Archive for July, 2011

The Woods

The temperature approached 100 degrees Monday afternoon. I could smell the softening tar in the street when I brought in the mail. Feel the heat waves rising off the driveway, as I waited for Clay’s bus to bring him home from summer school. (Our sitter had the afternoon off.)  The dog had the right idea. It was a day to lay on the sofa in the air conditioned living room, little legs pumping, dreaming of chasing rabbits across the dewy grass on a cool fall morning.

So, of course, I decided to take the little guy to a nearby state park. He is as bored as I am hanging around the house in the late afternoon. Boredom leads to compulsive behaviors, and that isn’t good for anybody. No skin-searing, eyeball-melting, hair-on-fire heat was going to keep us cooped inside. Read the rest of this entry »


, , , , , ,


Where’s the Cheese?

Clay has been banned from our bedroom.

Well, not completely. Just during those times when we can’t be there to keep an eye on him. I’ve mentioned before that one of his favorite pastimes is to slam his body onto our bed. He already has broken the frame. (I’ve got it rigged with duct tape and basset hound saliva to hold together for now.) I may not have mentioned that he also strips off the bed covers, pulls clothes and shoes out of our closets, scatters night-stand books, yanks the not-so-precious gems out of my wife’s jewelry box and generally makes quite a mess.

There are times—a lot of times—when the room looks like a burglar came through the window followed maybe an hour later by a tornado. Then a swarm of rabid, underwear chewing wolverines stopped by. So, we said, “Enough. Wreak your havoc elsewhere, oh Lord of Chaos, oh King of Collateral Damage. The Dark Knight of the Achy Lower Back Shall Abide Thou Foul Knavery No More.”

Here’s the problem. Read the rest of this entry »

, , , , , , ,

1 Comment

Sixteen Candles

When the phone rang early Sunday morning, we didn’t need to check the caller ID. Clay’s Grandpa Tony (aka “Goots”), an early riser, is invariably the first to serenade the little guy with a rousing version of Happy Birthday, a tradition on my wife’s side of the family. Moments later, his Aunt Ann called, leaving her own version on voicemail.

Clay’s 16th birthday was underway. And we had some decisions to make. Read the rest of this entry »

, , , , , ,