#339

Megan's laundry was a pain in the butt today. Everything was inside-out and impossibly twisted; every sock was in a ball, every undie knotted in pantlegs (I assume because they're removed together). I do more unfolding than folding. And I do a lot of folding. Megan helps, but not much. Someday soon, she won't need me for this stuff. I grumble, sure, but when that day comes, I won't be thrilled.

I learned that baldness in Native Americans is rare. I've been touting my Native-American-ness for years now; I think I'm one-sixteenth. Or maybe less. Clearly not enough to dodge alopecia.

We assume our kids can fix simple things. Tighten a screw, patch a hole in the wall, do a little painting. What could go wrong? Well... tools get lost, materials are broken and wasted, paint get spilled and tracked through the house. Murphy's law. That Murphy was a fuckin' genius. It's kind of inspiring actually, the creativity with which things get screwed up. Wow, I would've never thought to do it that way (thereby guaranteeing disaster). We all mess things up when we're kids. We lack experience and attention to detail. So now, as parents, the way I see it: we have no choice but to let our kids do and learn. Start simple, start cheap, be safe, have insurance, hold your breath, pray....

Megan had a basketball game yesterday and wanted to go early – a full hour! – to shoot around. Oh my God, if Meg becomes a gym rat... I will love her even more... which, of course, is impossible; pretty sure the needle swings to max when they're born and never moves. We might think it does, dipping, bouncing, like the needles in Papa's old marantz receiver, but it doesn't move; it's pegged, pinned, permanent. Even Darth Vader's needle wasn't moved by the Emperor and the Dark Side. And everything in life is analogous to something in Star Wars. Duh.