Oh don’t mind me; I’m just suffering through some garden variety fatigue. You see, yesterday I had a rough evening. There wasn’t anything special about it, just another night of the Lightning in the Stanley Cup Finals. Ho Hum. The score was really close through two periods, but that’s nothing new. I got about four and a half of my accustomed seven hours of sleep last night, but I figure its good practice for the new baby (coming soon to a Kauffman household near you!). So I’m a little tired. You know what? I’m having a great time. Cheryl sits in her pregnant perch, directing chores like a household quarterback running a two minute drill. I’ve been running around at work like a man with an unhealthy understanding of chemistry. Beth and I have retreated to the backyard every evening to, GASP, do yard work. YARD WORK!?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND MAN!?!

Yes sir, strange things are afoot in the Kauffman household (version 2.2). I’m exhausted. I’m working my tucchus off. Hell, I’m doing yard work every damn day. And yet, I’m unexpectedly content. I’ll admit that the prospect of Cheryl going on “managed bed rest” was a cause of concern within the cramped confines of my mind. Now it’s here and things don’t seem so bad. Granted, I still regard housework with the all the enthusiasm of a new proctology patient. I guess the secret really is how you approach things. Happiness can certainly be found in the strangest of places.

The other day someone at church said something that took me by surprise. A gentleman told me that he noticed that Cheryl and I still talked with each other like we were dating. It was something that stuck with me. It’s rather ironic actually. When Cheryl and I were dating, people used to tell us that we acted like an old married couple. Now that we’re married people are telling us that we act like we’re dating. Does that mean that we’ve regressed?

How does this all tie together?

Let me just say that despite my exhaustion; despite my occasional lack of youthful exuberance; despite the televised sports events driving me to an early grave; I feel alive. I feel good, and I feel my mood infecting others. I’ve seen the return of Cheryl’s innocent smile. I’ve seen the return of Beth’s playful innocence. I don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, I feel the warmth of the sun shining on my face.