Working grunt North Face camping event inspired me. To new heights. Maybe I should practice law? Immigrants are getting fucked and fractured everywhere. And while I haven’t paid bar dues, I did once upon a time pass the bar.

I haven’t seen EllieRoo in three days and saw her last night before bed and eoahhh YOURE SO BIG! She’s growing up so fast. Which is what everyone says. About kids generally.

Immigration law. Actually helping people. I’m not into a law office. Because ugh set hours and lifestyle restrictions and people politics. But DIY? Is it possible? I’m looking into it.

Fathers Day. I feel something instead of the ugh lame holidays. I feel like yeah being a dad is a damn cool thing and I’m like yes I want to be a good dad who gives a damn and is present and chill and involved. Though the baby does seem to prefer mom. Strongly. But maybe this is the inevitable voice of nature.

Haven’t had breakfast yet. Except coffee. It’s not pleasant to work manual labor with a full stomach. Lunch, easing in. Peanuts and carbonated water and organic Cheerios. And then apple pie and then sweet potatoes and then eggs and then bread and then mmmm I don’t know. Watch the rain fall.


Rain. In the car at Afton Alps. I’m spending the weekend as a brand ambassador or production assistant, both titles apply. 12 hour days. Yesterday we set up tents all day for today’s camping extravaganza.

And today? Rain.

My knee is swollen from soccer. While working and bending yesterday I wondered weather all the movement was therapeutic or detrimental. It’s funny how when you’re a swimmer, and you’re not swimming, you’re thinking about swimming. And when you’re in the water, you’re thinking about the towel and the thermos of coffee and yada yada. New age folks would be like ah it’s the battle to be present. And maybe it’s a battle but I think there are so many damn battles happening here there these days. Yemen. Cholera. The border. Separating kids from moms. Too many battles. So I’m inclined just to say the non present mind is just part of the human thing we call human living.

Mmmm. You can skip eating or deprioritize or fast but not coffee. Coffee is mmmm.

Working all day including now. We’re in a white SUV waiting for God to stop with the rain but honestly I prefer rain to sun.

Tally ho.

Knock knee

Shouldn’t of played soccer last night. Double header. Scored a goal. But right knee ahh. Socket is eeeeee. Hurts to walk now. I’ll sit out and babysit next game.

Up at 430AM. Just to pee. Had the alarm set for 445. To swim. You know when it’s that early and you’re like should I or shouldn’t I get up? What’s sleeping in worth? What if I stay here and can’t sleep? So I got up, boiled water for coffee, put two chicken sausages on the stove, fried crispy. Squeezed into the Quintana Roo wetsuit and drove to Lake Harriet.

Toenails in the water at 5:40AM. Big breeze caused big wave chop. I thought oi damn. You know the way you second guess yourself. I thought maybe I’ll just to laps near shore. But second guessing must be banished.

Was a good swim. I look good in that wetsuit.

I’m writing this sitting on my tucked toes,trying to loosen up this right knee. Some people mulch. Others buy yoga pants. I’m going to get this right knee better. Roll, stretch, talk lovingly, exercises, lots of movement.

The lake brings out thoughts and thinking that’s a layer deeper. But it’s interesting because the lake also banished thoughts and thinking, swallows them. It’s the size of the lake, I think. The ego body mind realizes that it isn’t the center of the universe. This becomes obvious with the cold and more obvious with the size of the lake and the constant navigation.

I think it’s very much worth the cost of early wake up. Cheap medicine.

Did you know that it’s very likely that every star we see is a planetary system containing at least one planet? Says the last guy on Joe Rogans podcast.

Kate and the baby were gone in Brainerd the last two nights. The dog seems worried. I miss them. But like the me time. They’re coming back today and I’m away the next two nights working a North Face promo event at Afton Alps.

One thing in my mind are the tomatoes in the frig. I need to either roast them for sauce or dice for guac on Sunday when I get back.

I had a summer shandy two nights ago and it ballooned my belly and made me feel bloated and so that’s it for me and beer. It’s a bad training drink and your either training or your not.

What else? Carhartt double knee work pants. I’m debating. The shape is kind of square, no slim fit. DIY tattoo. Word or simple symbol. Read Chop Chop.

Maybe on Monday I’ll attempt two laps around Harriet. I’m resting the knee from running until at least Sunday.

Stretching and yoga until then.

$92 Tire

Karma kills. At least when you’re an asshole.

