-is-worth-1000-words.html' title='A picture is worth 1000 words.'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SNCPQ24a4_I/AAAAAAAAAOc/q3KRFy3Sa1E/s72-c/IMG_0108.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-213647169163284107</id><published>2008-09-01T20:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T20:27:57.661-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>Late Afternoon Labor Day Shopping</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLyxNl55ntI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/gEILPar0bsI/s1600-h/IMG_0118.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLyxNl55ntI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/gEILPar0bsI/s320/IMG_0118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241258913423793874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLywc1C5MsI/AAAAAAAAAII/FatVvuOaOW4/s1600-h/IMG_0116.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLywc1C5MsI/AAAAAAAAAII/FatVvuOaOW4/s320/IMG_0116.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241258075674456770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLyu9x-bbYI/AAAAAAAAAIA/oBFOU1O4EIs/s1600-h/IMG_0115.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLyu9x-bbYI/AAAAAAAAAIA/oBFOU1O4EIs/s320/IMG_0115.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241256442762849666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;James was less than enthusiastic about a quick run to the mall. He does not like the idea of walking around the mall very much. But then after the sad resignation that his protests were not going to cancel the plan, he saw a reason to shop - THE ESCALATOR. In a flash he was off to ride the escalator. As he walked away I firmly said, "James, come back here." He took a quick glance behind to see me. He clearly had decided that whatever the consequences for running were going to be, they were worth the thrill of the ride he was about to enjoy.  I quickly picked up the pace catch up to him.  I did not want him to fall so I told him to turn around and pay attention to where he was going. After a nice ride up and down, before we knew it, he was off again. This time Mom went to get him. If James is not looking for an escalator he is looking for a place to sit down. Our mall is great because there are some great places to just sit and wait for Mom and sister. A little shopping at the mall with James goes a long way for both James and me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-213647169163284107?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/213647169163284107/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=213647169163284107' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/213647169163284107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/213647169163284107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/late-afternoon-labor-day-shopping.html' title='Late Afternoon Labor Day Shopping'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLyxNl55ntI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/gEILPar0bsI/s72-c/IMG_0118.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-302962442295300591</id><published>2008-08-25T19:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T20:26:47.550-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='End of Summer'/><title type='text'>Summer Ends</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLNwn3uavoI/AAAAAAAAAGE/3ca4BW1IjmY/s1600-h/photo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLNwn3uavoI/AAAAAAAAAGE/3ca4BW1IjmY/s320/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238654621837868674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The summer has ended and has been one James enjoyed very much. He is a boy that is never bored. He has enjoyed being the co-host of the Eddie or Cindy Lyons cooking show. He has also been full of inventions like the one in the picture. His favorite event of the summer was of course his birthday, July 1. He is now 12 and already planning his 13th birthday party. His birthday list has gotten a bit more sophisticated - he really wanted a flat screen tv and a hattop (laptop computer). This summer Cindy joined the Mac world with a white Macbook. Shortly after the computer arrived I walked into my room to find a very startled James sitting on my bed with laptop on - his lap. Looking quite guilty and wondering if he was in trouble he said a "Hi Dad". I asked, "James what are you doing?" He answered, "my homework". I took a look and was surprised to see that he had on his own found the Word icon, and had opened a new document and was in fact typing away. His love for a laptop only increases over time. He found Disney.com and the games he can play. His favorite feature at the moment is the movie making capabilities of a Macbook. He loves making movies. One of my favorite was both very cute and at the same time incriminating. He holds up the opened jar of peanutbutter with spoon in hand. (He had snuck into the kitchen and gotten the peanut butter without permission). In his feature film he grabs a spoon and begins to spoon peanutbutter with a peanut butter garbled commentary. It was great. School began today and he seemed comforted by a familiar routine in a familiar class, saying the pledge of allegiance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have recently seen some things about the decision of some families to terminate the life of their baby because it was determined that it had Down Syndrome. The idea is that we do these babies a favor because they would live difficult lives with not much hope or quality. I wish they could spend a day with James. He loves life, is always playing, pretending, creating and enjoying a family he adores. He continues to be the a sort of glue that centers our family. He loves us in a way that makes his life more meaningful than we can describe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now another school year. More is yet to come.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-302962442295300591?