The pollen has subsided. Baby geese are now awkward goslings. The Cubs and Astros have clinched last place, and LeBron is one of the last men standing in the NBA playoffs. There’s more spaghetti straps and short shorts, I’ve noticed.
And of course – High-Blood Pressure Awareness month is winding down.
And not a moment too soon, I might add. I’ve wanted to blow my top at least 30 times in May – that’s an average of once a day. That’s a lot, y’all, for a guy like me. Things keep pissing me off. Like, when we run out of graham crackers, and it’s 3 a.m.
That was the only help the poor boy’s mom offered as Grace held her son’s left cheek to the carpet during a friendly playgroup skirmish. It was more sport than conflict, but when your face becomes one with the rug, there is win and there is lose. And other parental verbs.
No, not the Colorado Rockies’ postseason chances, although those are gone now, too. I mean, the summer. Technically, we have a few more weeks of it, but the focus has shifted from “when can we go to the pool?” to “which one is the carpool lane at school again?”