The Dude’s tired. Winter always gets to me, that New England phenomenon of “41 and grey” that lands atop Boston sometime just before Thanksgiving and stays through the start of baseball season. Just saps the energy, breaks the will, and sends the Dude towards Jack Daniels.
But The Dude has a better reason for his exhaustion today: he and the Boob Tube Babe helped welcome our very first nephew, Logan Thomas, to the world yesterday. (And in case you’re wondering, no, he wasn’t named after that Logan. Or that Logan. Or, you know, that one. I don’t think.) My job, so near as I could tell, was to “quell the crazy”. By that I mean we had six of us in the world’s smallest waiting room, and I took it upon myself to defuse any moment of tension that arose. And boy, a lot arose.
Luckily, I’ve no problem making people mad at me. It’s kind of an innate gift I have. But I’m especially adept when I get people angry at me to take their mind off something else. I take that rage like a sponge and then wring it out over some French fries at a later date. I got me some skillz.
Logan decided to be a bit of a diva in terms of showing up on this planet, which is ironic, since I’m fairly sure my brother and his wife conceived him in between their wedding ceremony and cocktail hour. As quickly as they were with child, Logan was even more delayed in arriving. I mean, Alanis Morrissette might deem that ironic. Don’tcha think? Needless to say, he looked older than a newborn upon arrival. I think I saw a moustache on him, actually.
By the time Logan arrived, nerves were frazzled, tensions were high, and approximate 439 hats had been knitted. Both grandmothers went to TOWN on that yarn, working their angst into that fabric in a way that would have made Rosie the Riveter proud. The men tried to remain stoic, and the Boob Tube Babe just tried to make sure I didn’t stick my foot too far down my mouth. She had a death grip on my Dockers more than once.
In the end, Logan’s arrival made it all worth it, and the Babe and I came home around 1:30 am and celebrated as best we know how: by getting drunk watching the DVR’ed ep of Chuck that we paused when we got the “HE’S COMING NOW!” call during dinner. The Dude abides, the Babe abides, and Logan…he now resides.
It’s all good.
(Oh yea, um, Chuck Wee-View: I missed Chuck. A lot. These eps made me smile. A lot. Each episode gets better. I hate this strike for keeping more eps from me. Wee-View, not unlike Seacrest, out.)