Once again, months have passed. Patrick finished kindergarten. He earned the principal's award for academics and behavior. He continued to cry every.single.morning when I dropped him off. Audrey turned 3. Her party was under-attended and that made me feel bad. I made no plans for the summer and sadly that includes vacation plans. We went to DC over the 4th of July because we are insane, and I was TRYING to get to Denver for our not-quite-annual sibling baseball weekend but that fell through. I saw NSG on TV. He looked basically the same and was sucking his teeth and it gave me warm fuzzy feelings. I had a disturbing dream about a certain Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback. I don't know why I'm recounting these insignificant details.
We might be moving (back) to Houston. I never, ever, EVER thought I'd go back there.
Oh fuck it. The spirit is willing for blogging but the muse has left.
I will close with an amusing story. I suppose I have buried the lede.
James has been working in Wilmington six days a week. So when Patrick asks questions like "Why do I have balls?" I attempt to answer. James says just to leave it to him but I don't like leaving things hanging (as it were. HA). So anyway I launch into this awkward explanation about how when you're as old as Daddy and you're 38 ("He's 37," said Patrick) and you want to have a baby then your balls make the stuff that helps make that happen. "So you grow new ones every time?" Patrick asked. Well, no ... The balls make stuff called sperm, and it meets up with an egg-- "SO WE DO HATCH OUT OF EGGS!" yelled Patrick. "WE'RE REPTILES!"
Job well done, me.
