Milk of Magnesia

I'm absolutely constipated when it comes to blogging. I can't get a post written. Truly I'm constipated about all forms of communication these days. My email skills are rusty. I haven't skyped in months. I don't even like the telephone much. Blogging is probably the worst though. So much has happened, and I neither have the energy nor the inclination to write posts about the last couple of months. There was Christmas. There was Disney. There was my mom in ICU. There was/is Grace's GI problems. There have been a lot of silent worries and many happy moments too.

Last night I promised myself I would post something--get the wheels turning again--because I'm a happier person when I write (or call, email and skype). I don't even take pictures anymore (another habit to re-establish), though if you check the sidebar you'll see I have uploaded a few more pictures from December. Baby steps, people, I'm trying to get back on the trolley.

Pain in the neck.

Lit-er-ally. The last ten days have been about pain, more pain, and even more pain in my neck. How it started is still unclear. Was it craning my neck to talk to a friend at a restaurant? Was the workout I did the night before too strenuous? It doesn't matter. What I know is that a week from last Thursday, I felt a searing pain light a fire from my neck into the base of my skull. A thinking person, a practical person would have slowed down, taken a break, but not me. I had school shopping to do, and a birthday party to plan. I wouldn't take a break, so my neck gave me the finger and made me slow down. It enlisted my shoulder and upper arm to go on strike. I couldn't move easily or well. I spent a lot of time lying on the floor until Craig said, "you really have to go to the doctor."

Which brings us to today, a full three days after I crawled in to see a doctor, and the drugs she prescribed have finally brought me some relief. I don't have to lie down every ten minutes, hooray! Cervical sprain is the term the doctor used, though I could have cared less. I cared about the words "muscle relaxant" and "pain killer."

But enough about me. There were other important things going on in our lives, like...



the first day of school.

Both girls are doing well. Grace likes her teacher and her teacher likes her. WIN. On Julia's second day, she brought home this gem, "You get what you get, and you don't pitch a fit", which really only works if you say "get" like "git." That's my Georgia peach.

All in all, life is okay. My neck will be alright. My freelance job will get done (damn you neck). And we'll prepare ourselves for the next unexpected twist (I put my money on a kid getting sick).

Röyksopp

Really, we had no idea what to expect from the show. I was a teeny bit worried that we'd be the straightest people in the room, but when I saw another minivan pulling into the parking lot at The Masquerade in Atlanta, I knew we were good. Turns out we were entirely average, if by average you mean thirty somethings obsessed with Röyksopp.

All descriptors fall short to describe our night. It was awesome-amazing-kick ass-best night in recent memory. It also reminded me of something: I do know how to have fun. Sometimes I'm so straight-laced I can hardly stand myself, so penned in by habit and schedule and expectation that I've forgotten something key. It's good to let the freak within breathe. I did more than breathe on Thursday night, I let go and felt the music vibrate my cells. I was still vibrating on Friday (after very little sleep) with a permanent grin plastered on my face. The show was that good.

For the uninitiated, go here to see what we saw.

husband wrangling

I plan to wrangle mine into writing a post about the lab he did with REACH (gifted) kids from Grace's school. The first and second graders had their session today, which included two people bursting with pride: Craig (so, so proud of his girl) and Grace (super dooper proud of her dad). I actually overheard some second graders point to Grace and say, "Dr. Byron is her dad, wow!" There should be pictures too, so stay tuned (but don't check too regularly because this wrangling could still take another week).

On a totally unrelated tangent, I read a post on an advice blog asking readers to chime in on the question "what do you want to do when you grow up?" The question wasn't posed to kids; this came from and for an adult. I didn't add to the conversation (I'm a terrible commenter), but I remember very clearly asking that same question when my kids were younger, back when I still felt rather unworthy being a stay at home parent. Thankfully times have changed, and my answer to what do want to do when you grow up comes a lot more easily:

I am grown up. Whatever I'm doing right now is my job. I may do something different in the future, but it won't be because I've grown up. I've already done that.

What sweet, sweet relief to have finally reached that conclusion.

Still here, really

It's just that I've been wearing the same pants and shirt for a week, and even though you can't see me, I was embarrassed.

The reason for same pants? We have been re-doing our bathroom (and thankfully we're almost finished). We hoped to reset the toilet last night, but it just didn't seem like a good idea at 11pm, after a full day of laying tile. I give it three more days (which really means nights when Craig is home) and we will be done. So hooray for us.