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/302962442295300591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=302962442295300591' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/302962442295300591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/302962442295300591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/08/summer-ends.html' title='Summer Ends'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SLNwn3uavoI/AAAAAAAAAGE/3ca4BW1IjmY/s72-c/photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-311791250707356365</id><published>2008-06-24T21:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T21:15:32.794-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>"Na hase me" "Na hale it"</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The other day, I had the pepperocini peppers out and James was showing interest in this new food group. I asked him if he wanted one and he said “me try”. I warned him that they are little bit hot but he still wanted to try one. Knowing that he may not make it through a mouthful of peppers, I parked him beside the sink just in case. He took a big bit and all was well for a second or two and then he grabbed his mouth and said. Oh hot, hot. He discovered that he did not like these peppers. The next day I asked, kind of jokingly, if he wanted a pepper and he said with a bit of disgust, “I hale it.” Which interpreted is, “I hate it”. He picked up this “hate” word from school. As much as we try to discouraged its use and encourage a more gracious alternative, like “I don’t like it”, he continues to use the “hate” word. It has kind of taken on its own meaning for James. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The other night the family went out to eat. It was one of those end of the week, let’s get re-connected as a family and share the week’s stories moment. Needless to say, the stories lasted a lot longer than the meal. After a while James grew impatient and said, “Let’s go.” We told him not just yet. To this he replied, “Na hase me.” No James we don’t hate you but you are going to need to wait for us all to be ready to go. Pretty much any time James does not get his way, he has pulled out the phrase, “Na hase me.” It has become a family joke. James asks his siblings for chicken and they tell him, it is not time to eat to which he replies – “Na hase me.” James go clean up your room and if he does not want to do that he says, “Na hase me.” So pretty much if anyone does not give him what he wants, when he wants, he feels this emotion he describes as “Na hase me.” No James, we love you but you can’t always have what you like. James we love you, but when you do wrong things, you have to have a time out and sit in the thinking chair.” “Na hase me” and “Na hale it” have become part of James’ limited vocabulary. Somehow, we all have found use for this new “James speak” even while we still hope to make him a more gracious boy. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-311791250707356365?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/311791250707356365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=311791250707356365' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/311791250707356365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/311791250707356365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/na-hase-me-na-hale-it.html' title='&quot;Na hase me&quot; &quot;Na hale it&quot;'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-6859552855222950443</id><published>2008-06-16T20:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-16T21:05:57.537-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>Me Drive...Show Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SFczlIUkSLI/AAAAAAAAAF8/o0gR-DXOIec/s1600-h/IMAGE_201.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SFczlIUkSLI/AAAAAAAAAF8/o0gR-DXOIec/s320/IMAGE_201.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212691806686562482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today while I was checking out my newly planted patches of grass, James ran over to the car  hopped in. He crawled through the car and strapped himself into the drivers seat. James then motioned to me and asked me to get in. I did go sit with him, primarily because his mother insisted that he should not be in the car alone. I assured her that she was being a bit over-protective and that he could not really do anything to hurt the car or himself. After my husband-like resistance did nothing to change her mind, I went over to sit in the passenger's seat beside him. To my surprise, he had the keys in hand and had already put the house key in the ignition. (Why is Cindy always right and I am such a knot head?) Thankfully, he had the keys for the other car. He kept saying, "Dad, I drive. Show me." "Buy ice cream." Well, at first I told him that he was too young to drive. I then realized that his age would not change his prospects for driving instruction. I am not sure how to handle that just yet. James wants to do everything his brothers and sisters do including driving. Anyway his prompting at least got him some Andy's "banilla" ice cream. He was pretty please with the ice cream. Then on the way home we stopped by the newly opened Walmart and bought him some new "spiderman tennis shoes with lights". Life is good and we are going to have to start hiding the car keys.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-6859552855222950443?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6859552855222950443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=6859552855222950443' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/6859552855222950443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/6859552855222950443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/me-driveshow-me.html' title='Me Drive...Show Me'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/SFczlIUkSLI/AAAAAAAAAF8/o0gR-DXOIec/s72-c/IMAGE_201.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-4815198325418800370</id><published>2008-05-08T22:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T05:28:29.384-07:00</updated><title type='text'>James on TV...</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-8a3dc3a7420d6e6c" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v22.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D8a3dc3a7420d6e6c%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330206424%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D2671F650B08E1B2CA124DC12D6AB482B1A795800.85F205170547E77B86F6946B2A710911712E5CB4%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D8a3dc3a7420d6e6c%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DUFOyARUyGfozb7gp7ghoxWCIh78&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v22.