Dear J-

There is mystery in the smile.

What dreams tonight? What places to see? What trips left unspoken, what tales yet to be told? What changes come the morrow? What challenges to crest? What satisfaction to find?

Mike

Dear J-

I like to think that I subscribe to the less is more philosophy and simplification rules the day. Looking around the house though it’s clear that more is more: the giant box of photographs I swore I’d scan someday, the pile of tabs in the browser indicating things I want to post on tumblr, the half-started projects and frozen moments asking one thing and one thing only: where are your priorities?

Take these small miracles one at a time and where you can: the curve of your child’s ear, the drive to keep working to keep them fed and clothed and for the moment at least, deliriously happy.

Mike

Dear J-

Ready? Set? Go! Although we’re still waiting for him to walk, he is proving that he’s taking things at his own pace, much like his sister before him. He has shown signs of wanting to stand on his own and briefly being able to do so, but loses interest and holds out his hands to be picked up as soon as he is able. Can’t blame him, as he’s got us figured out, apparently. There’s little else to say, as his ways are proving more effective than having to learn ours: no walking (hey, I’ll get someone to carry me) and no talking (my gestures are bold and unmistakeable). He’s got a pretty good opinion of himself, and with good reason.

Mike

Dear J-

It’s sunset beneath the power lines that define our neighborhood as a tie line for San Diego Gas and Electric, straight north as the compass points, marching onward over canyon and sinners alike.

And yet … all I know is how lucky we are, incredibly lucky beyond our means. This life we lead isn’t full of jetpacks and flying cars like we thought 2012 would be, but it’s more than enough.

Mike

Dear J-

The best part of today has been knowing there’s no tomorrow at work for me. So more of this. Less of not seeing daylight in San Diego.

Mike

Dear J-

Just lately it has felt like this: this kid, or that kid. Not the two of them together, that’s too much (and CRAZY besides). Small doses. Little steps. We get through the week, blast through the weekends, and gear up for another round. Meanwhile they’re turning into little people. When did that happen?

Mike

Dear J-

So ready for this day to be done: there’s not a drop of energy left in me after work and two hours of kids reminding me of my age. Creak.

Mike

Dear J-

The twelve-hour days sneak up on you in strange ways: here I’m thinking about taking a nap while she’s had a busy morning and afternoon being sick in various ways (sleepy, vomit-y, sleepy, vomit-y, the cycle repeats) and it’s like I haven’t seen her for days, so changed are things.

Witness the glazed look, the slack face: all signs of YouTube, which we resort to at times to save a bit of sanity in our lives. And tomorrow we get to try again.

Mike

Dear J-

It’s hard to know EXACTLY what goes on in her head but I remember spending a lot of time perched on top of sofa backs when I was little, especially when they’re back-to-back like this: the risks of falling are fairly low and the consequences nearly insignificant at any rate: a soft landing and dirty looks from the employees.

Plus if they’re going to put sofas on wall hooks then the floor models are going to get beaten.

Mike

Dear J-

At least part of the reason why I don’t take better care of my car is that it hasn’t seemed to need it so far: despite my abuse, it’s held up well and (knock on wood) should last me quite a while longer. I went to the oil change today and instead of the one that’s closest to the house (with terrible reviews — everyone complains about how they try to upsell and I’ve been a victim of that too), tried one that got good reviews instead. The verdict? I’m sticking with the new place.

On the other hand they did tell me the timing belt was due and if I think right it’s really PAST due as I’m closing in on 150K miles and can’t remember ever having it changed. Um. Should be good enough to get me to work, right? On the way back to the house I spotted this Ramcharger (only sold en Mexico, as Dodge never brought that style to the States) and started thinking back to the other car that I’ve owned — the 1973 Super Beetle from high school.

Let’s see … I started driving that in 1990-91, so the car would have been … seventeen at that point. The ’97 Subaru I’m driving hits fifteen this year and that gives me some pause: how can the Beetle have seemed so primitive and the Impreza so modern in comparison? I suppose that even by 1973 standards the Beetle was a bit quaint, but I haven’t had the adventures I had in the Beetle with the Impreza, which I’m grateful for.

Mike