Now why did we decide to do this? Well, because the yahoos who rehabbed our house didn't seal the toilet properly and we had rotten floors. Yuck. Don't get me started. Once we ripped up the floor it seemed like a good idea to repaint, and once we repainted it seemed like a good idea to change fixtures. You get the idea. In the end we turned something unhappy into happy, and for that I'm thrilled (if you hadn't noticed it had been a little bit grouchy around these parts). Pictures to come.

Oh and Happy Valentine's Day, the holiday best celebrated by those under the age of ten.

Harsh.

Perhaps my attempt at humor was a little harsh. I had a day filled with Macon moments (no, you don't want to know what those are), so I wasn't in the best place mentally. No worries. We have a good life, I'm aware, but there are days when I wish for something different (don't we all).

So back to humor. Here's another blast from the past. I do believe this picture shows the last time I wore a halter top (thank goodness). Also notice, my fly is down. Believe it or not, I still have that panda (and no, it does not rest on my bed, it's stuffed in a closet). Talli also noted in a previous comment that Grace and I look A LOT alike. Grace should thank me that I don't cut her hair like a boy's (I haven't forgiven my mother yet). A Dorothy Hammil wasn't a good look for any girl in my generation.

Breaking up is hard to do.

And it takes a long time. I told you Macon and I were breaking up some time last week, and here I am, still stuck with the jerk. Just yesterday, I think I may have yelled, "I don't want to live with you anymore!" So much for being friends. It's like we're married and in a protracted bad phase (the kind people warn you about). I keep channeling Scarlett O'Hara: Tomorrow is another day, and then tomorrow comes and it's no better than the day before. Macon and I are married, with no hope of a separation, much less a divorce, and we're not even talking. Friends is going to be a stretch.

you talkin' to me?

Okay, where were we?

Out west.

Oh. Well, we haven't been there for four months. This blog is seriously out of date.

Uh, Yeah.

I've been busy?

Really?

Well, yes and no. I just haven't had anything to write about.

Hmm. Grace cutting her hair. Your birthday. A weekend with your sister. Your upcoming trip to Austria and Germany. Nothing to write about, you say.

Yup. Nothing here.

Well, snap to it missy. At a minimum I expect some pictures of your trip to Europe.

Okay, okay. Camera packed. You'll see pictures once we're home.

Give me a date.

October 26th. Happy now.

Yes.

All's quiet

My house is empty. Craig, his dad, and the girls departed this morning for an overnight in the north Georgia mountains. If memory serves, this is the first time I've had the house to myself for an overnight since before Julia was born, and at that time, I wasn't entirely alone, I was 8 months pregnant with Julia. It wasn't the restful period I anticipate this time to be; she kept me up all night, somersaulting in my pregnant belly.

So what does this alone time mean for me? Well, for one, I'll finish off a small grant I'm working on, and two, I'll finally wrap up our vacation chronicles. Nearly every morning this past week, as I drove Julia into school, I was transported to a stretch of road in the Tetons. There's something about the fall air in Georgia and the music playing on our car CD player that takes me west. We listened to a lot of LCD Soundsystem, Royksopp, Pomplamoose, and Ralph Covert during our trip, and those tunes will always take me back to summer.

But first, I'm going to enjoy another cup of coffee. I may even watch some morning television. I'll let the breakfast dishes marinate in the sink, and I won't start planning dinner. I don't have to feed anyone but myself. I don't have to clean up after anyone else either. I'm feeling more relaxed by the second.

And to think, the tooth fairy almost didn't make it

Can you see it? Another tooth came out of Grace's mouth yesterday while she was at school. Can you imagine the excitement! We read Ramona the Pest a few months ago, and Grace clearly identified with Ramona's longing to lose a tooth at school. Wish granted.

Of course, then Craig and I almost dropped the ball. He went out for drinks, and I fell asleep early. He assumed I helped the tooth fairy, and I assumed he did. Thankfully, we woke before the girls, and the job was done with seconds to spare. It was close. I would hate to have to put the tooth fairy on notice.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for my girl's weekend. I'm not bringing my camera because I don't want to be weighed down, so picture this: margaritas poolside, palm trees waving in the breeze, me and Sarah without worries. It's gonna be good.

What happened to March?

