Dunham Family and My Stroke Story!

Randomness about Ethan! In an effort to somehow document the crazy things Ethan says, here's a list of recent funny things he has said: 1. He calls his mom a "silly bunion." 2. He calls me "silly underwear." 3. He has now decided to be a vampire for Halloween after starting out as a Transformer and moving to a pirate. "Vampires are COOL Daddy!" 4. In planning a family trip to Disney World in 2010, Ethan looked at me and said in his most earnest fashion, "Daddy. Do NOT forget a stroller. These little legs will get kinda tired walking too much." 5. Anything that is bad is a "rat." As in, "Daddy, he's a rat" or "That show is a rat" or "that food is a rat." 6. When he doesn't like something to eat, he will grasp his belly, moan, and act sick saying "My tummy hurts!" When we remind him that having a stomach ache means no ice cream, he replies "Well, I think that might make me

I know a father who is a very busy construction executive. This hard-charging entrepreneur sets aside one night per week to spend with his son who is about 7 years old. It doesn't matter if a mogul or a politician calls. They spend that evening as father and son. I've been meaning to do that with my son Ethan. It just seems too often that the days, weeks, and then years slip by. Before you know it, you' are a cliche straight from the old "Cats in the Cradle" weepy Harry Chapin song from the 70's. Last night, I thought a lot about this as Ethan and I spent an evening together. While Heather played Florence Nightengale to the neighbors (dear friend who is widowed with a 6 year old and 2 year old rushed to hospital for an appendectomy on top of swine flu...count your blessings!), Ethan accompanied me to a parenting class. We then spent an hour at a McDonalds that was virtually deserted. He engaged in excited conversation, talked about school, Halloween, building

My son is named Ethan Stanford Dunham. My father was Stanford Arlen Dunham, and Ethan's middle name is a tribute to my dad who died in 1993. For me, my dad was almost more of a buddy because my mom married my beloved step-father, Karl Brown, when I was 8 years old. Karl was my day-to-day father. Nevertheless, as I grew up, I spent a lot of time with my dad who we often called "Stan the Man." He was a great guy, a character whose irreverance and wit endeared him to many. I still think about him everyday and wonder what he would be doing had he not been taken from us when he was only 63. It is inevitable I suppose that families on both sides of a child's parentage look at a kid and claim dominance in terms of genes. Ethan does look a lot like my wife Heather though I claim his eyebrows! I appreciate that many on Heather's side suggest he "looks just like David, or just like...." Alternatively, I have friends who say he looks just like my brother Steve. I a

I've already blogged about my mom's chocolate chip cookies, but we have now reached a crisis: We are out of them. Tonight, I told Ethan that we were out of Grandma's cookies but could eat Heather's. He said, "Disgusting!" Later, I sneaked him one of his mothers along with an ice cold milk. He ate part of it, and then said, "Daddy. Why don't you finish it. It just isn't very good." On another Ethan note, over the weekend, he spent a couple days with his cousin who took him to a Vallivue High football game followed the next day with breakfast with the Vallivue Cross Country team. When I asked him if he was having fun (while we were in Vegas), over the phone in a plaintive little voice he replied, "Not very well. Last night I barfed like a chicken." He didn't "barf," but he is a bit under the weather. He told me tonight that he just didn't feel well enough to help with the dishes. "My legs are just too tired Dadd

Wikipedia defines “Stockholm Syndrome” as a psychological response sometimes seen in abducted hostages in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger or risk in which they have been placed.” Coincidentally, Nobel Peace prizes are awarded in Stockholm, Sweden meaning President Barack Obama, less than one year on the job, will travel to Stockholm in December to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. Apparently, his second trip to Scandinavia will be more fruitful than his unsuccessful trek to Copenhagen to get the Olympics in Chicago. There is a certain irony that a psychological condition based on a cult of personality where prisoners become enamored of their captors is named for the same city where an award will be given to a person whose credentials for a Nobel Peace Prize are thin at best but seem based primarily on the fact that he is NOT George W. Bush. Of course, this is the same group that awarded Jimmy Carter a peace prize in 2002 in recogn

My mother makes amazing chocolate chip cookies. I'm probably biased having spent 48 years eating them; however, my college buddies also can attest to their quality. In fact, for years, my mom has baked chocolate chip cookies for them as well. Ethan has inherited an affinity for "Grandma's Cookies." She bakes them for him, and we put them in the freezer. Ethan and I dole them out sparingly. When he is sick, he sometimes whines, rubs his belly, and says "I think one of Grandma's cookies may make me feel a little better." Every once in a while, Heather decides to make chocolate chip cookies. Don't get me wrong, Heather's are great, but...well, they are just not my mom's. I know I run the risk of engaging in the old "Well, my mom's are better than my wife's." I don't want to do that, so I refrain from saying anything. But, the old adage "out of the mouths of babes" means Ethan isn't quite so restrained. The oth