Monday Morning Quarterback....

....so...sweet fucking justice. I so got to the point where I hated the Patriots. And the assholes had the nerve to march on to the field to the tune of none other than Crazy Train. Who said they could do that? That's MY song. MY song. And in a fit of nerves and five Coors Lights later, I thought I might just have to give it up and go to bed. But I'm glad I didn't. Despite many errors in the first half, the Giants pulled it off. And, while it would have been much better to have had the Colts go to back-to-back Super Bowls, I'm certainly not mad at the Giants for squeaking it out.

...I was just about ready to say that the only other thing of any importance was a quiet visit from Matt and Renee on Friday night....but I suppose it's because my signature coping mechanism is to block out memories that I'd rather not remember. Saturday morning found my frozen ass on the square in Noblesville for a Mardi Gras parade. Accompanied by Griffin. Who decided it was too cold to be in the parade with the rest of his preschool class. So he cried so hard that I took him to the square so that I could get some coffee and watch the parade go by. He then cried because he wasn't walking in the parade. I can't fucking win. I know that each stage will bring along a different reason to pull your hair out as a parent, but I'm over the preschooler phase. Seriously. I love them. I really do. And I'm trying to be patient like all the kick-ass teachers at their school. But I fail miserably at that. Am beginning to feel like growing up is genius on the part of whoever created us. It's ensuring survival of the human race.