Inside the cozy confines of Blackwell Manor there's plenty of death happening.
|Ahhh. Back when things were simple.|
What a great time in our lives this was. I remember actually considering the idea that the boy might have tastes confined solely to healthy foods.
Back then, he didn't like meat very much (he still refuses to eat hot dogs), he ate loads of vegetables and, as mentioned, loved the protein-rich, vitamin-dense goodness of cottage cheese.
But, in our efforts to always expose the boy to new experiences and foods, his tastes have expanded, though not very far.
Chocolate milk and Kit Kats are now heavily requested items. That said, Mrs. Blackwell has laid down the law: we're not buying any more candy until Halloween and "once the bottle of Hershey's Syrup is gone, we're not buying another!"
Death to spiders.
I'm noticing more of these little buggers around the house and I can only surmise that, with colder temperatures setting in, they're looking for a warm place to stay for a few months.
"Why not shack up with the Blackwell clan? It seems to have worked for the rabbits nesting on their front lawn," they ask themselves.
To this hypothetical arachnid query I offer the following reply: I am not afraid of you. But the sound of my wife yelping in terror when she sees one of you is like nails on a chalk board to me.
You do the math.
Death to sleeping through the night, most nights.
It's now a regularity for Mrs. Blackwell and myself to wake up to the boy crying, talking or screaming — sometimes simultaneously. What happens afterward is usually a fog that ends with the boy headbutting me in the eye and 2:37 a.m. turning to 6:30 a.m. in about five minutes.
|Birth! To pictures that just look fall-ish.|
The less said about the death of the regular-occurring full-night's sleep the better I suppose. But I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that I'll be having a whiskey-soaked wake in its honor sometime in the near future.
Death to finding the time to read a book.
Through mid August and September, I read three books and started a fourth and, though it was just weeks ago, I cannot begin to fathom where I found the time to do this.
Death to success in fantasy football.
Pretty much the same as books. I probably spend a total of 30 minutes a week on fantasy football. This is down — substantially — from last year when I went on a 12-game win streak and won my league. With a record of 2-3 through five games, I'm confident this won't be happening again. And, before you ask, "why does any of this matter?" let me just say, "It doesn't."
Finally, death to mowing the lawn.
After all, I didn't say all these deaths were bad ones.