Fact is, for all our genuflecting over them and fretting and pondering the essence of a shitty diaper at 3 in the morning, kids can be real assholes at times. For those of you without a child, and wanting one, my sincerest apologies.

Know ye something: Every time you think your kid can’t surprise/shock/amaze/dumbfound you anymore than he already has God hands you a star. When you’ve got enough collected to make up a small nighttime canopy over your head, take a beer and go sit on your patio. Hold your beer in one hand and bury your face in the other and say, “Why the hell do they keep doing this stupid shit? Why?”

I don’t know that I’ll ever get a straight answer to that.

And this rental house doesn’t even have a patio. But it does have a nighttime sky and a slew of stars, and God and I sat and had a long chat a couple of nights ago. I admired his stars.

But sometimes I wish he hadn’t been quite so generous in handing them out.

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