• Adam bomb

    Maybe it’s his small body. Maybe it’s just hardwired into a four year old boy.

    Adam is showing an early flair for maneuvering, pattern recognition, and tactics. I think he’s worked out every long approach to a padded landing in the house. “Adam, no running!” comes out of my mouth on autopilot, like “God bless you” when someone sneezes. It comes out a fraction of a second before his body makes impact. Sometimes I’m the target. Sometimes it’s a piece of furniture, or an unsuspecting (large) stuffed animal. He is afraid of the dark, but he’ll run across two rooms and launch his body at full speed, head first, into a Lazy Boy – sending boy and chair sliding across the floor into the wall.

    He’s still a little big for his age, my ribs can vouch for his conditioning, and he’s signed up for soccer this winter.

    Fellow parents, I pray for your children.

  • Going back to my roots

    I’m living life with Snow Leopard and iTunes 9. Fellow Apple fan-boys (or excuse me, girls) know what I’m talking about.

    I’m giving the Genius Mixes a whirl in iTunes 9, and “Rock Mix 6” is a collection of music ripped from the CDs of my childhood. Yes, I’m one of those people: all my of CDs are ripped, roaring, and ready to go on my Mac.

    It’s been a little while. I’m hanging with Huey. I wasn’t born until ’71, but I’m reminiscing about the Summer of ’69. Sammy’s still not driving 55. Love will find a way, but I’m not sure I want to know what the Big Generator is about. The kids are eating it up.

    I’m enjoying it, in a guilty pleasure kind of way. Maybe it’s just the music from MY past, but it occurs to me the ’80s were the American Cheese of music history. We call it music. It’s popular and comes in handy, individually wrapped squares, but has little nutritional value.

    None of this is fair of course. Every generation has its fluff and filler. Picking on the Reagan era is just so easy… so satisfying… on so many levels.

  • Words I would use

    My mother-in-law called me earlier. She told me it was 63 degrees in New Hampshire, but it was raining.

    Everything before the comma was good natured taunting – it’s still seat sticking hot here. Vinyl seats are cruel and unusual punishment. I think the raining bit was supposed to cushion the blow, but I’m the odd Floridian who doesn’t like this much sun.

    I would replace the but with an and. It would be all taunt. My face would strain with the effort to contain my grin.

    There’s hope on the horizon though – storm clouds blowing in. We’ll get the rain part right tonight. It’ll be a few months until I can enjoy it properly: on the front porch in an old pair of sweats, listening to the trees absorb thousands of tiny flicks from the sky. It’s coming up quick though – my favorite time of year.

    I can’t wait.

    Ok, I can. I just don’t want to.