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        Saturday, May 19, 2007

    Married, With Children...

    It's finding a pair of panties, soaking in the bathroom sink. It is smelling a fart you know damn well you didn't cut. It's paying a small fortune for wedding pictures that you never look at again. It's finding your daughter's booger collection on the wall by her bed, like a piece of particularly vile NEA funded art. 'Snot Christ', or something.

    It's not being able to go anywhere ever again without telling someone, and making some sort of arrangements. It's finding crusts and crumbs and rinds of food under the seat of your car, and partial bags of hairy caterpillar french fries.

    It is standing over your sleeping child at night, and being absolutely positive they have stopped breathing, so you pinch their nose and stifle giggles when they grimace and slap and rub at their face.

    It is watching the light slowly dim in the angel night-light by your daughters bed, and sneaking it downstairs to slip fresh batteries in, still mad at yourself for not getting one with a cord. It is her face, a lazy sleepy smile on it as you put the glowing angel back, and she slips back into sleep.

    It is glowing plastic appliqu├ęs of planets and stars and spaceships that you stuck to their ceiling, and they gasp in delight every single night when you turn off the light, and then make wishes on them.

    It is sitting on your separate couches downstairs with your counterpart, yet sharing the same ottoman, and the warmth of your feet touching is enough, in fact, just right at the end of the day.
    It is trying to figure out whose turn it is to go upstairs, because you just saw a light go on, and then realizing that it is your mates turn, but she's had a rough day, so you drag your own tired ass up there and deal with things.

    It is picking up the phone to call her, and having it ring in your hand, and she asks you to be ready to come out and help her with the groceries because she is just a block away, and you say I know, because you do.

    It is getting so mad at someone one minute, clearly able to imagine killing them, and then in the next minute, holding them and soothing them, and really caring about their feelings.

    It is about proudly holding your baby as you walk around the fairgrounds, and then feeling the warm shit as it makes its way out of the diaper leg-hole and down your arm, and laughing at the absurdity of it all as you rush to the restrooms, and see another father in there before you, already rinsing his kids ass under the sink faucet, and you both laugh out loud at each other and make gagging sounds as you clean things up.

    It is about knowing the proper way to pack a diaper bag.

    It is finding a treasured baby toy of theirs, many years later, and suddenly you can't see through the blur.

    It is about watching another man, or woman, take your child away from you, and set about making a family of their own.

    It is about gain, and loss, and pain, and glory, and anger, and happiness, and...

    It is about immortality.