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D8a3dc3a7420d6e6c%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330206424%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D2671F650B08E1B2CA124DC12D6AB482B1A795800.85F205170547E77B86F6946B2A710911712E5CB4%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D8a3dc3a7420d6e6c%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DUFOyARUyGfozb7gp7ghoxWCIh78&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hillcrest High School TV produced a piece on James' Big Day. Robert, James brother, teamed up with Julie Wooten to put this together.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-4815198325418800370?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=8a3dc3a7420d6e6c&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4815198325418800370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=4815198325418800370' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4815198325418800370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4815198325418800370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/james-on-tv.html' title='James on TV...'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-945179651511071232</id><published>2008-05-08T20:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-08T20:37:47.256-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>Dad...order pisa!</title><content type='html'>Today when I came home James was asking me to order "pisa...phone". He had pizza on his mind and before I arrived, Cindy saw him with the phone dialing some number, then clearing his throat to get ready to order. Somehow James has moved into a phone fascination phase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other night at around 10 pm, Coco received a call from the Hillenburg house telling her that James had called Mark from my phone. Sure enough we found him with my phone in hand. Apologies for the late night disturbance were made and graciously accepted. I then looked at my phone only to discover that he had called the bank, Boston Baptist College, a pastor friend in Lebanon Missouri and a few others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to the "pisa" request. A while after taking the phone away and interrupting his attempt to order he came into the kitchen this time with phone book in hand. He had thumbed through the yellow pages and had found the pizzas. At first I was amazed at his ability to read only to be reminded that he just found the pictures of pizzas which made more sense. After all of his effort I wore down and ordered a pizza. He was thrilled. Come to think of it, I probably did not help curtail our phone fascination phase. I probably just made it worse. But so what. Cute is cute and the bright smile on his face when the pizza came was worth it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-945179651511071232?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/945179651511071232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=945179651511071232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/945179651511071232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/945179651511071232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/dadorder-pisa.html' title='Dad...order pisa!'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-9121084575363324737</id><published>2008-05-06T20:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T20:59:50.556-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>“Breef Mom”…</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The other day Cindy was having one of those overloaded Mom stress moments. While James did not know what was going on, he could see that Mom was having a tough time. He walked into our bedroom, looked his Mom in the eye and then with hand motions said, “Mom, breef (breath) in, breef out.” At this point Cindy and I both erupted into laughter and amazingly enough, the stress was gone. James may not understand all the details, but he does get what matters. Thanks, James for keeping us breathing. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-9121084575363324737?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9121084575363324737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=9121084575363324737' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/9121084575363324737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/9121084575363324737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/breef-mom.html' title='“Breef Mom”…'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-7776239587337072933</id><published>2008-05-06T20:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-08T20:19:51.325-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>You threw what in the toilet?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;One afternoon, I walked into the house after work to find the kind of informal courtroom setting that most parents have learned can be essential to child rearing. Cindy, was sitting in the living room with James seated on the ottoman in front of her. The feeling in the room was serious and the tone of her voice was authoritative. “Tell me the truth” she was saying, as I walked in. “I tell the truf”, James replied. At this point I was brought in as a second questioner. Cindy explained what I did not know. The suspicion was that James who had locked himself into the bathroom with &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Coco&lt;/st1:place&gt;’s cell phone only to emerge with no phone after a flush a minute later, had flushed the phone down the toilet. I said sternly, “James, tell me the truth. Did you flush the cell phone and it went away?” He looked up at me over his glasses and mumbled, “A little bit.” Now how you flush a phone “a little bit” is known only to James. The real truth is that the answer was yes and he was guilty but was trying to minimize his offense with careful wording. It actually sounds a lot like the rest of us. We are very prone and quite expert at minimizing or redefining our mistakes.&lt;/p&gt;One post script to the story is that while &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Coco&lt;/st1:place&gt; was very upset to no longer have a phone, she handled it with a lot of grace. Her gracious response gave way to out and out jubilation when I told her that I had ordered a new phone, one much better than the one that got “A little bit flushed.