Admittedly, I was an asshole to the dog yesterday. This schmuck Dakota County Sheriff who was like 18 years old was driving a 4-wheeler through Lebanon Hills and “SIR! SIR!” stopped me mid-run. Said I’m not going to cite you today but you know that dog is supposed to be on the leash. So I yes yes yes. Then I put Tacoma on a leash, and he pulls the whole time like this is the damn Iditarod. I curse and tell him not to pull then call him a dumb damn dog and he must hear me, because today one of those mower trailers that trucks pull behind swung across the lane and shredded my front right tire on the way back from my morning lake swim. I knew it was karma because that’s the first thing I thought. I need to be nicer to Tacoma.

With the donut on, I drove home and said Tacoma Tacoma? And then I said I’m sorry for being a dick yesterday and I gave him a treat. And his demeanor was like yeah right asshole actions speak louder than words. So I went out for a second job interview at Black Sheep coffee and then got the tire replaced at Discount Tire for $92 and when I came home I was decent and we seem to have reached an accord.

Tomorrow and Saturday I am working a North Face event at Afton Alps which I’m thrilled and not thrilled about. Thrilled because I hope to meet some cool like minded folks and not thrilled because I have a fetish for sleeping in my own bed. But sometimes you do things the tribe needs you to do. And in this case, the tribe is the family and the family could use the $600.

The morning swim was dope. My fourth loop around the lake. I went to bed at 7:10PM to get the requisite sleep. The solstice time of year means 5:30AM is light light light. Still get to watch the sun slip up over the horizon from the water, though. Fingers didn’t go numb today. Cough is lingering, but almost gone. Had to ask a runner to zip me up. First runner shook his head, like I was asking for change or something. Second runner stopped.

My dad is writing a competing blog, unpublished on social media. Which is probably more honorable. Discussed the deeper meanings of swimming, and family swimming. If dawn is the holy hour, then dawn swimming is the holiest of holy. You can’t fake it. I mean you’re immersed in the water and things become what they are. You can’t lie to yourself. Your pecs and biceps get tired. If you get too tired, you’ll drown. This thing is bigger. Stop lying. I was a dick to the dog.

If car accidents when no one gets hurt are the universe’s slap on the wrist for being a foul mood moron, then lake swimming at dawn is the therapy required to get over the I ME MY run around. If that makes sense.

The upstairs neighbor is vacuuming again.

My oldest sister said 7 minute miles for a marathon may be to fast for her. I asked her about doing Twin Cities Marathon together in October.

Dad says he’s ready for two laps around the lake. Just needs bananas and tea with honey on the dock.

I had chicken sausage and coffee and avocado and walnuts for breakfast.

Now I’m slurping Ezekiel cereal with almond milk.

There’s a breeze and the windows are open.

I have a double header soccer game tonight, which I’d like to skip but Kate says we owe it to the team. I’d rather go back to the lake and have another lap but Dad says the police will come because the boaters will call the cops because they don’t like when swimmers leave the designated swimmer area.

Ball and chain.


Peace with the dog.


What are those little red berry things called?

The economy of ohh sure last minute odd jobs. Transporting real estate staging furniture. I’m happy to work for my in-laws. Humbled, honored and hoorah.

One thing I just hmmmed: What’s the difference between house and home? It’s the difference between sinking in and not. I’ve been thinking about this lately.

Aside: My knee is still popping in and out. I’m working around it and doing single leg lunges and massage and knee circles and sitting down and lifting the flexed leg up. Building up what broke down. Sometimes we focus on stuff so intently, other stuff breaks down. Unbeknownst to us til it’s broken.

It’s difficult to explain a mini epiphany. What circumstances conceived it, and why it matters as a break thru moment. But yesterday I was doing something with the baby. Maybe changing diaper or maybe playing with this toy car on the floor. I thought: you’ve got to love your life. Pour fucking love into ever nook and cranny. The diapers. The low employment. The knee. The good runs. The loud air conditioning unit in the bedroom. The makeshift drapes, bedsheets lol. The epiphany is that love is this word that’s kind of beyond the preference realm. It’s difficult to explain, the way all quiet baby inspired realizations are. I think partly it’s a trust in the universe. Partly it’s trusting that things will come, which means they’re already here. Even in marital arguments, shifting the focus from I’m right she’s out of her damn mind, for example, to pour love pour love pour love. Feels so much...lighter. Easier. More in flow state. Glide, you know?

