Found this today. It’s like stumbling across an old 8-track tape in the back of your glove box.

In order to fit the Great White Beast into the garage, we had to completely reorganize all of our junk precious belongings. As you might expect, this ultimately led into Steve playing the trumpet. What? This doesn’t happen in your house? Ha. You should see what happens when we clean the gutters.

Union negotiations dictate that they are required to participate in twice-yearly cute breaks (to break up the monotony of the emotional and physical torture they inflict the other 99% of the year). Unfortunately, it is only January, so I now only have one left for the rest of this year.

The distance from the driver’s seat to the third row in the back practically spans across time zones. The kids have decided that they will only ride in the third row. If I turn up the radio just right, it’s like they’re not even there.