Crapola, I spent 20 minutes typing a thought provoking non-sarcastic post only to have it lost in the bowels of Internet Explorer. I blame those damn enhanced security permissions of Internet Explorer 7. I gave it permission to open a new page et voilà, my serious post was gone. Poof! Lucky you since it was a sappy diddy about how wondeful bloggers are. Perhaps I’ll revisit the topic another day. The post may have included a picture of me in a Speedo and may have involved a prize giveaway. C’est dommage! That’s French for "I’d like a reacharound with that blog post".
Four days until my wife abandons me for a week. Last night I loaded Skype on her work computer so we can video conference and instant message over the internet across the Pacifique. My wife contacted some of our friends who generously offered to stop by our pad for an hour or two during my wife’s absence. This will give me a little break to get out of the house in the event I’m on stress overload. I’m hoping that won’t be the case, but I love my wife’s forward thinking.
What am I most nervous about being home alone with my daughter for a week? I’m not looking forward to clipping her fingernails. I’m also not wild about giving her a bath on my own. My wife and I bathe her together, but it’s rather awkward doing it alone. It’s my hope our daughter is nice and healthy so she will be sleeping through the night like she did last night. Other than those two items, I feel very comfortable taking care of our daughter on my own. I’ve done it many times already to give my wife a night off. My wife and I are very good about sharing the parental duties, so it will be weird for me to be the sole parental unit.
On this note, quick childhood story for you. As a child I liked to practice my throwing arm. I enjoyed launching rocks at targets. It’s fair to say I broke a few windows long before I ever broke any hearts. Come to think of it, I doubt I ever broke any hearts, that’s what I’m telling myself. My younger brother and I would go to the lake or beach and throw rocks at rocks. He’d throw the rock way up in the air and then I’d try to hit the plummeting stone with another rock. It was wonderful family bonding. One rebellious day I threw a rock at a car passing in front of our house. I immediately hid in the bushes, hoping to evade the pissed off motorist. No such luck, the unlucky driver found me popping a squat in the bushes and lectured me big time. I can’t remember what happened after that, but I do recall never throwing rocks at moving cars again. Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t have a boy. Girls don’t throw rocks do they? Also, are girls capable of breaking hearts?