Grandpa's Railing

Walkin'

Ode to Shel Silverstein

Family for sale,
Family for sale,
One certified, drama-ful family for sale.
You can't be too choosy,
You can't be too booze-y
to handle my lunatic family for sale!

Honey, I'm Home

We're finally in our new place.

It feels a little empty here in country suburbia. We have beautiful sunsets and lovely farmland and a bonified old-school downtown.

We have new paint and light fixtures, squishy carpet, and a dining room table I'm afraid to eat on.

We need some pictures on the walls, though. And maybe just that sense of "home" that takes time to build in a place. How many dinners or walks to the park? Or maybe we just need Eunice's window treatments.

1% Me

99% Dad.

Grown Up

I have been watching more than my share of daytime talk shows this week. What else are you supposed to do between constant eating, sleeping, and puking? Anyway, the Opera show today actually had a one-liner worth thinking about:

You're grown-up when you love someone else more than you love yourself.

How many people can really love others more than themselves? Can you only love one person that much, or can you be so mature that you even love your enemies that much?*

I know I wouldn't be so foolish as to believe I'd attained this maturity in any sort of high regard. Truly, I love my husband and son and parents and siblings that much, but how far the love goes...I don't know. Would I be or am I really there for others around me when they need comfort? Am I more worried about others' welfare than my own?

I don't know a lot of grown-up people my age, using this definition. There are a few, but there are a lot more who seem to be concerned about their own success, their own time, their own agendas. Sometimes I wish I could be more like that... It would be easier, less painful, I think.


*And if, like me, you wish more people understood that kind of love in relation to YOU...are you the opposite of mature? Or do you just need love?

Bonkers

Everyone is bonkers at this house. Me, being driven crazy. Mom, being driven crazy by me. Tommy, bonking his own head repeatedly into any hard object he can find.

Yes, you read that correctly.

My son chose this week, the week I want to show him off to a bunch of friends and also present him to John's coworkers and clients, to start Head Bonking Syndrome. If he is mad at me or just frustrated in general, he whacks his forehead fairly ceaselessly into the ground.

Incidentally, head bonking is not that rare amongst kids his age. Wouldn't you know that boys are 3-4 times as likely to do it than girls? We would never want to distort our complexion more than nature already has.

I guess I'm supposed to trust that Tommy won't hurt himself too badly, and I'm supposed to ignore his behavior as attention will be his desired result.

Good times. Maybe I should find some baby-scented cover-up for his gigantic bruise.