The Greene Flu: it Hits Once a Year

Let me start with a piece of invaluable information for men everywhere – especially those who are married: you can safely and effectively sleep on a mattress – wait for it – WITHOUT a mattress pad! How, you ask, was I able to convince Erin to spit in the face of generations of slumber-related tradition? Was I smoking something that gave me such courage? Even if I were higher than the combined buzz the crowd feels at a Lollapalooza concert, I would never take that walk on the wild side. Our washing machine broke down in the middle of a cycle with all our bed clothes completely soaked; we had to sleep on our mattress for the night without a pad. That said, you can look at this annual missive in the same way I’ve presented this phenomenon concerning a mattress pad: it’s certainly not necessary, but my wife believes it is.

In the early part of September, when the rest of the country was welcoming the cooler days of the coming fall, we here in Arizona were still sweating like a fat guy on weigh-in day. However, we found cool respite in a hospital room where we got to meet the newest member of the family: Beau Taylor Greene. I believe more photos were taken of Beau in a 20-minute period than we have of both Jack and Sam combined from birth to age 18. He was nonplussed by the whole affair: in almost all of the photos, his eyes are closed, and he’s snoozing. If Beau were keeping a journal, it would probably read: “Day 1: Tired from the move.” (Credit to Steven Wright.) In the three months since he was born, I don’t believe he’s worn the same outfit twice – sort of like Vanna White – and he certainly hasn’t worn the same diaper for more than a few hours, tops. His two furry brothers, Hank and Bruce, went from sleeping in Jack and Kali’s bedroom and having run of the house to being banished to their kennels faster than Bruce can chew and fully digest Hank’s leather collar (and certainly faster than the time it took him to pass it).  Kali continues to influence and mold young minds in the classroom (not to worry, she washes her hands), and Jack has recently gone from a 90-minute commute each way to 20 minutes, as he’s been pulled into the office to become an estimator.  How hard can that job be?  It’s fairly easy to estimate that 100% of buildings humans occupy are going to want/need electricity. 

 

As the clock ticks down to the last days of 2024, Sam finds himself finishing up his second to last semester for his undergrad work.  For those of you who haven’t seen him in a while, let me assure you that he’s still tall – in case you were wondering.  This summer, he came back to Phoenix to complete an internship with a company called Microchip Technology, and I believe the record-breaking temperatures served only to melt any shred of a desire he had left of moving back to Arizona when he graduates.  He’s currently networking with folks to get himself ahead of the hiring curve before next semester ends, so if you hear of anyone who is looking for a tall Computer Engineer who lives on pizza and drives a Honda Odyssey, hit him up – I would imagine he’d be pretty flexible on the Honda Odyssey and even his height if the right opportunity came along, but giving up pizza is probably a deal breaker, just so you know.  

 

Just a few days ago, we were able to get a collar for Phoebe that emits a less-than-dulcet tone and then vibrates when she barks.  So far, it’s worked very well with the barking almost nonexistent, and she’s far less of a crackhead psycho than usual – since she is a Chihuahua/Dachshund (yes, a Chiweinie), she still has her manic episodes of chasing flying insects and birds and running laps around our backyard.  In the northeast corner of our yard is a spot of pea gravel, so it’s fun to watch her make that turn at speed and fishtail like she’s in one of the Fast & Furious movies.  

Both Erin and I have jumped into grandparenthood with both feet and find it quite enjoyable.  I’m curious what names we’ll get when Beau starts talking.  When Jack was a wee one, he called Erin’s mom Framma and Erin’s dad Papa.  Honestly, I’ll take whatever Beau decides to dish out in the name department just as long as he doesn’t follow in Jack’s footsteps and kick my mom in the shins (just as Jack had done to my dad’s mom when she told him he couldn’t get a treat at the grocery store).  That about raps up 2024 for the Greenes.  I hope this year’s ramblings were seen more as an unnecessary thing like a mattress pad and less like a kick in the shins.