Oi, what a first half of a day. So my buddy Juan had the idea that we all go out for a bike ride, but due to schedules and rain, we decided to cancel. But Tree and I figured we might have time to do a quick ride early in the day, so we decided to go it on our own.

Thus began Murphy’s Memorial Day.

You know, I started this post, and then we put Noah down for a nap, and we napped too. Now we’re all up, and I have that good tired feeling all over where I just wanna watch TV and eat ice cream. So I’ll just give you a short list of the crap that happened this morning, rather than the usual long rant fest:
1) blown bike inner tube
2) lost bolt for hold Noah’s bike seat onto my bike
3) bought new bike tube and blew out the sidewall of the tire while replacing it
4) bought new tire
5) rain

Yep. Making a short list really takes the wind out of 2 hours of an unending trail of issues keeping you from having a nice bike ride with the family. But as you can see, Noah had a fine time.

And it’s tough to complain when, at the end of the day, you can get a photo like this of you and your spouses leg:

welcome back

So late last night Teresa, Noah, and I got back into town from our week long vacation. I have a nice long recap that I’m working on, with a bunch of photos, but it won’t be posted until later. For now, I will complain.

Yesterday was a bad day. We didn’t plan anything for the day, so we ended up driving around the Tennessee mountains with nothing to do until 5:30pm, when we would drop the Gray’s off at the airport. Once we started top head home, our GPS unit gave us a route we weren’t happy with, and trying to figure out how to get to the highway proved daunting. We had driven on enough small local roads for the week, and we just wanted to get on a highway and drive 70mph, even if it meant taking longer.

A couple hours in Teresa realized she didn’t know where her phone was. I called it, and rather than hearing the familiar tone in the car, I hear “Hello?” in a much more manly voice than I’m used to hearing when calling my wife. So Teresa left her cell phone in at the Applebee’s in Alcoa, TN.

We finally make it into Georgia, and just about the time we get inside the border, our home state greets us with rain. We had managed to have beautiful weather though the whole vacation, so I guess this is only fitting.

We finally get in right after 10pm, and as soon as we walk in, I smell something weird. I figure its a side effect of setting your A/C at 85 for a week. But as I head down the hall to the thermostat, the smell decreases drastically. Why does my front door smell funny? The “maybe something died behind the screen door” theory didn’t pan out. We’re both too tired to spend too much time investigating, so we get ready for bed.

So Teresa goes out to get her nightly glass of water, and returns with the question, “Did you turn off the water from the Fridge?”

I walk into the kitchen, open the fridge door, and it is immediately apparent that no amount of animals stuck in a screen door could sin against my nose in the same way as a fridge full of food that sat at 85 degree for a week could. It would appear that when we unplugged the microwave from the wall, it tripped the circuit breaker, and shut off our fridge.

We do our best to try and go to sleep, ignoring the disgusting task that lay before us bright and early in the morning. It doesn’t work well, and both of us wake up from dreams of rotting food only to smell the fridge all the way from our room.

So you can understand why I’m having a hard time figuring out why I left the beautiful mountain-top abode to come back here.

babies are jerks

I think they get away with too much. Think about it: If you were typing at your computer, and someone walked up and started smashing his hand on your keyboard, how would you react? You’d be all, “What the heck?!” But for some reason babies get this free pass to do whatever they want. That doesn’t seem right to me.

And then, after that jerk messes up what you’re typing, he craps his pants, and screams at you until you clean him up.

And he won’t stop hitting your keyboard (the musical kind) with a drumstick. He’s going to break it. And when he does, will this deadbeat live-in who doesn’t pay rent get a job to pay to fix it? No. See? Jerks.