Black swan swims

I pulled the wetsuit on at 4:50AM. Listened to the latest Jordan Peterson podcast on the ride over. Broke fast with hot coffee. No cream. Just black. Made my stomach churn. A pair of cars beat me to the parking lot near Lake Harriet’s north beach. Pulled in right before. Nudge before 530. Fellow swimmers. Training for a tri this weekend. I asked one guy to zip me up. He said sure. They waded one direction in the water. I waded the other. Toes in the water at 5:40AM. First solo go. But I guess we’re never really solo. Sleeping sailboats. Sleepy sun. Planes overhead. Geese.

First buoy. Second buoy. Third buoy.

A wall of geese. I slowed. Breaststroke. Are they going to, like, get the hell out of my way? Or what. 30 yards. 20 yards. 10 yards. 5 yards. A stubborn line of floating geese. Spaced evenly. Just like v sky fly. Finally. They splashed and lifted off, flapping wings. Whew. Clear path to fourth buoy.

55 minutes to round the lake this morning. Fingertips turned numb after two buoys. Stayed numb. Even as the sun wrapped her fingers on the horizon, and lifted her bright smile up up up. Toes numb too. Need those gloves from my sister.

Stopped at my dads. He and Laura were still sleeping. Made coffee anyway. Added half and half. Drove home. Kate put baked apples and plantain spinach quiche in the oven. Let them ride at 200. We both interviewed at this coffeeshop down the street. Tag team. Interview question: how do you describe the taste of coffee? Can you put paste words to the flavor? It’s an interesting question.

Whenever I hear someone say be present or stay in the moment, I’m ears perked with the feeling of damn that sounds right. But then I get right back to worrying planning replaying scrolling simmering in the mind meld matrix of me me me.

Buffered by the wetsuit, the water isn’t as cold.

Some things make other things survivable.

I’m into the idea that There’s Some Truth In Everything. Like, there’s nothing totally false.

I went running last night, after eating meat sauce, hardboiled egg, chicken sausage, salad. Ugh. Running teaches why eating light is better than eating heavy.

It’s funny.

You think you dry off and leave the water behind.

And by water I mean cold all encompassing substance that teaches teaches teaches you about your fingers and toes and what pushes you to your limits and how you have to go inside to figure out and make the outside tolerable and fix your stroke and find your glide. But the viscous thick all-encompassing Teacher follows you out of the water. So you’re swimming even when you’re not swimming, even when you’re running. It’s running that teaches diet. It’s job interviews that teach honesty, or the opposite. It’s the dog sitting by the door that teaches selflessness. He wants a walk.

The thing about early morning swimming is that it’s a gun to your head on the sleep question. Getting up at 445 AM means 2 hours less sleep. The choice is a steep slope. I noticed I was running faster up hills last night than down. Like my legs were resisting gravity. The push push push of WOSHHHHH.


You can imagine the t-shirts that say FIND THE WWOOSH. But the WOOSH is here. That’s the anti-capitalist anti-consumerist secret.

Training Lessons

I feel like I have two layers. Meaning my mood. My writing. Comes out in predictable patterns. Layer 1 is the default mode. Go go go. The hypnotic ebb and flow of family work sleep eat clean rinse repeat. Layer 2 is the sneak out of bed early, Yoga With Adrienne, foam roll legs, write with the computer instead of on-the-fly phone. Maybe layer is the wrong word. Cellular iteration, maybe. Or mode. Channel. Frequency.

Upping the mileage and intensity of training, week by week. I’m planning to peak by early October for a marathon distance. Probably TC. Goal is sub-3 hours. Or sub 7 minute-mile pace.

Upping the mileage and intensity ups the soreness. My right knee slides in and out of it’s track. I take these menacing ticks to be part of the process. Training is like gardening. There’s always work to do. Always weeding. Stretch, foam roll, epsom salt bath. Heat, ice, massage.

Training is the on-point metaphor. Break down muscles. Recover. Repeat. Again and again.

The baby and Kate and still sleeping. Yesterday Kate and i played a soccer game, the day after racing a brutal half marathon. Afterward, she curled up on the couch in a blanket. I’ve never seen her so spent. We both cracked on Time Restricted Eating. I gulped down kumbucha and decaf coffee. She spooned in yogurt.

This is some stuff I’m thinking about.

Outdoor compost. Pallets. Chicken wire. Breathable. Coverable. Passably gentrified for suburban renters. The indoor compost bin is a stainless steel spaghetti sauce pot and its sitting on the counter and its getting full and the operation needs to move outside.

