It's a strange thing, re-emerging into society. The last week can be called a vacation, in the sense that my premises were vacated, but it was mostly a break from media saturation. Eager to take our mouths off the cultural firehose, my wife and I were happy having not much to do but stare at stuff like this and this.
And now, safely re-settled with broadband at my fingertips, I learn that 1) Our Man Mapother finally came out of the closet and revealed himself as a wealthy and pedantic loon, 2) Tigger and Piglet passed away within a day of each other, and 3) portions of the British Empire are ruled by monkeys. That'll teach me to suck in so much so soon. Better to pace myself, lest I spend the day suffering from the Media Bends.
We're also readjusting to the day-to-day of Summer in the City--which, judging from the tropical rain and relentless humidity, was relocated to the Gulf of Thailand while we were away. As I was out goofing around with Robert, I struck up a conversation with a mom who was herding a small gang of boys around the park. We got to talking about polyprogeny, and I mentioned that she seemed awfully sane for a mother of so many. Momentarily lulled by the compliment (still the best icebreaker before you set about picking someone's brain), she decided to let me in on a little secret.
"Want to know the best way to learn how easy it is to have two kids?"
Absolutely, I said.
"Have a third."
