It’s
important to me that you understand that this isn’t what I wanted for you. You deserve a better first blog post. Something
with drama and pathos. And maybe some
flaming llamas or something to really make it pop. And it almost happened. I had something super-classy prepared for
you.
But
instead you’re getting this. Because something happened this morning that
was such a perfect example of what my life is like and of the sort of stuff
you’re going to be exposed to on this blog…well, I felt like I’d be remiss if I
didn’t just describe it and let that be a warning to you.
At
nine o’clock this morning, Mr. Bear, husband extraordinaire, yelled to let me
know he was ready for our morning ritual. In our home, household tasks are
divided by our own personal strengths.
Since Mr. Bear is a burly sort of fellow, inexplicably fond of
activities involving fresh air and cardiovascular health, he handles all
responsibilities involving sweating, movement, and heavy lifting. My duties run more towards the vital pajama-
and chocolate-related tasks.
