So this morning we sold both of our kids to the circus. Ha ha! No, that’s ridiculous. No, we traded them for some day-old cotton candy.

Seriously though, this has been one of those mornings where, between bouts of the children screaming and fighting and crying, I remember with fondness and a hint of melancholy the Sunday mornings the wife and I would lounge in bed, awakened gently by the warm touch of filtered sunlight through the curtains, and slowly decide things like where we would go for breakfast and should we go for a walk on the pier and that maybe we should just stay in bed for another hour or two.

Wait a minute, didn’t we decide to have kids one of those mornings? Damn. The melancholy is gone, replaced with a wry humor. See what happens when you’re young and you see parenthood through the distorted eyes of parenting and baby magazines and you have nothing to do on the weekends? You end up with a beautiful baby girl who is the joy of your life and who won’t let you sleep in on the weekend to save your life.

I guess that doesn’t explain why we had two, though. The beautiful baby boy is also a joy.

Eh. Sleep is overrated anyway.