Wrong Number

I realize that I haven't blogged in well over a year, and I've kicked myself regularly for this failure through the entirety, but it just hit me like a ton of bricks: I wasn't blogging for other peoples entertainment, I was blogging for myself.  I felt this pressure of click counts and reader comments and, the truth is, the need for me to do this should have been more selfish.  In a recent conversation with a friend I was retelling a story - one that took place during this non blogging period - and the words came out of my mouth "I really should write these things down because I'm forgetting some of the great stuff". ... well, idiot, that's what you were doing for the first several years until you stopped.  But it's true, I was pushing out memories to make space for new ones and those replaced memories (good ones in their own right) are being lost.  So I'm not going to blog daily.  I'm not going to blog monthly.  I'm not going to guarantee any sort of out put.  I'm just going to blog the good ones, when they happen, so I can capture that memory forever and share it with these girls when they're older.

We've been struggling with potty training Rosaline (I know, see how much time has passed?!) and while she manages to do quite well with number one, it's number two that's been an issue.  She has this need to control things - I wonder who she gets that from - and she's discovered that holding her shit in, literally, is one of the few things she has power to control.  So now we do this weekly thing where she'll go in the potty, we celebrate the crap out of it, then we spend the next 6 days trying to get her to go again until she has an accident. ... it sucks.  So the other weekend Gina left to get her toes done and I was left in charge of orchestrating the much needed bowel movement going on 5 days.  An hour or so in we have great success and, in the name of sharing special moments with my wife, I took a quick "hooray" video and sent it to her.  Two hours later (and seriously. .. how long does it take to apply paint to 10 small toe nails?!) Gina comes home and I ask her if she saw the video.  "What video?"  "What do you mean, 'what video?'"  I pull out my phone and to my dismay I find I've sent no such video to my wife.  I have, however, sent it to my neighbor - the childless NASA rocket scientist.  We were to play golf the next day, so before we even tee'd off on the first I say "Dude, why didn't you say anything about that video I sent you?  You could have at least said 'wrong number' or clue me in to that mistake!"  Again, he has never had kids and has no plans to, but his answer was awesome.  "Well," he says methodically, "you just seemed so proud of it, I didn't want to burst your bubble.  I figured if it became a habit then we'd need to address it."

So future Rosaline, there you go.  As you read this 15, 20, 25 years from now.  Take solace that all this time, Charles has seen a video of your poo.  Try looking him in the eyes next time you come home for a visit.