Hello, Hello, Hellooooooo, is anybody out there?

Seems I forgot that I post to this thing here, this blog. What the heck happened? Well, for one, we traveled to Indiana, and for two, we got sick--all of us, at different times (some better, some worse; which is another story altogether), and to varying degrees of sickiness. I'm just past the last bout myself, and my throat is still scratchy. I have the super sexy voice of a pubescent thirteen year old boy. Whew, it's been fun.

The other reason for not blogging has been blog funk. No, not the kind where I whine to you about my relevance so that you can send me kind comments and beg me to continue blogging. No, it was the kind where I felt grossed out by the internet because people do disgusting things in cyberspace, say horrible things to and about people they may not know, and warp images of children. Then I remembered that I know almost every single person that frequents this blog, and I remembered that I don't post inappropriate images of my kids, and that the images I do post are linked to my flickr account, and unless someone wants to take a screen shot, they aren't likely to have any pics of my kids. Also, I don't exactly attract a lot of attention in my little corner of the world wide web, so I'm probably okay. Or not, but I'm going to keep posting anyway.

Finally, the last reason for not blogging was that MY CAMERA DIED (as you might remember). I boxed it up, and sent it off to Canon with the hopes it would be returned in working order prior to our trip to Indy. No dice. A camera finally did show up on Friday (as I snuffled on the couch, popping advil, unbathed and pajama-clad all day). I opened the box and read the invoice:

EQUIPMENT SHOWS VISIBLE SIGNS OF WATER OR MOISTURE. NO IMAGE ON LCD. CHECK ALL FUNCTIONS. REPAIR TO GOOD WORKING ORDER. FLAT RATE. REPAIR MODEL. PARTS AND LABOR INCLUDED IN PRICE.

Thank you for payment of $149.70

I thought to myself okay, it's been repaired, right? Then why is this a new camera box and um, ummm why is there a brand new camera inside the new camera box, and UMMMM why is this camera a brand new totally upgraded version of my old camera?

And then I read the small print at the bottom of the invoice:

We have examined the product according to your request and determined that it would be more economical to replace your unit than to repair it. For your convenience, we are replacing your original unit with a newer version.

So let me get this straight? I paid 150 bucks to get my camera repaired, and I got a $500 camera in return? Delta, you could learn a few lessons. This is how you breed brand loyalty. Thank you, Canon. I think I love you.


Ollie working the camera. He thinks he looks gorgeous, and I must agree.

Prescriptions

I don’t like going to the doctor. It’s a character flaw of mine. One that’s caused a few problems, or rather, I should say, caused exorbitant bills for visits to the after hours clinic when some infection got horrid. I do manage to see a physician at least once a year for my annual pap, but I only started doing that 6 and a half years ago, roundabout the time I started wanting a baby.

I haven’t had a GP since we lived in Ohio, so when I started to feel an uncomfortable level of pressure in my sternum six months ago, I ignored the discomfort. As months went on, my symptoms changed to include pressure and pain below my sternum. I found myself rubbing my chest as I walked Grace to school, applying warm compresses to alleviate the pain, and of course, nothing worked. I’m kind of slow, so it never occurred to me that perhaps I was experiencing heartburn. There was no burn after all, just pressure and some pain. Craig suggested Tums, just in case it was heartburn, and no dice. Next up, I tried Pepcid. Again nada. Finally, I turned to Prevacid, and within 2 days, the pain and pressure were gone. What a miracle. I found I had to stay on top it, and take the medication first thing in the morning. If I forgot and took it late, I was in for a world of pain.

Being a direction-follower, I read the side of the bottle, which instructed that I should take the pills for 14 days, and if no improvement occurred, I should see a doctor. Being me, I stretched that to 28 days. On day 29 I was thrilled: no pain, no pressure. I did it—I had self diagnosed and medicated—there would be no need to see a physician.

By the end of my second week off Prevacid, I knew I needed to see a doctor. The pain was back and even worse than before. Reluctantly I called and made an appointment. I had prepared myself to wait up to a month to get in, so I was surprised to learn I could see a doctor within a week. That week flew by, and suddenly it was today, my appointment day.

