Happy Memorial Day, Internet.
All joking aside (seriously), I'd like to spend a sentence or two commemorating all those who fought and died for our country, whether it be for independence (the Revolution), unity (the Civil War), asserting our sovereignty in our own backyard (1812, Mexican/American and Spanish/American Wars) helping out our buddies (WWI), stopping evil from taking over the world (WWII), or sticking our nose where it doesn't belong for political or financial gain (everything since.)
Fortunately, the Houghs have been lucky enough to have never lost a family member in war (all my grandfathers and their fathers and their fathers before them have a tendency of coming home sans coffin), so really this is for all of those who were less fortunate.
Anyway, we tend to fall in with the majority of Americans who view Memorial Day as a three-day weekend, and little more. It's not intentional, of course, it's just the end of the school year, and our lives are hectic these days (what with the move to Michigan and all.) This weekend, as it were, we were up to the hilt in puking children - first Abby, then Alayna - firing projectiles out of both ends.
Not awesome.
While Kris focused on tending to our sickly offspring, Yours Truly spent the majority of my extended weekend attending to various nerdy side projects (finessing iTunes playlists and syncing my iPod, cleaning up my iPhoto library, backing up all media onto DVDs. . . you know, man stuff) and packing, packing, packing.
After a day or two of sitting off to the sidelines, watching her family pack boxes and tend a sickly sibling, Abby developed some serious cabin-fever. Consequently, Kris and I deemed it an appropriate time to try our hand at that age-old parenting right-of-passage:
The eradication of training wheels.
We didn't expect Abby to learn how to ride a bike in a day, but, honestly, that's exactly what happened.
One down, one to go.
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| That guy in front - armed with a mere handgun and a pair of khaki shorts - is a bonafide badass. |
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| Somewhat relieved this happened 60 years before I was born. . . |
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| A couple thugs from my grandmother's side. . . |
Anyway, we tend to fall in with the majority of Americans who view Memorial Day as a three-day weekend, and little more. It's not intentional, of course, it's just the end of the school year, and our lives are hectic these days (what with the move to Michigan and all.) This weekend, as it were, we were up to the hilt in puking children - first Abby, then Alayna - firing projectiles out of both ends.
Not awesome.
While Kris focused on tending to our sickly offspring, Yours Truly spent the majority of my extended weekend attending to various nerdy side projects (finessing iTunes playlists and syncing my iPod, cleaning up my iPhoto library, backing up all media onto DVDs. . . you know, man stuff) and packing, packing, packing.
After a day or two of sitting off to the sidelines, watching her family pack boxes and tend a sickly sibling, Abby developed some serious cabin-fever. Consequently, Kris and I deemed it an appropriate time to try our hand at that age-old parenting right-of-passage:
The eradication of training wheels.
We didn't expect Abby to learn how to ride a bike in a day, but, honestly, that's exactly what happened.
One down, one to go.
- Brian
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