My Sunday night, as it were, posting from my parent's house. Mom and Dad are vacationing in Montana at the moment, leaving the kidmandoes and me a place to party, raid the pantry, splash around in the hot tub; while yours truly drinks the rent's crappy wine, kids watch their vids on a screen the size of a persian carpet. In exchange for taking advantage of the amenities, Mom and Dad rest easier knowing no one is stealing their guns or their collection of kitsch.
The downside is, well, this is not my place, this isn't my computer, my things aren't around, convenient, close. As I type this I'm creating a mental list of the things I need to do or get when head back to Chez Shithole. Also, I'm mentally composing a list of cute kid things to report here. Having been pigeonholed as a "single dad blog" I feel obligated to post daddy-is-awed-by-too-cute-kids and I know I've been remiss in those kinds of posts although I suspect the majority of you who come here on a regular basis know poopy-diaper posts only constitute about a tenth of what I write. Still, my Catholic guilt hammers relentlessly on my sense of what I should post given the daddy-blog mark.