Don't Fear The Reaper, Unless...
(Wednesday, May 21, 2014)
Mia and Owen have a very strange relationship. They spend a great deal of time trying to mentally and physically outwit each other, often coming to blows. But when push comes to shove - sometimes literally - they absolutely love each other. Owen will, for example, punch Mia in the face and call her a "poopyhead" after which Owen will get sent to his room for an unspecified amount of time. Mia will often take this opportunity to make a nice drawing for Owen, or make him a present. This defies logic but, then, I was an only child so possibly I just don't get it.
I was sick over the weekend, popping a 103.6 degree fever and acting completely delusional at one point. Unfortunately for Mia, I passed it on to her (I'm a great dad). She was home sick the last few days though, I should point out, she bounced back way quicker than this 41 year old dad. Last night Owen wrote a very nice note to her.
Now, Owen's still learning to read and wrote and insists on spelling everything himself with absolutely no assistance. Occasionally messages come out a little different than expected. This was no different.
I hope you fear butter.
I've spent a lot of time trying to come up with the best band names ever. I think I just found the best album name.
(Friday, April 25, 2014)
So, you might have noticed that like a rude, ugly man with no money and bad acne, this blog hasn't gotten much action lately.
It's not that I haven't thought about this blog - and you, the readers - every single day. I have. It's that I haven't had much to say. Or, rather, I've had a bit to say but little time to say it.
[In a nutshell, here's what's happened since I last posted - I'm still working my ass off for the government and pretty much loving every minute of it despite the fact that the hours are long and the pace is exhausting. My face is healing but I've still got the beard because, well, you know, it's turned out to be a pretty kick-ass beard. I'm drinking less beer and losing a little weight so I don't look like, well, the Pillsbury Dough-Boy with a cool beard. The kids are good. My wife is working a full time gig which she's slightly afraid to love since it involves kids that aren't hers that just happen to be autistic. And, well, I think you're caught up.]
I started blogging more then ten years ago. Almost eleven. Things changed over those eleven years. Blogs became an import voice in the national (and international) dialog. So too did they become commercial enterprises. Bloggers were divided by category - geographic, political, dads, moms, comedians, corporate, government. Everyone had to fit into some nice, neat category and lost were those that just wanted to, well, wanted to express themselves.
Blogs have dwindled. Gone are the days when blogs held sway. They've been supplanted by 140 character text-bites or the brief Facebook posts. Maybe during these eleven years we've developed shorter attention spans. Maybe we're less willing to read anything that isn't categorized into something nice and clean.
In this day and age, I feel like I'm some kind of founding blog-father. And I feel like the relevance that so many wonderful writers infused into the medium is lost. And that saddens me.
I haven't gone anywhere. I've just grown a little discouraged. And a whole lot busier. But I haven't forgotten the fantastic people who've read my blog for so many years. I'm still thankful for you. I may be a bit less prolific but I'm still here, thinking my thoughts, and appreciating you for yours.
Gone In A Flash
(Tuesday, March 25, 2014)
After months of begging, pleading and reminding, Owen finally got a guinea pig. Three weeks ago, we went to the pet store and found possibly the most adorable rodent I've ever laid eyes on. He was tiny but adorable. Owen fell in love. Owen named him Flash. Flash Thompson. We brought him home, assembled his cage, shoved food and hay in his general direction and let him be. Throughout the week we cuddled him. He loved nothing more than to climb into Beth's shirt (something Flash and I share).
Two weeks ago, while the girls were involved in a Girl Scout event, I went to check on Flash Thompson and found him dead. I was devastated. First, he was cute but mostly I knew that Owen would be crushed. I went downstairs where Owen and I had been playing Legos, and broke the news. He immediately put his head in his hands and began sobbing. I had a hard time not sobbing myself.
We're guinea pig veterans. Okay, we haven't had a million of the things but we have Anderson (who is the most awesome rodent alive) and we've managed not to kill him. We all agreed - Beth, Owen, Mia, me and the pet store - that Flash Thompson was sick when we got him.
Of course later that Saturday afternoon, we went to the pet store and found a replacement. Flash Thompson (Part Two) is a gigantic, and beautifully colored, guinea pig. Owen chose him because he was huge, the opposite of the original Flash Thompson, and perhaps less fragile. Two weeks in, Flash is doing great. Still a little skittish, but pretty damn cool.
R.I.P. Flash Thompson The First.
Snow Day #11
(Tuesday, March 18, 2014)
The kids celebrated their eleventh snow day of the year yesterday. Me, well, I was home but I worked. But of course I took the time to have a little fun.
We went sledding, I went headfirst down a playground slide covered with snow and almost broke my face, we built a snowman (or, rather, a snow gorilla) and had the most epic snowball fight of the year.
It was fun. But now I need spring.