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-7776239587337072933?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7776239587337072933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=7776239587337072933' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7776239587337072933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7776239587337072933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/you-threw-what-in-toilet.html' title='You threw what in the toilet?'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-2952371909199513600</id><published>2008-05-06T20:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T21:02:59.182-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>What are you doing, James…. I’m smokin!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It was the 72&lt;sup&gt;nd&lt;/sup&gt; Anniversary Sunday at High Street. We were entertaining our guest speaker and the former pastor, Bill Rogers. We left the church and loaded up the car to meet Pastor and Mrs. Rogers, Dave (their son) and his wife Kendra for lunch at one of our local restaurants. It was one of those car talk moments where James was given the parent talk that goes like, “James you better act nice at the restaurant. Be respectful, eat properly, look into people’s eyes when you say thank you and please…and please, please be a good boy.” Well things went pretty well during the meal. As most parents come to realize, adult lunches sitting in the same spot for way longer than it takes to eat is not an easy exercise for kids. At the end of our time, James picked up a straw and walked from one end of the table past our guests, to the other end of the table with his straw pointed at his brother Robert. I figured that a spit wad war was on the verge of breaking out. Hoping to head this off at the pass, I asked James. “James, what are you doing with the straw?” To which he replied as he elegantly pulled the straw away from his lips, “I smokin.” Nope, we had never covered smoking in any of our pre lunch lecture material. Thankfully, Pastor and Mrs. Rogers erupted in laughter having raised their own PK’s and understood clearly our kid moment with James. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-2952371909199513600?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2952371909199513600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=2952371909199513600' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/2952371909199513600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/2952371909199513600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/what-are-you-doing-james-im-smokin.html' title='What are you doing, James…. I’m smokin!'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-9211377660646188368</id><published>2008-04-07T18:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-07T21:38:53.252-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>Leg out the window…</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It was Sunday night, time for our small group Bible study at home. While we were all engaged in the video presentation something was happening in the back of the house we did not know about. &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;Aunt Karen reported that she happened to look out her window (she lives across the street) and when she did, she saw something very unusual. There was a leg sticking out of the window in what she knew was James’ room. She quickly ran across the street to see what James was doing. When she got to him his response was, “Dati (his version of auntie), whachu doin here”. His plan had been unexpectedly interrupted. James was loving the warm weather and an open window. The idea of going outside without having to go through the adult filled living room and the ever present interference of his mother gave way to the idea of climbing out the window. &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Auntie, thankfully, was looking at the window at the right time. We sometimes are convinced that a band of angels are assigned to James. One evidently tapped her on the shoulder and led her to look out the window just in time to see the leg out the window. Thanks Auntie.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;PS. Today, I have done a little Dad magic to make it so he can't open his window. Hope he doesn't figure out what I did. I won't say it is impossible to open now.  He is one smart little guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-9211377660646188368?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9211377660646188368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=9211377660646188368' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/9211377660646188368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/9211377660646188368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/04/leg-out-window.html' title='Leg out the window…'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-4792271504994996591</id><published>2008-03-30T21:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T21:58:13.148-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>James solidifies his "rock star" status with newspaper photo</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R_ButWr32YI/AAAAAAAAAFM/LNTmz0boiSU/s1600-h/James+on+pitchers+mound.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R_ButWr32YI/AAAAAAAAAFM/LNTmz0boiSU/s320/James+on+pitchers+mound.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183764896566204802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The excitement continues. Today at church someone came up and asked me if I had seen the picture of James in the newspaper. I had not so they went to look for one to show me. It was great. James was congratulated over and over today at church. Someone actually asked for an autograph. After the first autograph was given, James was on a roll. He began to give out unsolicited autographs to anyone he found. This afternoon he went down to the Wilson's to watch himself on TV. They were gracious enough to record him during his great moment. So all is well. The baseball appearance followed by the newspaper and then to watch himself on TV, James is loving life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-4792271504994996591?