Over at Toehold, Kyle made an interesting post. I'd thought about writing a bit on it myself, but decided just to comment on his. You can read it there, instead of me repeating it here.


Happy Father's Day

'Nuff said.



Sometimes, it's hard to find sympathy for some people. I was watching TV last night, and this story aired. Basically, it's a story about a mobster who went into the witness protection program, and (naturally enough), his family went into hiding with him. His son said:

"I'm very angry . . .Up until that time, all my father's exploits really only affected him. This was the first time we started feeling the impact of what he was doing. And to be told we were leaving forever. It was a hard fact to sink in."

Earlier in the interview, the kids (now grown) talk about the garbage bags of marijuana left around the house, and claims that the father's life in the mob didn't actually affect the rest of the family. Personally, I find that claim absurd. In my mind, the whole interview boiled down to this:

"My daddy was in the Mob, and I had to go hiding. Boo hoo, pity me."

Yes, it would stink to have to leave behind family and friends. I have a great deal of sympathy, and more than a little admiration, for any victim who is forced into protective custody because they are testifying against a drug cartel, gang or Mafia. I have a lot less sympathy when the person going into hiding is testifying against his or her former "employers". Some of that lack rubs off when the kids proclaim that their father's criminal activities didn't impact them until they had to move, yet state that some of the same criminal activities were occuring in their home.


Cars, trucks, planes, and a sleepless toddler

We drove into the Chicago area today - my wife had to work there on Monday, and this way the grandparents get to see their grandson. Visting is nice, it's the travel there that is a major pain.

Kevin just doesn't sleep in the car anymore. There's too much light outside when we leave, and instead of letting the gentle motion of the car speeding down the highway lull him to sleep, he points out the window and says "Uck! Uck!" (Still no "tr" sound). This continues for about 40 miles, and then he wants his drink.

Repeat this process about 3 times.

Realize that he has had quite of liquid go into his tiny little body - or, more appropriately, his tiny little bladder.

Realize that, even with a doubler in the diaper, they're just not made for that kind of liquid load. I don't care what commercials say with tests involving blue liquid - we haven't found a diaper that can take an afternoons worth of water and milk and still not leak.

Anyway - he was still awake when we got there - and he was soaked. Not just him, but his pants, his shirt, and the car seat. Poor little guy got a quick dunking in the tub, and then put to bed, which kicked off a round of screaming.

He's out now - but we're really wishing that he would just sleep through the car ride like other babies.