During our many examples of spousal abandonment, Katie leaves me alone with the boys, trusting them to be alive when she returns.  She should’t worry so much.  They almost never die.  Sure, we occasionally camp out and watch movies, or make misogynistic comments about women, or get the flame thrower out for some much-needed weeding, but through it all we haven’t lost a child.  Some hair, assuredly, but none have yet slipped loose the mortal coil.  And when it gets a bit difficult to contain them, such as when I’m making dinner for them, I just put them in a box until I’m ready to talk to them again.  Remarkably convenient, no?

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