Cashew ice cream only requires raw cashews, almond milk, vanilla and maple syrup. Vita mix all four ingredients and freeze for an hour. Whee. I YouTubed it. Kate said if you can make ice cream without sugar I’ll love you. Then she added so much. I plan to track down raw cashews today. Apparently Walmart is the only nearby grocer that carries raw cashews. Kate objects to me shopping at Walmart. She prefers Target. I 100% hear her objections. I’m just a goddamn hypocrite.

Speaking of Target, I need to return the knee brace to Target because it kept falling off during the soccer game and the package says Satisfaction Guaranteed.

I have a runner friend named Swift Kitchen. That’s his social media name. His real name is Trevor. And he’s fast as fast gets for white people. Is that racist? Can something be racist even if it’s true? Anyway after college in Georgia, he moved to Colorado to run and train and now he’s running very fast. I asked him about sponsorship, because it’s something that I’m interested in. Like, is it possible for a normal grit runner like me to get sponsored? Or do you have be Olympic? He said he’s got some sponsorship from Altra. I asked him if he wanted more sponsorship. He said it’d be icing on the cake but mostly he’s just letting stuff come.

Let stuff come.

I’m in South Saint Paul and I created this Facebook group last week called South Saint Paul Yoga in the Park and I scheduled the first session for tonight at 7pm at Grandview park, but I’m looking at the grey sky and charcoal clouds and the weather app says rain tonight is likely to occur with a probability of 70%. I’m going to have to message the group and say stay tuned but its not looking good. I’ll ask the group if anyone knows of an indoor space in SSP where we could all gather for free. Like church basement or something.

I talked with my friend Chuck yesterday about what makes a good marriage.

He and I just sort of fumble talked it out the way two 30-something men who went to high school together and have been married for 8 months and 3 years, respectively. Humans are all so different. But we’re so similar. It’s an odd truth. One thing Chuck said, which I found interesting, was this. Conventional wisdom says compromise is key. And this may appear to be a shit sandwich on the preference-maximizing scale. Like if I want Korean BBQ and she wants Italian, maybe we say ok Italian this time and BBQ next time. So I have to wait a week. Which is delayed gratification. But maybe there’s someone out there who wants Korean BBQ NOW NOW NOW NOW. The problem with this formula is that the pursuit of immediate pleasure will carry you from one potential mate to the next, with pretty Swift Kitchen running speed. Chuck’s point was that while compromise requires less satisfaction in the immediate moment, it brings long term happiness. I think he’s right. Because I think the strength of a sustained pair bond is itself a valuable good, which brings happiness. I think. Again we’re just fumbling around.

The whole conversation we sat on a bench at Lake Nokomis, and watched these two teenage dudes toss a football back and forth. Chuck commented that of the 15 minutes worth of throws back and forth, only one or two passes were actually caught.

Fitting juxtaposition. It’s possible our shit shooting was similarly amateur.

Who knows.

We’re just doing the best we can.

Lastly. The Yoga With Adrienne session for tired legs is phenom. As is the feet one. Ooo man.

Beet quiche and ambition

Red curried cauliflower in the oven. Buried in eggs, spinach, beets, fried plantains. Call it a quiche. Call it dinner.

My name is Ryan Loveeachother. Formerly Ryan McLaughlin. Sometimes I wish I would have went with Ryan X.

Every time I grapple with something that’s existentially larger than myself, a little voice in the back of my head says shhhh. Sit down. Be humble.

At breakfast Kate and I were talking about Whole Foods and how they have these refrigerated lockers where you can order food up to 3 days in advance on Amazon and pick it up at the store. Already collected and paid for. We were talking business ideas. What could South Saint Paul sustain? Could South Saint Paul sustain a natural foods coop? How about a movie theater? Okay back to the coop. What’s the future of grocery? Is it Amazon prime? What’s the business model of a farmers market? I’m thinking about buying a whole pig and splitting it with my dad, my sister-in-law, my mother-in-law, and father-in-law. 30ibs of pork is more manageable than 150 Ibs of pork. This collective buying allows us to buy more for less. Is this the future of grocery? Of consuming? It’s local commerce that’s smart and organized and direct.

The little voice is almost always other people. I rarely reality check my ideas. I just birth them. And then, when I spout spout spout, I see people’s facial gestures, their upturned lips (mocking smile) or downturned brow (disapproval). And then, the little voice appears.

