Yes, I know I've been a bit somber lately. My apologies to those of you who stopped reading this week for that reason. (And while I really do try not to pay too much attention to the silly stat counter, the drastic drop in both daily readership and in comments.... well, can't really ignore that, can I?) I'll try to pick up the emotional pace, ok?
Those of you out there (at least, those of you that are still here with me) with children will understand me when I say that some days, the boys living in my house are Coach's kids. And then there are days when they are MY kids. Generally, they're mine when they're behaving, and they're his when they are aggravating me. Makes sense, right? But, there are times when its not so clear. For example.....
Bug agreed to a haircut this weekend. Yep. A whole INCH off. He's got this whole Owen Wilson thing going on. Pity we live in Arizona. He'd make the cutest little surfer boy! As it is, with it being so hot here he just sweats all the time. Which makes him look frequently like he just stepped out of the shower. Real shame he doesn't smell that way, too. In this case, even though the sweat and dirt thing leaves him stinky, he's so darn cute right now with the hair.... he's MY kid.
We were watching TV tonight, when we caught a brief few minutes of a show portraying a traditional Jewish wedding. The men all had the long sideburns and beards, wearing all black with long jackets. Everything was pretty quiet, and the scene on the screen was somewhat dramatic. I'm still not sure why exactly it was that I was surprised when this came out of Jock's mouth:
So.... um, were the guys in ZZ Top Jewish? 'Cuz the beards look a lot alike.
This one? Yeah... he's Coach's kid.
So is the difference between MY kid and COACH'S kid clear as mud now or what?