Understanding or perhaps just abiding my irrational phobia of doctors, Craig offered to stay with me for the visit. I sent him off. I could calm myself solo. I have a history of alarming medical staff with high blood pressure readings, which are never replicated in my home environment (and believe me, I’ve had to test it to prove to former OB-GYNs that, indeed, I have white coat induced hypertension). You can understand then my thrill at having a totally normal BP. You might as well have christened me the “Princess Formerly Scared of the Doctor”—I felt that happy.

The appointment itself seemed to go well. The physician was so kind that it almost unsettled me. He’s one of those rare intuitive types—the kind that reads everything about a patient. He caught whiff of my phobia and dispelled it. He diagnosed my personality—worrier—and he listened intently to my symptoms. He came up with a treatment plan and then offered me some advice: life advice. I wish I were brave enough to share it here, but I’m still so astounded that a doctor could see me so clearly—not just my current illness, but me.

I found myself tearing up, and I was completely caught off guard by this. When Craig picked me up, I did let some tears fall, and being the thoughtful husband, he tried to quell my doctor fears.

“But that’s not it,” I said.

“Then what is it?” he responded.

“I don’t know. The doctor was just very insightful. Not just about my health, but about me?”

“That’s good, right?”

It is good, but also strange for me. I’m not accustomed to feeling cared for by medical professionals (with the exception the midwife who delivered Julia). This is new territory for me, which, again, is a good thing because I’m going to have to go back a few times to get my current medical issue resolved.

As for the life advice—the stuff that made me cry—I need that more than medication. I hope I’m brave enough to follow it.

A little bit of this, a little bit of that

First a complaint:

Dear Delta Airlines,

When you tell a customer that the price of his or her ticket (for a trip that you cancelled) has been refunded, you should actually process that refund. When the customer calls again to ask about the refund, which has not appeared on his or her credit card statement, you should own up to the fact that you didn't do your job AND THEN PROCESS THE REFUND. Finally, when the customer calls a third time because you haven't processed the refund, don't tell them "the case" has been referred to the refund department because that means the first two phone calls were full of LIES.

You see, we understood that our tickets had been fully refunded, so we went ahead and purchased BRAND NEW TICKETS for a trip scheduled for next week. Had we known that you had NEVER processed our original refund, we simply would have rescheduled the original tickets. And while I understand that $900 isn't much to you, being a big corporation and all, it is a lot of money to us.

Sincerely,

Screwed Customer

PS. We are currently disputing the charges with American Express. Maybe you'll listen to them.

......

Now a question:

If you buy a box of two bite brownies on sale (for a whopping 70% off), does that means the calories are 70% less as well? I ask this because I ate half a box yesterday, and I'm really hoping the answer is yes.

......

Now something technical:

An unknown thingamabob is broken on my camera. It will cost me $150 to have Canon take a look at it. I dread what the actual cost to repair the thingamabob will be. This is sad because there will be NO PICTURES of ridiculously adorable children--at least in the eyes of their parents--for many weeks to come.

......

Now something work related:

I think I forgot to post that my contract has been extended. Yippee. Or so I thought. Unfortunately, I have yet to be paid for the month of February. Please tell me this is an oversight. Otherwise, spending $1700 on two sets of airplane tickets is going to really suck.

......

And finally a bit of happiness:

1. Julia has officially renamed herself Julia Love. I love that kid.

2. Each night at dinner Grace announces that the meal before her is "the most wonderful dinner ever", and then she proceeds to clean her plate. This from the kid who survived on air alone when she was two. Happiness indeed.

A day in the life

Craig asked his class to chronicle how they spend their days. How much time in class? How much time on the phone, on the internet, walking, driving, sleeping? And it got me thinking about how I spend my time, which turned into the entry posted below. And then I deleted that post because who the hell cares how I spend my day. Google reader somehow picked up that entry up before I hit delete, so I had hits coming to the blog. Crap. Re-post.

There's nothing controversial about what I wrote. I hit delete because, my god, how boring. That's my life in paragraph form. I didn't actually keep track of the time I spent on my activities, which Craig's class is doing, and I'm sure I'd be more than a little horrified by how much time I spend on the internet. Truth: I often check my email before I do anything else in the morning. Why? Because my job, the work I'm paid to do, is never done by the time I go to bed, and I'm almost always in meetings by 9 am, for which I need to be prepared. Is that my excuse? Sigh.