I keep thinking. Nobody is as interested in my life as I am. Nobody else cares, to the degree I that I care, about my patellar instability—my knee keeps popping in and out. Nobody cares about the isometric exercises and the pros and cons of a knee brace as much as I do. I feel like this has a) always been the case and b) will continue to be the case. Whether it’s because we’re all hyper self-interested or whether it’s some commentary on either the nature or intensity of my obsessions, I don’t know.

I need to get back to yoga. And I will. 30 minutes a day will be a good reimmersion. I did a 30 minute hip focused flow this morning. It’s been a while. But I’ve focused on other things: open water swimming, running, moving, finding jobs, unpacking. There’s only so much time. Family. Sleep. Thai massage. But stretching is key.

The argument between Kate and I this morning wasn’t an argument. It was “this is my preference” and “well that’s not my preference.” And then, words words words to try and establish a compromise. The details are irrelevant, and still simmering. But the big beta point is the grueling ground of compromise. Evolutionary biologists and social scientists wonder whether marriage will survive the next 50 years. Surveys show declining support for lifelong pair bonds. But. For me, from the moment I met Kate until now, it’s been to my benefit. I hope I confer similar boon on her. From sobriety to be chill to be kind to be honest to take the high road, I’ve gained what one might call a moral compass from time with Kate. I’m intrigued and attracted to the idea that the Teacher is now. And you’re where you’re at right now because the Lesson hasn’t been learned.

There’s a fair chance I spooned too much red curry into the cauliflower. I kind of did this whimsically. Without thinking. Just boop, in goes the red curry. There’s a 50-50 probability that the curry will jive and enhance the ensemble, and then there’s an equal chance that it will rupture the thing. And Kate will wooooooaaaahhh what the hell is this.

We watched a romantic comedy last night called “When We First Met’ and while obviously two-feet shallow and Chucky Cheese cheesy, it did position the premise of fate and inescapable destiny right next to the conception of romantic love. I’m less interested in the idea of fate. And more interested in the idea of now. Like what the fuck do I need to let go of now? What do I need to accept? What part of myself or others (because some argue that the distinction is illusory) to I need to love?

The dog is neglected, here in South Saint Paul. At least compared to Georgia. Our shit was settled in Georgia. Routine stamped down. Here we’re all over the place. Which isn’t yet good or bad. But it does mean the dog gets far fewer steps and is probably behind in the cosmic canine Fitbit challenge.

The quiche will be good. The curry will congeal with the plantains and collapse into the carmelized onions and then BAM colossal metamorphosis into QUICHE DADDY!

Post half-marathon workout is 4 miles easy. Massage legs. Do patella stability exercises. Eat eggs.

Also return library books. And make apple sweet potato dessert. With cashews, raisins, honey, peanut butter. Bake.

Some days. I feel like I’m writing to nobody except my mom. Like it’s just me writing directly to her. This Sunday morning feels like that.

City of Trails half

I guess the reason for semi-exact chronicle is…I don’t know. My writing mentor says it’s graphomania. An obsession with writing. A pronounced inability to resist. . .

What’s the reason for training training training for a 1/2 marathon? Marking the calendar with sprint workouts, tempo runs, off days, long runs? Preparing weeks in advance. Waking up early. All that.

The guy in the book I’m reading says you are where you are right now because where you are has a lesson to teach you. I think that’s true. With both graphomania and run run mania.

4:45AM Up. Coffee. Bananas. Peanut butter.

5:30AM Drive. Grey sky.

6:30AM Pee. Four pins in race number. Dry fit shirt.

I don’t warm up. Just qi gong. Whiz. Walk. Slap knees. Massage hammies. No warm up because enough miles on the course.

Roll ankles in circle one way. Then the other. Hip circles. Head circles. Google Cal Poly hip flow.

7:30AM Start. Fast. Flat. Pavement. Then trails. Not flat. Not pavement.

The half marathon on trails is suffering. Stay with #2. Stay with #2. Stay with #2. If you can stay with #2 you can beat #2. Keep going.

Just ten more minutes. At ten more minutes, you’ll only have an hour left. You can do anything for an hour. Just stay on his heels. Just don’t move an inch of his heels.

30 minutes left. That’s nothing. Anyone can run for 30 minutes. And so on. Hips fatigue. Sponge turns to lead.

10:30AM Watermelon slices. Water. Walk back to car. Kate says she’s puked. I say I got lost on the course.

12:00AM Coconut water. Kombucha. WholeMe clusters. Organic almonds. Organic cashews. Organic sprouted cereal. 86 dollars. We drank the coconut water together at a little table and talked about maybe applying to work there. At Whole Foods I mean. We’ve both worked the before.

