jared ewy dot com

Big days ahead for the boys. Both of them have started new schools. Some might say, "Well, they could stay at home, right?" Ha! No, really, seriously though.

Quin must move on to preschool, or as he calls it, the school "you go to when you turn four (4)." Four. 4? Don't even ask. It's like querying a moth about the size of the universe. It's too much to comprehend that this little baby boy who cried for 2007 is now a big, tall, talking, counting, thinking human. The other day we were all in the car and Sarah asked, "So where are we going?" Quin replied, "Oh, he's just driving in circles." First off, it was a roundabout, and secondly, when in the heck did you get so old and facetious? But here he is, and he's going to go to a four-year-old school. Don't even ask Sarah about it. That moth will fly into a flame.

And for Otto there's change, too. He is, for the first time in his life, going to a different school than his brother. I probably told you about the time when at Kindercare the two boys found each other on separate playgrounds and held hands through the fence. It was the first week their asshole parents ripped them from their cozy home daycare. Of course they adapted and grew and would eventually walk in like Norm on Cheers, but now we gotta move them up. Besides, Kindercare is a flaming ball of disaster which would be neat to watch if our kids weren't in it.

So that's over. And Sarah and I must get used to the new part. Well, I'm easy. My wife is the one who actually thinks about this stuff. As I told my friend Adam, "Sure, we men feel it, but we don't FEEEEEEL it."

Yes, I'm haunted by our kids being sad and scared, but I also just saw Otto run his head right into the ground only to be distracted by the terrifed ants seeking shelter below him. There was no pain, or mention of the gravel in his knee, just this awesome new discovery that had me pondering exactly what kind of school we should put him in.

I'm pretty sure he feels pain, but I was struck by the power of wonder winning over a dive to the dirt. He looked like he'd been dropped from an airplane as he skidded to a stop. He looked up to see if he should cry, and then shouted, "Wow!" I squatted next to him and shared in the marvel. Well, his was ants, and mine was his little tutorial on optimism.