Parenthood: The Death of Irony

I'm much more earnest and direct than I was before.  Greg says that I don't even have time for irony anymore, which actually isn't true.  It's not time that's to blame, but, rather, it's the fault of my ever diminishing brain cells.  The make it impossible to contemplate or create anything that requires my focus for more than 30 seconds.  Irony and humor, unfortunately, need to take a back seat to thoughts of Darla's next meal or when I can squeeze in cleaning.

While my brain shrinks, my ability to remember things also gets worse and worse.  Since I'm so tired that I can barely remember how old I am, I'm eternally grateful to my brother Frank for documenting my time with my family so well.  Now, I can look at the pictures and remember the weekend in January that felt like the Fourth of July.

Darla attempts to eat dog poo. Luckily, Aunt Erin stopped her.

Darla with her adorable cousin, Oliver

Three generations in one Radio Flyer.

We have the same crooked smile.