Death by a thousand paper-cuts. Nickel and dimed to death. The straw that broke the camel’s back. I feel like someone rolled up all these tried and true cliches like pennies, put them in a sock, and beat me over the head with them.
And I’m not just saying that because my head hurt, although it did.
To start with, it seems like the kids have been a little sick for a month. Not a lot…
We were helping Beth with her homework on the American Revolution this evening, and it was great fun. I fancy myself the household expert on history, so I was right in my element. However, helping with a big homework assignment until ten p.m. makes me yearn for my high school days (when I didn’t). It didn’t help that we were all pretty tired.
Anyway, there was a point in all this when…
A couple weeks ago I was summoned home due to an emergency. Beth was freaked out by a frog that gained entrance to our house via commode.
Being a thoughtful, sensitive parent, I went straight home, tracked down the frog, and laughed. Mind you, this was no mere chuckle. This kind of laughing involved tears. At first Beth didn’t share my feelings… not even a little bit. I could tell…
Cheryl and the kids wanted to take a trip to Busch Gardens Friday afternoon, and I finally gave in and went along. My white cell count is still low, but I kind of like the idea of the kids having a few fond memories of me doing fun stuff with them.
I even felt adventurous enough to bring our old camera along. Sure, we’ve already got tons of pictures of the place, some going back almost…
How many of you started reading this post thinking it was criminal justice related? Come on, give it up. You thought this was another political rant, didn’t you?
No friends, this one’s just fluff… a cotton-candy piece, if you will.
What I really want to know is this: has the wiring of the brain of a three-year-old boy gelled enough to pick his own paint color for his room? I ask…
There aren’t many things that make me feel more fallible as a parent than trying to be one with a hum-dinger of a headache. There aren’t many things that make me feel much better than my kids showing me it doesn’t matter.
I woke up from a nap on Saturday with Beth kneeling next to me, asking “Are you feeling better dad?” You know what? I was. She’d asked me that…