“I missed two days in a row, but now I think I need money so I have a plan. I’m going to write a cartoon for an athour [sic].”
I am a big fan of transparency and the ability for sharing to enhance your life, but I am not comfortable gambling with my son’s identity. A balance needs to be struck.
The little dog had been found wandering a local highway. She was a terrier, the shelter told us, and probably nearly fully grown. They were off by several breeds and about 35 pounds
Carter missed the whole nuclear obliteration theme. Archie was asleep before Michael Madsen had pulled his gun on John Spencer. I renewed my love for Ally Sheedy.
Archie: Are we going to have another baby? Will it come from Aunt Meg?
One of my favorite childhood memories is watching fireworks. Woodstock’s City Park was only about 7 blocks away, but we packed up the station wagon and headed in to park with the rest of the 12,000 residents of the town—4 hours early—to claim our bit of turf with a blanket. The best summers, though, were the ones spent watching the explosions from our rooftop. Now in Bloomington, we’ve taken to a free and worry-free commute to the front yard.
Like all good broke technologists, the boys and I used the resources at our disposal to plot, shoot and edit a Happy Mother’s Day video for all of the mothers in our life (in particular, the one supermomma taking care of our home and hearth).