The other thing missing from my log? Physical activity. Walking to and from meetings and Grace's school just doesn't cut it. I do not work out. I'm ashamed to admit this, but not quite enough to do anything about it. Apparently I would rather just complain about my muffin top and my aching back. What else did I leave out? Real time with my husband. It's just not happening at the moment. We try to talk to each other after dinner and sometimes at lunch, but it's almost always about work or the kids or to say how sorry we are that we aren't spending more time together. Sigh again.

There are other omissions: grocery shopping (twice a week, two gallons of milk, my girls are like teenage boys), other shopping (oh the guilt, even though I now have a paying job, I still can't shake the guilt over every single purchase I make), cleaning the house (never-ending, the kitchen floors alone need to be swept twice daily, but are only really swept every other day), and laundry (did I mention laundry, my god, I do A LOT of laundry). In the end, I still have tons of down time (and plenty of guilt about that too).

The question I posed at the end of my last entry remains: how do you, person whom I may or may not know, whom visits this site, spend your time? Think of answering that question as anonymous anecdotal evidence for Craig's class? I'm truly interested.

My days

Wake. Sometimes with the help of children. Sometimes not. Instruct older child to dress self. Stumble down stairs in search of coffee. Eat. Drink Coffee. Instruct older child to 1) Eat; 2) Brush teeth; and 3) Brush hair. Dress younger child. Say goodbye to older child and husband. Wash and dress self. Flat iron hair, sigh. Take younger child to school. Return home. Clean kitchen. Walk to meeting on campus or other location. Return home. Write. Think. Drink more coffee. Do load of laundry. Write more. Send many emails. Drive to pick up younger child. Return home. Eat lunch. Read books. Put child to sleep. Check email. Navel gaze. Wake younger child. Walk to older child's school for pick up. Walk home with all children. Snack. Homework. Make dinner. Eat dinner. Talk to husband. Give children baths. Read books. Put children to bed. Do all work related stuff not accomplished earlier. Watch Olympics. Go to Bed.

Rinse and repeat.

What's your day like?

I think I hate email

Or maybe I'm just a jerk.

Moving on....

When Grace was a babe we got into the habit of telling her stories. As she grew, she requested more and more elaborate tales, which was cool but also exhausting. Now she's much more into reading stories herself or listening to longer (and more interesting) books. Julia has taken up Grace's slack, and in order to avoid the third telling of "the dragon who was a pirate who lived under her bed and was a bad dragon until Julia poofed him into a fairy", we encourage her to tell a story herself. We haven't been able to get her to take the bait until this morning, when she announced to the table, "One a pounce a time, there was a girl named Julia...."

I'm going to start all new stories, "One a pounce a time..."

Moving on again....

I learned some hard lessons (for the hundredth time) in 2009, but rather than dwell on hard stuff, I'll share a lighter lesson: I don't like having gray hair. Now, if you've read here before or talked to me in person, you already know this. And many of you wondered why I didn't color my hair and stop whining. Well, I finally did it, and I realized that I don't just dislike having gray hair, I HATE it. Now the gray is gone, and my hair care bill has increased exponentially.

And lastly....

My freelance gig is done. I get paid at the end of this month, and then I'll be traveling to Vegas to increase my earnings. I made my presentation to the President of the University, and I didn't pass out. I was incredibly nervous, so I stumbled at the beginning of my words. Of course, I'm the only one in the room still fixated on that stumble. In the end, the big shots seemed happy with my performance, and I can only hope that another job will come my way.

The end.

Cold.

It's cold here, for Georgia anyway. The slobs that renovated our house were allergic to insulation or something, so our house feels like an icebox. Rub you hands against an external wall, and that's what you'll feel: ice cold. Cold for Georgia is nineteen degrees. Cold for my youth was a chart pasted on the kitchen bulletin board by my mother. One of us--my brothers, mother or I--would yell out to the rest: It's 20 below with the windchill today! That's the kind of cold that makes your nostrils freeze on the inhale. The kind of cold that slammed into my body when I walked outside. I miss cold sometimes. I miss snow too.

My next door neighbor, and older African American woman named Amanda, likes to tell me that I'll catch cold because I don't wear a hat here in Macon. I always laugh because I remember my wet head freezing solid as I waited for the bus on school mornings. I didn't wear a hat then either. I don't see Amanda much in Georgia's winter. It's too cold for her.

.....