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4792271504994996591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=4792271504994996591' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4792271504994996591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4792271504994996591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/james-solidifies-his-rock-star-status.html' title='James solidifies his &quot;rock star&quot; status with newspaper photo'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R_ButWr32YI/AAAAAAAAAFM/LNTmz0boiSU/s72-c/James+on+pitchers+mound.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-4113024551550233095</id><published>2008-03-29T15:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-29T15:44:51.883-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>Pujols and James</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-69smr32VI/AAAAAAAAAEw/BDc0vaw1p7M/s1600-h/DSCF4476.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-69smr32VI/AAAAAAAAAEw/BDc0vaw1p7M/s400/DSCF4476.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;James threw out the first pitch at the St. Louis Cardinals - Springfield Cardinals game. Dream come true not only for James but also for the family, James threw the pitch to Albert Pujols.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all kind of wondered how he would do. He was in his "play to the crowd" mood. When he was asked to walk out to meet Albert Pujols, I asked James if he needed me to go or was he ok to go by himself. He turned to me and said, "go sit down". And with that he walked off with the Cardinals officials to meet Albert Pujols. We could see him talking up a storm and pointing to his family all standing up against the fence. Albert waved to us a couple of times and then James was asked to go and "fire away". He ran all the way to the pitchers mound and with great confidence wound up and threw the ball. The ball did not quite make it to home plate, but Mr. Pujols ran and scooped it up off the grass and went to congratulate James. He then signed the ball and handed it to James.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we walked up the stairs to find our seats he was greeted by many of the fans in their chairs. James was smiling ear to ear. He felt like a rock star for the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had offered to buy him a hot dog after he pitched just to keep him from lingering on the field. He was glad to stand in line and claim the snack. He was loving the snacks, the pop and the whole baseball experience. When the vendor came walking by offering cold beer, his hand went up, just as it did for peanuts, kettle corn, cotton candy and any other snack offered. Needless to say we contented ourselves with the peanuts and said no to the rest of the snack buffet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Special thanks to   Lynn Neidigh, President of the Down Syndrome Support Group of the Ozarks, who made it all happen. We also want to thank Becky Morgan, Down Syndrome Support Group board member,  who accompanied us as the official representative of the support group.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-7C3Wr32XI/AAAAAAAAAFA/5vjDZbxXlJQ/s1600-h/family+at+Cardinal+game.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-7C3Wr32XI/AAAAAAAAAFA/5vjDZbxXlJQ/s320/family+at+Cardinal+game.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183294477388208498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-6_Umr32WI/AAAAAAAAAE4/imEDKFvKsiI/s1600-h/James+and+Pujols.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-6_Umr32WI/AAAAAAAAAE4/imEDKFvKsiI/s320/James+and+Pujols.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183290581852871010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-4113024551550233095?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4113024551550233095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=4113024551550233095' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4113024551550233095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/4113024551550233095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/pujols-and-james.html' title='Pujols and James'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-69smr32VI/AAAAAAAAAEw/BDc0vaw1p7M/s72-c/DSCF4476.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-821583260074554789</id><published>2008-03-28T18:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-28T18:34:57.694-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Experiences'/><title type='text'>Getting Ready for Albert Pujols</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-2ZZWr32TI/AAAAAAAAAEk/ZeqVwhlFAg4/s1600-h/DSCF3003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-2ZZWr32TI/AAAAAAAAAEk/ZeqVwhlFAg4/s400/DSCF3003.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well here is the big news. James was selected by the Down Syndrome Support Group of Springfield to represent them by throwing out the first pitch to Albert Pujols on Saturday, March 29. Needless to say, we are all very excited. We are also hoping that when the reality of that many people in the stands watching our guy sets in, he will enjoy the attention and not shy away from it all. He does love being cheered. We kind of practiced a family "cheer for James at the Cardinal's game". When Coco did not clap and cheer, he immediately broke from his bow to yell "Coco, clap". (Actually, James can't say the letter "L" and it sounds like  "R" but, I can't write that word here.) It makes us laugh and we insisted that Coco join the cheer so we could move on. She did and the bow continued.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All is ready, the red Cardinal shirt with number 5 and Pujols on the back has been bought along with the blue shorts. We are going to be ready with a baseball, just in case an autograph is a possibility. Robert will be covering the event for Hillcrest TV. Troy agreed to bring a camera and shoot for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When James was born, he was the child we worried would have more challenges than opportunities. It is amazing to watch God pick him out and give him something this cool. God is good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Albert Pujols openly confesses that he has accepted Jesus Christ as His Savior and that his family has a commitment to put God first. He also has used his experience with having a Down Syndrome child in the home to encourage and support other families like his. A special thanks to Mr. Pujols for his strong testimony and service to others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So tomorrow is the big day at the ball field.