Having one kid is tough. It's a complete adventure, full of giant laughs, lots of danger, and a man's share of the unexpected. Just last night, MONSTA got a bug bite, but instead of a tiny welt, her entire hand blew up like a birthday balloon. I didn't even know that could happen. Surprise twists and turns aside, however, most of parenting is about the ROUTINE. Curiously, any discussion of this DAILY GRIND was left out of my pre-baby guide books. But it's true. Once MONSTA could walk, our daily life became defined by routine. And the taller she, and her hair, gets, the more rigid and complex the routine becomes. If my life were a math problem, it'd look like this:
So if this sunny outlook is rattling in my brain 24/7, imagine what I'm feeling about tossing in a little multiplication.
ABOVE ROUTINE X 2 = HOLY ^%#$!
We'll make it. It's been five years, and MONSTA is still alive. She's playing hooky right , on account of the lobster claw she's sporting, but the swelling will eventually go down. And when it does, she'll go back to school, and when that happens...welcome back, Routine. What would I ever do without you?