Saturday, February 4, 2012

Super Bowl Sunday

(Artist unknown)

I have to work early in the morning, so I'll write tonight.  I know I won't have time for it tomorrow, SuperBowl Sunday, the 4th.  In the great wisdom that flows through the powers-that-be they've decided to have a mandatory meeting that lasts until evening tomorrow, just about the time the SuperBowl won't be worth watching any more.  Allora... who am I to question the wisdom of commerce and community...

So, I write tonight, after my first day back to work, the longest time I have spent away from the boy and the woman since they were separated one from the other.  Is that right? Can I refer to birth in such a way?  Sure, why not... It's descriptive and accurate, it only sounds wrong.

They haven't been separated in actuality for more than a few minutes at a time now, only as long as it takes for her to conduct a shower. Even then I start to get nervous when the boy is crying.  What am I to do?  I have no adequate charms to console him.  All the same tools are at my disposal, except one, or more accurately two, but those tools simply don't have the same effect on him as they do when she employs them.  I've purchased a home witch test kit, just to check.

The test, however, does not claim to be conclusive.  I retain all rights to assert.

I would feel silly not administering it though. It is my duty as the proud father.  That's a phrase that I keep hearing.  I'm filled with many emotions but pride hasn't been an overwhelming one as of yet.  The kid doesn't have enough skills to really judge, so far.  I mean, he's beautiful and looks very much like me, but is that really enough?  For some maybe, but others have standards to uphold.  He is very good at pooping his pants, peeing when mommy changes his diaper, crying for any subtle change in feeling, and sleeping up to two hours at a time, often less.  Beyond that he has few skills from which we could truly measure, no mark to either judge or compare.  In his current state he is somewhat untestable.

I suppose the pride is meant to arise from my accomplishment in the matter.  Still, it seems a bit presumptuous and premature.  If I were to write the young boy a letter today, as many have suggested, that he might one day read in the future, then I wouldn't tell him how proud I was of him.  I would tell him that he needs to pull himself together, it's been four weeks already and he's hardly learned to put his hand in his mouth, and he has yet to discover his thumb.  Shameful, by any standards.

I hope he never reads this.  I'm sure the internet doesn't hold on to this stuff forever, right ?

Rachel is going to kill me when she wakes up.  Hopefully I'll already be up and out the door, and this post will already be published.  She will be helpless to stop my heretic ramblings on mitigated pride and the uncertainties of home witch testing.  I owe it to my readers, both types.  I'm sure that many before must have felt the way that I do now.  I'm certain of it.  I am drinking beer, you see.  Not a lot, but enough to pre-celebrate the big day tomorrow, Feb 5th, the day of the Giant Patriots.  I think it will be the eve of the eve of the full snow moon.


I'm imbibing just enough to ensure that my sinuses will not heal as quickly as they might otherwise.  I prefer to have my immune system fight for each and every victory.  I show no favoritism.  I treat my immune system like republicans treat poor people: there are no handouts, only bailouts.  I run a flat tax across my entire body, rich or poor.  Why should my immune system get any extra help just because it's struggling.  Sickness is just a crime waiting to be punished...

Cash, grass or ass... nobody rides for free.