Happy Feet

Sometimes I embarass myself. Okay, a LOT of times I embarass myself. But every once in a while I shame myself. And the preceding post is kinda shameing.
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Because, honestly, we have it pretty good. We have a couple of great kids, a cozy little home, two cats who hardly ever claw anyone and have only yakked in my t-shirt drawer once (but that was truly vile, Lily, sweetbabyjesus, girl...) and a pretty comfortable life.
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It's not like we're living in some go-down in Darfur with a handful of mealies to eat once a day and the Janjaweed militia thundering through the hamlet once a month to rape and pillage for fun. On an absolute scale of human misery, we've got it flat damn-all sweet.
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And no sooner had I written the previous poor-poor-pitiful-me post I managed to get home in time to take Mister Pea to his "Penguins" swim class, where he swam outstandingly for his beloved teacher "Spring", splashed heroically, snatched my camera and took lots of pictures (umm...sorry about those ones of your crotch, "Spring", but, uh, that's just how high his head is), greedily ate an ice cream bar and pronounced himself a Happy Peeper. We had a totally good time.
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After that we even went for a drive around the U-Park and Overlook neighborhoods and oohed and aahed over the pretty Christmas lights. Peeper suggested that maybe the lighted Rudolph reindeers we saw were real only one magical reindeer flying from lawn to lawn just head of us - pretty cunning, I thought. That whacky Rudolph.We debated the positives of tutti-frutti lights versus white, and whether iceicles were cooler than blinky lights. We even drove past Kelli's house so the Peeper could wave hi (she wasn't home).
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Little Missy was babbling happly when we got home, Mojo was relaxing, so we pulled up a couch, watched a truly appalling movie and then to bed. A lovely evening altogether.
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So in the GFT tradition, we leave you with "Spring's" bare feet by Peep the auteur (nice, Peep, you dawg) and a reminder that it's always darkest just before it goes totally black. No, no, seriously; that the great thing about kids is that just when you're done, toast, ready to send them to a desert island bound in heavy chains...they do something surprisingly loving and terrific that reminds you why you - or in this case, your wife - spent those agonizing hours in labor, or you both endured hours in terrifying Guangzhou traffic, whatever, so that you could all be a family.Family? Now that's sweeeeet.