Slowing Dooooowwwwwwnnnn

I don't know what the hell happened to me. When I was just a little bit younger, I'd stay out all night with my friends doing dumb stuff, get home when the sun was rising (sometimes I'd mow the lawn before I hit the sack) and have no problem functioning on a few hours of sleep for the rest of the day, most likely repeating the same schedule the following evening. (For the record, there's nothing like driving construction equipment or breaking in to abandoned buildings at 3:30 a.m. to really get the blood pumping. You know what they say — boys will be terrorizing idiot maniacs and do stupid things until they either wise up, die or go to jail.)

Back to our regularly scheduled program...

These days, if I get less than seven hours of shut-eye at night, I'm in trouble the next day, as evidenced by my crash and burn nap of two hours yesterday. Our little family had taken yet another trip to Atlanta over the weekend for Stacey and I to work at our very part-time jobs on Saturday. By Sunday afternoon, once we arrived back at "home" in South Carolina, we were all so tired that my wife, my boy and I all spent the afternoon staring at the back of our eyelids. (I suppose I should probably expect this since I turn 30 on Tuesday.)

By the way, Connor slept for four hours. By hour number three, I was trying to convince myself that he was still in his bed, and that a ninja had not snuck in through his window and made off with the (stinky) booty.

As grumpy as Connor was today, though (still a touch short on sleep, I'm afraid), he managed to enjoy our usual trek out of the house to run a few errands. When Stacey got home, I asked him to tell her where we'd been today. He looked confused for a minute, and then remembered his most favorite place in the whole world. His eyes lit up and he shouted out, "THE DUMP!!"

Yeah, he fits in just fine in this neck of the woods.