Carrots

Sometimes my brain wakes me up in the middle of the night with the most idiotic thoughts. For example, last night's thought was that carrots should be measured in "diamonds." Like, "Look at the size of that carrot ... it's huge, it must at least be a 24 diamond carrot. It'll easily win the blue ribbon at the State Fair this year." Actually, it probably should be spelled a little differently. Like "diamenz." It's nice to know this is the kind of thing my brain is working hard on while I'm sleeping at night and then deems worthy to wake me up for. Maybe that's why it's so hard for me to get out of bed every morning.

Kids These Days #1

Kids these days. It's like a guy can't accidentally start a spatula on fire in his own house without his 7-year-old telling the whole world about it.

Family Games

On random weekends I like to shave only half my face to see if my family notices and they like to pretend like they don't notice so I look like an escaped lunatic from a mental hospital to the rest of the world. It's a fun little family game we like to play.

The Conversation

Sat down on the couch next to my 7-year-old just as he was finishing up his apple juice drink box. When he reached the bottom and started making annoying gurgle noises through the straw with it, I was about to ask him to stop when my stomach decided to reply with it's own gurgle sounds. For the next several minutes, my son and I sat silently while his juice box and my stomach had a riveting, back-and-forth conversation about something we'll never know.

Parental Kryptonite

I have to confess ... sometimes I get selfish. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes I don’t feel like playing that millionth game of Sorry, or play that billionth game of catch in the backyard, or make that zillionth Lego spaceship. But every single time my kids ask me to spend a little of what we parents call “quality time” with them, in the few moments of silence between their request and my response, my stupid conscience gets up, strolls diligently over to the jukebox in my head, drops in a few coins, hits a couple buttons and on comes that damn “Cats in the Cradle” song that is my absolute parental kryptonite and I am rendered powerless to do anything but acquiesce to their solicitation. That song, man. It gets me every time. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Don’t even get me started with when it comes on in real life. If I’m in mixed company I have to excuse myself in fear of breaking down into a blubbery mess by the end of it and risk being forced to turn in my “man card.” Fortunately, since it’s an old song, it doesn’t happen too often. Curse you, Harry Chapin and your cradles and cats and evil gut-wrenching parental guilt trip song!