Few thing are more dull for readers than for a parent to write about parenthood, but I will say that having kids has changed me in ways I did not expect. I find that I don't mind drinking Kool-Aid any more. I have developed a fondness for non-Japanese animation. I have come to regret my harsh words about Kenny G. I know an old lady who swallowed a fly. And so forth.
But this is foremost: I love my Christmas lights. I have a ladder, I have a staple gun. I have special electrical cords to run serious amounts of electricity to even the most remote parts of the front yard. I calculate that I have about 2,000 lights, which sounds like too many, but, of course, it's not nearly enough. So, these days, if I happen to stop at the drugstore or hardware store, I pick up a box or two of lights -- red, green, or white, another 200 at a time. I don't know exactly what I going to do with them yet, but-- but-- well, I'll take a picture when I'm done. Clark Griswold is my hero. His sufferings are my sufferings. Perhaps, one day, I will have a lightshow as awesome as the one below.
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