I got an email from my own mother this morning, rebuking my poor blogging of late. Most kids are told to wash behind their ears, to sit up straight, to eat their leafy green vegetables, but not this guy. My Momma done raised a dirty-eared, poorly-postured, iron-deficient web-logger.
And to that I say: geez, ma, get off my back! you're always smothering me with chores! none of the other moms make their kids blog all the time, why should I have to!? God, I can't WAIT until I'm old enough to have my own server.
But she’s right, I haven’t even been much of a weh-blogger lately.
My time is hardly my own these days. If I’m not in class, I’m working. If I’m not in class or working, I’m studying. If I’m none of those, I’m looking for a job. And if I’m none of those, I’m deep in the labyrinth of my own psyche, hunting furiously for that elusive reason I decided to go to law school in the first place.
Of course, it’s not as bad as all that. Certainly, I feel cheated that this semester, which has traditionally been given the subtitle of “The Era of Graduate Level Senioritis”, is actually the most hectic of my life. But with five fewer credit hours per week, next semester will be better. Yes, more bottles and less sleep, but also less reading and more time to watch Chuck.
Speaking of which, you’ll notice I haven’t been counting down to my birthday (which is 31 days away). Here, though, is a more important countdown: 33 DAYS UNTIL BABYTIME.
That’s right. In less than five weeks, there’ll be four Garveys on our street. Lisa has been furiously preparing – doing all those magical things that mothers do to get ready for a new baby. I, of course, have no idea what those things are, except that they involve enormous push-up-pop-sized tubes of what appears to be lip balm, and blaming things on something called “pregnancy brain”.
One task was especially confusing to this dad. The other day, I watched Lisa packaging up the leftovers after a fine homemade meal. I watched her seal that container, then get out a box of cereal for a quick dessert. I watched her get out the milk and a spoon. Then I watched in utter amazement as she sleepily poured her wegman’s brand cocoa crispies onto a sealed Tupperware container of leftover spaghetti. I, of course, was dumbtruck by this display of nesting, so by the time I finally regained the motor skillz necessary to pull out my cell phone camera, she’d wiped away the evidence.
Wow, this post is disjointed. Tune in tomorrow when I talk about jelly beans, Samual Gompers, Kermit’s nephew Robin, my feet, and Xaxon, all in the course of a few paragraphs. See, mom? This is what happens when you rush me.
1 year ago