Perspective and things

Don't you hate it when someone trumps you in misery.  For example, I can never complain about the heat in Colorado because my wife grew up in the sweaty groin of Baltimore.  There could be a fire raging outside our house and Sarah would throw open the windows and praise the warmth.  Of course it's just a dry heat.  And today I was griping about my kid and my family and my tiredness.  I had enough to top most anybody in the office, or so I thought, until a co-worker explained that his mom had six kids all under the age of five.  I wondered how this was possible.  Did she excrete a giant egg sack in a warm corner in the basement?  Does she have two vaginas?  Well, it turns out she had two sets of twins and two other toddlers.  She even had her picture in the paper. 

For infanticide?  Nope.  For having more babies in the local hospital than any other patient.  And then she went on to have three more.  You want to protect those records.  Look what Bret Favre just did to Dan Marino's once timeless touchdown mark. 

I only wanted to drop a note because I haven't been able to write lately.  It's not Quin's fault.  He's actually helped with material and now I have this cool wrap around baby holder thing that lets me write while he screams (a reaction not limited to small children).

What happened is I starting writing my dad one of those tell-all letters that could only come from a male who prefers silent grudges to healthy communication, and it ended up as a rambling twelve-page, single-spaced epic battle cry.  Kevin Costner might make it into a movie.

And then I sent it.  And it's inspired a poop typhoon like nothing this family has ever seen.  This from people who can turn an afternoon picnic into an episode of Springer.  We're like drama MacGyvers.  Give us a beer and some potato salad and we churn out more bombs than Lockheed Martin.  

So I'll have plenty of material for my blog, as well as the resumption of Sarah and my podcast, the Brain Revival.  We tried to record a couple weeks into parenthood but our little critic was quite vocal.  I may write him an angry letter.

Oh, and I'm editing an old story I wrote.  I'll get that up, too.  And then it's back to writing my "pages".  Everyday there's new ones and I'm getting way behind.