Regular Life

Thursday ended with Shannon staring at her computer screen, tears streaming down her face. “Ben’s hiding in his closet,” she said. Ben likes to do that when I get home so I can “find” him.

Then Shannon looked up at me and sobbed, “He could have died.”

Just home from work, I set down my laptop bag and walked over to her. “But he didn’t, and he’s fine now.”

Somehow that didn’t seem like a profound thing to say in light of the afternoon’s events.

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Although I enjoyed all the father/son time Benjamin and I spent last week while I was off work, the time we spent as a family topped my list.

They often get buried under her depression, but my wife’s sense of humor and love for life can’t be stopped. More and more lately, she’s winning small battles in her interminable internal war. When those victories combine with Benjamin’s unflinching zeal, I feel like I’m flying.

No Father’s Day gift could top that.

Last week while I was off work, we had another first, and it was a blast.

One nice thing about living in a major metro area is that there’s almost no limit to the options available as long as you can cover the admission price. Laughter was the sound of the day as we stomped, splashed, slithered, and swooshed our way around the Don Rodenbaugh Natatorium in Allen, Texas.

That brings us to the word for today: natatorium. Strictly speaking it’s a building housing a swimming pool. By today’s standards, however, it means waterslides, diving boards, a lazy river, lap pools, kiddie toys, and more. With a child (barely) under five years of age, we only scratched the surface, but Benjamin never stopped smiling.

Well, except for the time he bonked his head on a steel pipe. That’s always good for at least a frown and maybe a tear or two.

Warning: photos of pasty white man and his son of similar complexion follow

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In the past week we painted several walls in our house without calling 911.

That’s more than my wife can say about the last time she undertook a major painting project.

You see, Shannon and her mother were painting Benjamin’s nursery prior to his birth. Colors carefully chosen to match the Whirlygigs theme, they masked the trim, stirred the paint and got underway.

I was at work for the day and deny any involvement.

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Benjamin, speaking of his doll: Baby Rex is a Super Diaper Baby.
Me: Well, then what are you?
Benjamin: (before I could blink) A Super Underwear Kid.

And that settles it.

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While re-hanging pictures on the kitchen wall following our first marathon painting night, I dropped one of them.

Startled, Shannon yelled, “Oh, mother –” and then stopped herself short of saying anything entirely inappropriate in front of Benjamin.

“Mommy, why did you call Daddy ‘Mother?’” Benjamin asked.

Reasonable question.

I clinched several times while watching this video — mostly near the end, but it’s all quite harrowing. Located in Spain, El Caminito Del Rey was in use from 1905 to 2000, when it was closed after too many people died trying to use it.

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This blog post serves to pose a question to you. An encounter on Wednesday prompted it.

While waiting for my paint to shake, I asked the woman behind the paint counter my standard question in that situation. “So, how long have you worked for (insert store name)?”

From that simple query and a subsequent series of nods and short verbal cues like, “Oh, really,” and “That’s great,” I learned that she:

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What lurks inside?

See other Project Blue participants at Anna Carson Photography

I grabbed my camera Tuesday, on what seemingly was a routine trip to take Homer to the body shop and to help Shannon’s mom move refrigerated items to her new house.

“I gotta be ready for Project Blue,” I told Shannon.

Later, as we headed out to the car to go home, I noticed blue sawhorses blocking the driveways of vacant townhomes. Naturally, I had to take pictures. I fired off a few, standing and lying down, tilting the camera to get a new look each time.

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Note: Photos in this post by Benjamin, with his Fisher Price Kid Tough Digital Camera (generation one model).

It’s strange, having nine days off work in a row and nowhere to go. We could have gone to Spain, England, France, or all of the above. Heck, we live in a border state; we could have gone to Mexico.

But, this site is called Regular Life, not Fancy Life or Extravagant Life or even We Saved Up a Long Time for This and Now We Can Do It Life.

Instead, this week we could re-title it We’re Not Going Anywhere, So We Might As Well Finally Paint Some Walls Life. Yes, after nearly three years living in the same house (a new record for us!) we’re leaving behind the off-white flat latex paint. Or covering it up, rather.

When my lovely wife took a break from slathering the paint all over herself, that is.

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