If there is a book title that accurately describes my son, it would definitely be, “Dude, seriously, what makes you think that’s a good idea?”
Ok that’s probably not an actual book. But it would sum him up pretty well, oftentimes when he is, say, stringing his hammock 40 feet in the air.
My wife and I have always had two levels of cleaning. I clean. She clean cleans.
I do what I would, I guess, is what the base level of cleaning most people do. Meaning I put up dishes, sweep the floors, maybe mop, etc. This is just the starting round for her. She has to go to clean clean level. That includes such things as scrubbing baseboards, which is something my wife is very big on. She loves some clean baseboards.
Eighteen years ago, I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of my second child, and only son. Our daughter was two years old at the time, and Patrick Whitfield Gibbons was on his way to complete the family. And then, mid-delivery, my wife made an executive decision.
So 2020 was … a year. That happened.
No sense in reflecting back on the dirty trash bag stuffed full of days that it turned out to be. If I try and reflect back on anything, I will try and take away the positives, even as some at first seem negative.
Over the last week, I’ve heard a lot of people say that they want to put up their Christmas decorations early this year, probably right after Halloween.
I’ve seen a lot of folks on social media express the same sentiment, even saying that, while they would normally provide a tsk-tsk to people doing so, this year, everyone gets a pass.
I hope everyone is doing as well as possible, and that all of you are taking the opportunity to unplug and disconnect for a bit.
To that end, this week’s column will be free of the current topic at the forefront of everyone’s mind. So enjoy a quick break to enjoy some times when other people thought my wife and/or I were horrible parents.
I figured everyone could use a break from Coronavirus information today, so I figured I’d lighten the mood and share with everyone about the time I got stuck at the top of a Chick-fil-A playground.
As I stood at the base of the waterfall, the cool mist sprinkling over my face, I thought of the centuries of time that had passed as the waters flowed over these very rocks. I closed my eyes and reflected on the steady, relentless consistency of water, unfazed by time. And then I thought, “If I slip and fall here, I will have an incredibly bad day, as that water is really cold, there are lots of rocks out there, and my phone is in my pocket.”
Note from Mike: This column was first published in 2013. My kids are now both teens and well beyond this stage. But I hope it either still rings true for you, or has a new special meaning for those who maybe didn’t have ones at this stage six years ago. Merry Christmas.
If you have never had the joy of shopping for shoes with a 16-year-old young man, I invite you to embark upon this adventure: Ask your dog what kind of shoes it would like. When he stares at you blankly, ask him then what size he wears. Wait for blank stare. Thus is life with a 16-year-old.