Super Moist Fat Tuesday

Let’s Make a Cake

I was going to post this picture and leave it at that. Fat Tuesday. Let’s eat cake. Ha ha. Super moist. Ha ha.

Then the universe tilted and things truly did become super moist. I spilled a nice, fresh, steaming hot mug of coffee all over half the kitchen.


As if that wasn’t bad enough, the coffee leaked through the chair and my baby beat me to the puddle.

#PARENTINGFAIL (Yes, that’s food on his sleeve. He sneezed out sweet potatoes shortly before the coffee fiasco.)

I chalked it up to FEELING LIKE THIS FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME. My head was no longer in the game by 3 PM. The gray matter had left the building.

But I managed to regroup. I made another cup of coffee and washed it down with this…

Cake Makes Everything Better

I’ll take a disasterous Fat Tuesday to be the harbinger of a meaningful Lenten season.

Homer, The Stephen King of Classical Writers

Idomeneus speared Erymas in the mouth; the bronze point of the spear went clean through it beneath the brain, crashing in among the white bones and smashing them up. His teeth were all of them knocked out and the blood came gushing in a stream from both his eyes; it also came gurgling up from his mouth and nostrils, and the darkness of death enfolded him round about.

-The Iliad

That is some pretty gruesome stuff!

I’m Dying

The dang baby got me sick.

I’m sick.

We’re all sick.

The baby started it.

I don’t even feel well enough to write about it. Like every other man when he gets a cold: I am dying.

While I’m whining over here on the couch, knocking on death’s door, I recommend you read my wife’s thoroughly satisfying account of this sickness from her point of view. Click here to read: “It’s Not Like I’m Dying or Anything”. Women really are much better at handling colds. My woman sure is.