Perhaps the greatest (birthday) gift that a man could receive (to help him feel young)… being likened to Jim Halpert (especially the John Krasinski part).

Trees have rings. I have bags under my eyes.

Playing sand volleyball with my boys, we all truly got into the moment. Strategizing, working as a team, and above all else diving after the ball.

What struck me the most was the ground. Ha, no seriously, it was my 10-year-old son Ben’s ability to repeatedly on end, dive and dive again. Impact after impact on the sand didn’t phase him in the least.

On the other hand, for me each dive was a calculated risk as to how close my pending mortality awaits.

Alas, the greatest challenge for me in volleyball seemed to be the forces of nature, because gravity really had it out for me.

Okay, so I realized my challenge with vacations.

I don’t know how to relax. I really have trouble with it.

So today, I shall really try. Really try to tone it down a notch. Really try to breath deep. Really try to chill.

Who knew that not doing anything is really hard to do?

I’m no mechanic, but I believe that smoke billowing from my lawnmower is a sign that I should begin shopping.

All of the following events are true and reflect the life experience of the author.

Operator: “9-1-1, please state the nature of your emergency.”

The Author: “Yes, someone appears to have entered my house during the middle of the night and replaced all of my mirrors with ‘Fun House’ mirrors that make me appear wider than I know I am!”

Operator: “Sir, I’m going to hang up now.”

As I worked on my Honey Do list, I could see the sadness. I could hear the frustration. My wife and our 15-year-old son Jacob couldn’t find his cross country cleats.

His room. Nothing.

Closet. Nothing.

Nearly every corner in the house. Nothing.

Figuring I would join in the fun, I searched, as well. Nothing.

The cause looked lost and they headed to the garage to leave and buy a new pair.

Saying goodbye to the desperate pair, I glanced around the Mud Room by the garage. The same Mud Room where coats are temporarily discarded and shoes are going with abandon.

There on a hook was a long forgotten drawstring backpack. Grabbing it, I could feel shoes. Inside, the long forgotten and highly sought cross country cleats.

At the end of last cross country season, they had been unceremoniously discarded.

Walked by thousands of times.

Ignored at every turn.

Hidden in plain sight.

Now, the lost had just been found. Just in time.

I was going to write a post about my ongoing battle against the mice in the backyard, until I saw this…

My dog Kirby thoroughly unamused by my son Jacob’s mockery.

Confidently, I strode toward the shed. I fully anticipated finding the materials that I would need to fence off one of our trees from our bark eating dog. Yes, I know that it doesn’t sound right, but we still manage to love our pup in all of his neurotic tree eating ways.

Opening our shed, I saw his face. Two little eyes staring back at me. A mouse who looked like he had plans to winter in a plastic tarp. My plastic tarp, not his.

As my furry little neighbor scurried away, I had only one thought in my mind, “Destroy him. Hunt that mouse and obliterate.” Well, that and “Stop my crazy dog from eating all of our trees. I must stop my crazy dog.”

Sure, it all sounds very primal, but it’s a zoo in our backyard and I plan on being the one that survives.

When you wake up to find a rainy day…

Yep, Kirby the Beagle, I concur.