From the moment I heard the concept, I knew it would reach far beyond dads-to-be and grab onto everyone withing arm’s length.
There are so many pops and cracks, you’d think I was a walking pile of rap music record albums.
“Who has seen me today? Did I talk to people like this? What is wrong with my face? Am I freakin’ melting?!”
Some loved ones are gone because they’re in a better place now. Others are gone because I am.
Let’s talk about the grass and the price of chicken and whether I saw the game yesterday. Or not. I’m good either way.
In that hospital bed, the question of whether I would do anything for my kids was real.
The best I can do is come storming back down the hallway mumbling about, “Freakin’ socks and this house.”
It’s our favorite trip. Other people might not get it, but we do.
I don’t like that Justin Bieber.
For a kid, those insults are worse than mean, they’re true.