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Of art and science and plum tarts

T-RexThumbnailI have one kid who built a computer over the summer, and another who read a dozen books. Thick books. With big words.

You all know I’m far more likely to boast about them being able to burp the alphabet than anything really constructive, so don’t worry about some new bragging trend on my part.

At the same time as they’ve been developing these oddly productive habits, we seem to be having more long conversations about colleges: which ones are best for what fields of study, how competitive they might be, and whether they’re nearer a beach or a ski slope.

Neither Mike nor I want to break the news that we’ve actually been kind of sucky about the whole saving-for-college thing. Instead we nod and smile, and wonder how many kidneys we’ll have to hawk when it’s time to cough up the scratch for tuition and fees.

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Whatever a ‘Yote is, I’m their newest fan

yote“This is the first home game for this football program in thirty-seven years,” Mike told us in the car yesterday.

“I don’t think I’ve seen that kind of car in thirty-seven years,” eleven year-old Colin said from the back.

“This is the first time I’ve been to Caldwell in thirty-seven years,” Jack said.

It was a day of firsts.

I do feel a little sorry for Mike at the outset of this latest football season. He loves the game, a sentiment none of the rest of us seem to have inherited.

But, in May when he had his latest mini mid-life crisis and quit his job to come work with me, we cut expenses across the board. Sayonara to stuff like cable television and Tivo, and televised football games.

We still get Netflix, though, and electricity, so it’s not like we’ve turned Amish or something.

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