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-821583260074554789?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/821583260074554789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=821583260074554789' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/821583260074554789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/821583260074554789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/getting-ready-for-albert-pujols.html' title='Getting Ready for Albert Pujols'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R-2ZZWr32TI/AAAAAAAAAEk/ZeqVwhlFAg4/s72-c/DSCF3003.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-8202930330049785557</id><published>2008-03-21T15:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-21T15:27:02.120-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>Wear "flops" and buy "melelelems".</title><content type='html'>James has enjoyed his week at home during spring break. His curiosity has been at its peak. Escaping regularly to different parts of the house where no one sees him, he has plundered with abandon. His mother has had the flu, and even in her weakened state, she is running around cleaning up after our own little guy. His path of discovery has been like having both Lewis and Clark in the same body. His latest adventure was to go downstairs to the basement and pull out big sister's guitar and other electronic music gear. From there he ventured into the Christmas decor storage area and decided to reintroduce some holiday cheer into the decor. Cindy all the while trying to contain him in his room so that she can go clean up after him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This afternoon is such a beautiful day, we decided to just go somewhere. James wanted to wear his "flops" his word for flip flops (when I was a kid we called them something that my kids won't let me say anymore). He wants to go buy "melelelems" a pronunciation of one of America's favorite candies M&amp;amp;M's that involves more tongue twirling action than anyone ever thought of. You have to see it to fully appreciate it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never a dull moment. James is busy and for the most part a happy boy from dawn to late at night. His latest request is to be able to paint. He is quite the artist. My favorite picture is his "robot". Maybe some art lessons would be a good way to direct his creativity and energy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-8202930330049785557?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8202930330049785557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=8202930330049785557' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8202930330049785557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/8202930330049785557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/wear-flops-and-buy-melelelems.html' title='Wear &quot;flops&quot; and buy &quot;melelelems&quot;.'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-3894509893324802721</id><published>2008-03-17T19:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-17T20:01:00.663-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>I Go to my Church</title><content type='html'>It is Monday night and James came into the living room and said, "I go to my church". He then began to recite the names of his teachers and friends in his Special Friends Class at church. At first I was a bit confused and then it dawned on me. His sister Coco is recovering from having wisdom teeth extracted. Because of this Cindy, James and Coco did not go to church yesterday. This has town James off. He loves his teachers and friends at church. Special thanks to all of James teachers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-3894509893324802721?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3894509893324802721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=3894509893324802721' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3894509893324802721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3894509893324802721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-go-to-my-church.html' title='I Go to my Church'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-1753801394339273908</id><published>2008-03-14T13:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T13:27:24.523-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James Sayings'/><title type='text'>"Silly Me, My Bad"</title><content type='html'>Sitting in the living room I hear the noise of tearing paper in the kitchen. Then comes Cindy's voice, "James, you can't open other people's mail." To this James gives up his defense statement that is suppose to cover a multitude of sins and turn her disfavor around. "Silly Me, My Bad." Now there is no doubt that forgiveness will flow. But facts are facts, when you open and loose someone else's mail that is not good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who can blame James. He is all about doing everything everyone else around him does. That includes getting mail.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-1753801394339273908?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1753801394339273908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=1753801394339273908' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1753801394339273908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/1753801394339273908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/silly-me-my-bad.html' title='&quot;Silly Me, My Bad&quot;'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-7366159774770955996</id><published>2008-03-10T20:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T21:21:47.330-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='James&apos; Episode'/><title type='text'>Where's James?