"You see this man?" I showed Noah a photo in today's newpaper. Noah nodded. "You were named "William" after him."
"You mean Noah William?" our seven-year-old asked. I smiled, " Noah 'W' was what Dad called you. Because you were born–"
"I know. I know," Noah interjected, "on President's Day in 2000."
"On Election Day," I corrected. "That's the day we decide who BECOMES the new president."
I retold my first grader the story of his birthday. How his father and I left home in a heavy rain shower to vote when the polls opened at 7 AM on November 7th. We then went to the hospital to induce labor for his birth. The whole day while I was in labor, his dad – a man who would have given TV character Alex P. Keaton a run for his money – had the TV going full bore on CNN to watch and wait for the election returns. Dad prayed: should Bush win and our baby be a boy, the child would be named "George W." to mark this day. But Dad was sure on this third go-round, we would have a girl.
"By suppertime, we had you – a baby boy," I told Noah. "That Election Day was very special. Al Gore had the most people votes. But George W. Bush had the most state votes. Al Gore demanded to recount the votes. The process took more than a month and a Supreme Court ruling to decide that George W. Bush was the new president."
"But we couldn't wait weeks to name our baby," I said. "We had to name you before we left the hospital. It took two days for Dad to agree to the name already picked out."
A couple months before Noah's birth, I was reading Bible stories with Isaac and Aaron. I asked the boys: "What do you think we should name the new baby?" At first Aaron said, "Tractor" because it was his favorite toy. We laughed and decided that wouldn't work for a baby. Then Aaron said, "Noah!"
Isaac said, "He built the ark."
"Noah..." I repeated. "I like that: Isaac, Aaron and Noah."
I didn't breathe a word to Dan. We'd had trouble agreeing on names for the older two. Isaac was born 11 days after his due date. We agreed on his name a couple DAYS before his birth. We picked "Isaac" because the name means "joyous laughter;" and in the Bible, Isaac was the first son of Abraham and Sara. We picked Aaron's name a couple HOURS before his birth – while I was in early stages of labor. "Aaron" means "exalted on high;" and Aaron was a great biblical figure speaking for and along side his younger brother Moses.
For me, the third name choice was narrowed back to the Bible. Dan scoffed at the idea, chastising: "When are you gonna think outside of the box?"
"Right! Let's see. How about Isaac, Aaron and Hunter?" I mocked. He said, "It doesn't have to be that obvious."
To avoid the bantering, I simply said: "I've got the names all picked out."
And by heaven's grace, it rained and poured – just like in the biblical times of Noah – all that Election Day during a Minnesota November. I took the rainy occurrence as sign because the next morning heavy snow began to fall.
"Your dad finally gave in," I told Noah. "His next question was: What about Noah's middle name?"
"I said, How about William after William F. Buckley? That way, it doesn't matter who becomes president. Noah will still be named after a conservative – a great one at that. And if Bush does win, we can call the baby "Noah W." – just like George W."
"And so on your birth certificate, that's what the nurse typed: Noah William," I finished my story to Noah and pointed back at the newspaper photo. "William F. Buckley was your dad's hero and he's your namesake."
passed 
"I get to ice fish today!" Aaron said jumping out of bed.
"Which she did," 
"What is that scent you're wearing?" asked the postal clerk.
"I will!" said the eighth grader.
"I thought I smelled waffles," Isaac said rising late this morning. "I thought you'd make those."
He 
a friend begged me for paints, brushes, scrap boards and wire to release her inner creativity. Her own supplies were packed away as she and her children waited for their home to sell and her husband was working hours away in their new community. My friend's enthusiasm to paint produced a special hanging that still graces my kitchen.
where
The pleasure began nine years ago on the eve before this day.
That act became a tradition – one about spoiling my family... nobody else!
Now in their preteen and teenage years, the older two play along. When their seven-year-old brother rose this morning, he saw the tidied house and festive decorations and said, "The Valentine Fairy came."
The 
I released Moose this morning, slung his leash around my shoulders, grabbed the trash can, pulled it to end of our lane and started to walk down our township road – alone. I wondered whether Dan's chocolate hunting dog would track me down. He had sprinted back into the woods on his daily scout. I didn't intend to go far – just stretch my atrophying muscles – out in the below-zero briskness.
Moose was stretching too. He loped up beside me, circled and came into step. I said, "There you are. You found me."
At our lane's end, I grabbed the trash can, rolled it back to the garage with Moose close by. We walked up the sidewalk together. The leash slipped off my shoulders onto the ground. Moose nosed it. I picked up saying: We didn't need this at all – not once – that's a first!"