I don't like New Year's. I never have. I was always the kid that babysat on New Year's. I never went out even during college. There have been three times when I have celebrated New Year's Eve. Once was when my brother Paul traveled to Florida with his young daughter. I was living with my parents post-college and waitressing at a breakfast cafe. I felt like a huge failure. To earn bigger tips I flirted shamelessly with balding overweight fifty year olds. I hated them and myself, but I made okay money. Paul and I went down to Eduardo's, the village mexican place, and we drank a lot of whatever--I don't really remember. We stumbled home, peeing in the bushes of some business along the way, and then woke my mother as we streaked across the lawn and dove into the pool. Unheated pools in Florida are cold in January, wicked cold. The combination of alcohol and frigid water left me shivering well into the next day.

The best New Year's I've ever had was four years ago. We'd traveled to Indianapolis on Christmas day and left 17 month old Grace with her Bonnie and Poppie. Craig and I boarded a flight for Paris on December 30th. On the 31st, I stood on a bridge with Craig's arms wrapped around me for warmth and watched the Eiffel Tower light up to announce the New Year. A Spanish tourist played a horn and serenaded the audience. I was freezing. I couldn't feel my toes, but I felt light and ridiculously happy.

.....

For the last three and a half years I've been dreaming of moving back North, back to the cold. I feel like a fish out of water in Macon, and yet here we are. Despite this, I'm starting to feel comfortable with my surroundings. I know the routine. I know what to expect. Dysfunctional as this city may be, I understand it now. On chilly mornings like today, I think I can't live in a cold climate anymore. My skin is too thin. I'm becoming southern.

I feel a chill when I think those thoughts.

What I didn't do

1. hyperventilate
2. say anything inappropriate
3. turn bright red
4. or otherwise embarrass myself

What I did do
1. wake at 3:30 am
2. stay awake for the rest of the night
3. admit to my boss that I'm phobic about public speaking
4. found out that he is too

I also gave my presentation, and it wasn't as horrible as I imagined, and I did relax (as everyone told me I would). So what's next? The REAL presentation to the PRESIDENT of the University.

I think I'll pee my pants over that one.

hyperventilate

Because...ohmygod I have so much to do and not enough time and I spent two weeks writing a 72 page report and I had my big meeting yesterday and now they want me to present my results and CRAP I'm a writer not a talker and they want me to talk IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE and I don't do that but I have to do that and I don't want to.

Because...it's already mid december and we don't have a tree or anything related to christmas done and when will it get done because I HAVE TO TALK TO REAL ADULTS ON MONDAY and I wanted to get our tree and drink egg nog and be merry and now I'm all I CAN'T GIVE A PRESENTATION didn't they know I'M A WRITER NOT A TALKER.

Because..I turn scarlet red when I have to talk to people and I have no control over this and the simple fact that I turn red makes me more embarrassed than you can imagine and I HATE being embarrassed and did I mention that I'm a writer and not a talker unless you mean one on one and then I probably talk too much.

Because...I have to put together a power point and I haven't made one in five years so the one I make this weekend will be CRAP and my talk will be TERRIBLE and I will turn red and be EMBARRASSED and if I don't start breathing soon I will pass out.

Return Monday afternoon to see if I am still alive or dead from hyperventilation.

PS. If you came for news about Grammie-Bonnie. She was here and allowed me the time to write said 72 page report. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I promise to write more about her visit when I get past this spell.

Repetition

November is National Blog Posting Month or NaBloPoMo. You might remember that I participated in this non stop blog fest last November and the November before. It was a challenge I thoroughly enjoyed. It helped me develop a rhythm of posting, and it required that I came up with more than one topic. I also met other bloggers, and I read some really good stuff.

I didn't join this month. I knew I had too much on my plate, and if you look my archives, you'll see I've only managed to write seven posts this month. That's a fair bit shy of the 30 required for NaBloPoMo. If you actually read those entries, you'll also see I had very little to say except "I'm sick, my kids are sick, boo hoo". Compelling stuff. What I've come to understand is blogging is a habit that requires practice. The less I write, the harder it becomes to write.

There are times when I think about giving this up, joining facebook, and reducing the amount of text I put on the internet. There will come a time when my kids won't appreciate the stories I've told here, and there will also come a time when I should respect their privacy a good deal more. There are stories I shouldn't tell after all. Not to worry however (as though you were), I'm not quitting yet. I'm just slightly bummed that I'm so damn boring these days.