1PM Epsom salt bath.

3PM Organic ground beef. Over easy egg. Avocado. Chicken sausages. Mixed green flatbread.

3:53PM Now.

Head hurts. Eyes hurt. Hips hurt. And yet mmm feels damn good.

Sipping reheated coffee.

Reading book. The Man Who Quit Money.

Rain falls. Sky looks like clearing. Sun pushing not poking through. Weather app says no clearing.

Stay still. Sip coffee. Watch the baby crawl back and forth. In 25 minutes get up and feed the dog. And cat. Cat first.

God in small things

Kate’s in Bloomington visiting her dying grandfather. They say he’s already been sedated. It’s the right thing to do, she says. Visiting him.

We race a 1/2 marathon tomorrow morning at 7.30am in St. Croix Falls. We signed up and paid already and everything. We’ve been training since April. Write workouts on the calendar. I’m training for the TC Marathon in October. Kate says she’ll stick with the half. It’s probably the wiser decision. But I have this thirst to push push push, to stretch the elastic hairband until it snaps.

I dropped off two resumes and two cover letters at Black Sheep Coffee this morning. One set or me and one set for Mouse. It’s comical, even to me, that all this law school and grad school education I have acquired still only amounts to being a barista. I mean it doesn’t. It amounts to a JD and MFA degree. And these degrees could be used to get a job as a lawyer or college professor, respectively. And it’s my choice to apply as a part-time barista. That’s comical to me.

It means, I think, and I’m still working on this theory, that there’s sort of multiple realities. Terrence McKenna says something like the body is the placenta of the soul. Which I take to mean that, in the end, all the education isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s close. It walks like a dog and barks like a dog. But the idea of suiting up each day, and walking into a law office, and siting down in a swivel chair and all that, climbing the ladder. It’s not the dog. I guess the dog is justice and thinking and making wrongs right. I mean there’s elements and hints of that. But mostly the dog is weighed down and genetically modified into a dead dog, or a dog lying so still on the couch that he appears dead.

Another way of saying what I want to say is that there’s a whisper tiny sh sh sh little baby inner voice barely audible that I can sometimes hear inside my head. Of course I also have a maniacal selfish jealous controlling bastard of a blah blah blah voice inside my head. So it’s loud and I rarely hear that woosh woosh. But it’s the woosh woosh that’s magical.

I took the dog for a post Fage yogurt with Ezekiel and baked apple and roasted pecan two-mile run. I stopped at one of those little libraries that are sprinkled all over South Saint Paul and found a book with a green spine entitled “The Man Who Quit Money.” I’m only a few pages in.

My grandmother has been relocated from New York to Texas. My dad’s mom. He and his sisters are amidst a sibling feud, it appears. I could make sides and play my hand of obscenities. Grandma told me I could have her 2003 Honda Accord, but then my aunt unilaterally sold it. Well she didn’t actually sell it, I bet. Just said she did. Which is fishy. But not like real fish. Becimesause there’s nothing at all wrong with fish, Fishy like the fake fish oil pills that CVS and Walgreens and Walmart peddle. But I don’t give enough of a damn to take the hose and spray my aunt with cold water. Sell the car if you want. Part of it is I’m so tired from the move and this Minnesota summer cold. Part of it is the logic of choose your battles. Part of it is I really like my aunt and I think sometimes people act like shits.

Each day, the baby wakes up and makes the house a little more of a disaster. And each day Kate and I get up, and we try to organize organize organize, make the house a little less of a disaster. Because there are two parents and one child, the tide of organization and tidiness generally rises over the well of empty the drawers, scatter the things. But still. Parenting is tough. And by tough I mean very specifically the number of times that you put the tupperware (and empty yogurt containers we use as tupperware even though we bought a second set of Pyrex tupperware from Target) back into the second drawer to the right of the kitchen sink.

I thought I left my grey flat brim hat at the beach after swimming in Lake Harriet. I figured I probably left it there in the confusion of hypothermia. So I ordered another one from eBay. Only 6.95. Free shipping. I’ve never owned anything camo before, so I chose the same size in camo. It came yesterday and I tried it on and it was much to large. Even though it says it’s the same size as the grey one. I wrote them a message on eBay and they never wrote back so I resent the message and the never wrote back again and I’m like ugh it’s only 6.95 and buyer beware but still. Make your hats better. I found my grey hat. It wasn’t at the beach like I thought. It was behind the couch. Always check behind the couch.