Post About Nothing

I've got nothin'. I've got no pretty pictures or clever phrases. I've got no prepared remarks. I'm tapped out.

I woke up this morning more exhausted than I can remember being in ages. Bear in mind I've survived cancer and chemo. I scoff at pulmonary fibrosis. I taunt death and snicker at pain.

But this week a 4 year old and 5 year old took me out. Seriously-- cute little dimpled faces, big shiny eyes, endless energy. They beat me. I've lost, and willingly submit to the will of the victors... so long as they stay at home and let me sleep. Honestly, they can have anything they want. They can have my car. I'll set up a trust fund on Monday.

The first week of school for my nephews transformed them. Both were wired, excited, and bubbling with joy. Both have fully embraced their new school-- big boy school, btw-- like Hagrid picked them up on a flying motorcycle and carted them off to Hogwarts. But they're not on a flying motorcycle with a giant a few times a day. They're on a bus or in my SUV and I'm no giant.

The school, incidentally, was my own grade school. My first year was the year it opened and it was whispered over and buzzed about by many, being what was then considered "progressive," and that translated as "suspect." Turns out it was amazing. I got a foundation in those hallowed halls still serving me to this day. So my exhaustion is for a very good cause.

But wow. I mean, WOW. In my day everyone took the bus. They didn't even have parents at bus stops then. I remember the huge hysteria three years into my elementary education when a sexual predator was trying to lure children into a green van with a small black puppy. We still either walked or took the bus, but they stepped up police patrols and warned parents. It's a pretty wonderful thing that now-- thankfully!!-- parents meet kids at the bus stop or pick them up with an ID in hand. I'm not all that convinced I grew up in safer times. I think I grew up in more ignorant times.

But it's more work, that's for sure. Work I am glad to do... but work that kicked my butt.

So I'm wussing out and crying "uncle." This is a post about nothing. Jerry Seinfeld can bill me. Demons can feast upon me. Just do it quietly... and for the love of all that is sacred don't wake me up.