</title><content type='html'>One of the most heard questions in our house is, "Where's James?". Our whole family kind of lives in this ongoing "James watch". He is one curious, busy boy. When he disappears to the basement to explore his siblings rooms, his plundering is apparent. We are constantly checking to make sure he is still in his room and if he is not, we must go on the hunt. There have been times when he has gotten up before the rest of us only to find him with frying pan on the stove and broken eggs on the floor. When his mother walks into the kitchen she is greeted by his charming and yet guilty face.  What are you doing, James? "I cook eggs." Nothing like stating the obvious. All of the doors in the house are wired to trip a chime so we know when an exterior is opened. We all ask each other if they have seen James in the last few minutes and we make sure he has not just walked out the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well today James was at home with his sister Coco. She was working with a friend on a history day project. She had made sure James was in his room playing so they could concentrate on their project. All of a sudden the door bell rang so she went to see who it was. Much to her amazement it was James standing outside at the front door. She was shocked and she asked James how he got there. He proceeded to explain that he climbed out the window in his bedroom, walked down the street to our friends the Wilson's and also across the street to Aunt Karen's house. It just so happened no one was at the Wilson's and Aunt Karen was not at home either. Thankfully, James did not know anyone else on our block and so he had come home. Coco said that after hearing about his excursion it dawned on her that for about 20 minutes James had been particularly quiet in his room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our James surveillance efforts today have reached a new level. And so the question, "Where's James?" just became even more important.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-7366159774770955996?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7366159774770955996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=7366159774770955996' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7366159774770955996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/7366159774770955996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/wheres-james.html' title='Where&apos;s James?'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-399768111107294242</id><published>2008-03-07T20:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T20:14:34.605-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R9ISqtXpqcI/AAAAAAAAABk/xwqhuwrUVPE/s1600-h/DSCF3306.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R9ISqtXpqcI/AAAAAAAAABk/xwqhuwrUVPE/s400/DSCF3306.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'&gt;&lt;a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-399768111107294242?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/399768111107294242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=399768111107294242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/399768111107294242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/399768111107294242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/R9ISqtXpqcI/AAAAAAAAABk/xwqhuwrUVPE/s72-c/DSCF3306.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-286291849435190261</id><published>2008-03-07T19:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T19:50:48.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'>There is snow at my school</title><content type='html'>James has this unique ability to be enthusiastic and excited about things the rest of us take for granted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally after several years Springfield got a good snow. Around six inches of the great white, fluffy, sledding quality snow. It was beautiful. Along with the snow came every child's dream. Snow and a snow day from school. So for a day, the kids played in the snow. Because it is March in the Ozarks we saw the snow come one day and melt the next.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day after the snow fell and before it had melted away, school was back in session. I took James to school that morning. He sits in the backseat and can't really see much out the window on that daily ride to Reed Middle School. We pulled up to his school. I got out of the car to open his door and walk him into the building. He got out and looked around and with great enthusiasm and surprise he yells, "There snow at my school." His school had never sported the outside white carpet until this day. For James even though his house had snow for which he had rejoiced, this was a whole new and unexpected reason to be enthusiastic about school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reminded once again that sometime we are too smart to rejoice over simple things. Thanks, James for the reminder.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-286291849435190261?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/286291849435190261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=286291849435190261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/286291849435190261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/286291849435190261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/there-is-snow-at-my-school.html' title='There is snow at my school'/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3774623990857320910.post-3874856226911407821</id><published>2008-03-07T18:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T13:27:17.628-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3774623990857320910-3874856226911407821?l=mybopsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3874856226911407821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3774623990857320910&amp;postID=3874856226911407821' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3874856226911407821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3774623990857320910/posts/default/3874856226911407821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybopsblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/first-entry.html' title=''/><author><name>Eddie Lyons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07061379418203565117</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2RLU6wWc2hk/Sk2eJQwMJOI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Zp29JnLYNQk/S220/2667_87006602348_47830687348_2813894_3102402_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
