My toy chest was perpetually overstuffed, the non-union hinges worked tirelessly in cramped, turn-of-the-last-century conditions to entrap the bounty of forest green plastic soldiers and fierce-faced He-Man figures it was tasked with containing, and my husky waistline yielded incrementing evidence to the jury that I rarely missed a meal.
This is my new thing. The magic is in the open ended-ness. The phrasing prohibits the “nothing” response which I would say is stereotypical if it weren’t fact. This way of positioning does the impossible, it forces a damn answer.
Can’t afford to gut the bathroom and remodel like a champ? I hear ya, us neither. That shit is eeeeeexpensive. But maybe you don’t have to spend thousands to make new a space in your home that is screaming out for a do-over. I’ve found that, in the bathroom for […]
Let me start by admitting that I am not 100% certain I know where babies come from.
I go to concerts by myself. Alone in a crowd of a thousand. Except for this one guy who I met and too quickly lost. This is the story of the friend I almost made.
Whatever I am, I happen to be of the opinion that my wife, my daughters, and myself holding hands, twirling, and wildly screaming along with Frank Turner’s “Photosynthesis” in the kitchen on a school night will carry my girls further in life than anything else ever could. Further than any school lesson. Any Facebook status update. Any politician’s promise. Any skin restoring face cream. Any college degree. Any. Damn. Thing.
The Mouse was crying again, emotional spill over from the prior evening when she watched the Bear’s already cool bed transform from the skyscraper variety to the kind with a starlight roof. This kind of childhood jealousy is a foreign concept in this house, like a bowl of borscht in a Parisian bistro. It doesn’t make any sense.
I’ll keep my weird beard and I’ll be #RunningforMo instead, to raise money for my Movember face fuzz bloggy buds.
