Trip 2012: Day 1 Denver to Grand Junction

I didn't want to be daunted by the fact that it was Friday the 13th. As humans we've evolved and should let go of silly superstitions. But after a few hours in traffic, I would have sacrificed a pile of cats to get to Silverthorne. It took us three and a half hours to go sixty miles. All I can hope is that the gleaming white of tiny buttocks brought joy to others who may have seen our boys peeing on the side of Interstate 70.

We rolled into the Best Western Grand Junction at about midnight, just four hours shy of our target time. Other Friday the 13th mischief may have included our loss of free lodging. We were going to stay at a friend's house but she pinged us to say she was sick. It might have been my texts from traffic about "stabbing every living thing." It worked out though. The Best Western has some pretty comfy beds, and despite Quin dealing with some rather intense personal issues, our getting-the-kids-to-sleep mayhem was relatively quiet. If someone happens to find my phone or taps into my Internet history, I just want you to know that there's a very good reason why I was searching "4 year old itchy penis."

We're off to Vegas.

Otto I'm Getting to you bud...

Writing about this guy takes discipline. He's a palette of subtelties, and just when you think you've got him nailed, he takes to a spatula as his favorite toy.

They have to sleep sometime.

If there was a solar flare this weekend, or something that looked like a bright flash that disrupted cell phones and soap operas, then I apologize. It came from our house. It's the collective energy of our two young boys bursting out of their bodies and rocking the Earth slightly off its axis. I won't bore you with the details of their business, something that parents are wont to do, "And we ate ice cream and went swimming and then went swimming again, and I was sure he was going to take a nap but then we went swimming..." Swimming is one of the most surefire ways (isn't surefire the most of anything already?) to wear out a child, or so goes the adage. But  it's also the best way to wear out a parent. The very parent who's looking through itchy, squinting, chlorine-poisoned eyes at two little naked men jumping up and down on the bed where said parent thought he could nap.

But occasionally, the system breaks down. The molten core of the earth, which is connected to the energy center of all children, freezes over. They sap it of all its geothermal goodness and it is that this point when the child withers. And I'm sorry, but when Quin or Otto throw a tired tantrum, I seal my destiny to hotter places with outbursts of laughter. I can't help but delight at someone so passionate over a piece of Trident. So he lies there squealing and throwing haymakers. And it's here, with blood-curdling screeching making the dog nervous, where you can't help but smile because they're as emotionally wrought as a bus full of hungry drama students and it's all melting down right in front of you. It's an honor, to be honest. Here's this immaculate piece of evolutionary machinery losing several billion years of collective shit on your kitchen floor. For the child, this is everything. The sun just fell into a hole and the planets have broken apart. All that's left is thirty pounds of insanity and an evil father floating through an infinite nothingness. Because nothing else matters but .05 ounces of Green Apple Fusion, and with that denied, what's the point of anything?

Sometime after this Supernova, with the last of his fuel from a partially eaten banana now gone, he settles for some quiet time with Mommy's iPhone.

Looks like he could be watching his favorite cartoon: The Avengers superhero series.

Because who could sleep like this? Especially when they're not tired?

Wait...no! Could it be...

Yes! He's down! Hurry...somebody make love or mop.

And he would actually wake up to say he dreamt about Ironman.

Who would no doubt be impressed by this feat.