Were you to make the mistake of giving me the opportunity to provide you with a list of all of my complaints about my job (a dreadful mistake, but one you’d only make once), the one at the top of my list would be the commute.  I HATE driving.  Always have.  It hurts my hip.  It hurts my back.  And I fall asleep, which kind of sucks.  I have to get up far too early to beat the Seattle traffic, and then I get home too bloody late.  On a work day, I get barely 2 hours of time at home while the boys are awake, and nearly half of that is taken up with eating dinner and doing the dishes.  Yes, I’m whinning.  And you’re surprised, then you must be new to reading this…  It’s kind of a core-competency of mine, if you will.  You have to do what you’re good at, and I’m really, really good at complaining.  Perhaps I should be a consultant?  Or a pundit?

The only thing that keeps me awake on my drive (hence, alive) are audio books.  I listen to lots and lots of them, and my iPod is the third-best purchase I’ve ever made.  It’s hard to find the books I’d most like to read in audiobook form, but I’ve found some.  It leads to some embarassing moments, like when a manager casually asks what I’m listening to, and I have to somehow explain that I’m listening to a history of the Byzantine Empire without coming across as an utter freak.  Still, small price to pay for continued living.

And then when I get home, there’re the boys.  Katie as well, to be sure, but she has a terrible habit of speaking to me in English, and asking me things.  The boys are much more polite.  They just shreak.  Or cry.  Sometimes Dexter even runs up to me and gives me a hug.  Well, sort of.  He spreads his arms and charges, so you can decide whether he’s giving a hug, or trying to tackle me.  Either way, I don’t mind.  Sometimes Nicholas will smile at me.  Sometimes he’ll ignore me altogether.  Usually he’ll ignore me for a minute or so, and then come and look at me, and run off, and then come back around the corner again, and then run off.  They only start yelling at me once I try and run upstairs to change.  It’s really quite rude of me, I know.  I’ve never claimed to be a good father, though, so change my pants I will.

When the boys were at their sickest over the Holidays, I came home and found them sitting on Katie’s lap in the Family Room, watching television whilst chewing away on Ducky and Froggy.

Cute kids, but I’m biased.  I call every son of mine I meet adorable, so who could possibly accept my lack of bias?  Just a nice moment.  And predictably, I responded by taking a picture, and then going to change my pants, and probably complaining about my job.  I don’t recall specifically, but it’s altogether possible I listened to a few more minutes of a book in the meantime.  Seems likely.