I think it is now safe to add “Blogging Dynamo” to the ever-growing list of phrases that do not accurately describe me. ¹Also on the list: Health Nut, Dance Maniac, America’s Sweetheart. After a month-long “Internet detox”, I expected to be chomping at the bit and raring to go, but that’s clearly not what happened. Every time I hit the “Add New” button to create the first blog post of 2010, I wind up staring at the blinking cursor for five minutes and then shutting down my web browser. So, no “2009: The Year in Review” or “How I Spent My Internet Detox” or “What Santa Brought Me” posts—not yet, anyway.

Meanwhile, my wife has launched her own blog, The Unreal Me, which is an exercise in creative writing. She’s already posted one poem, a couple of character sketches and a short story. ²To be fair, the short story was written back in July of 2009, when Chris Miller and I decided to write a new essay or piece of short fiction based on a particular theme every two weeks. Our first … Continue reading A running theme thus far seems to be women who are seeking a break from demanding children, dirty laundry, and husbands who leave the empty milk jug in the sink instead of rinsing it out and putting it in the blasted recycling bin where it belongs. Naturally, I have no idea where she gets her inspiration, but as far as writing goes, Laura is definitely winning this year. ³It’s not a race.

Even Kyle has done more writing than I have this year. I’m making coffee and he comes into the kitchen and rearranges the magnetic letters on the fridge. “Daddy, what does this spell?” he asks. “Skuh-fred-jah-wicks,” I say; how else would you pronounce “SKUFRDJAWYX”? Maybe he’ll get another set of letters for his birthday so his refrigerator words aren’t limited to what he can assemble from a single run through the alphabet.

The only critters residing at the International House of Johnson who aren’t generating more words than me so far this year are Rosie and Gil, but I think both of them made a New Year’s resolution to be at least as lazy—if not lazier—than me. They’re making a fair go at it, but I’m definitely giving them a run for their money.

I have a slight advantage over the cats in that I have an almost-four-year-old boy at my disposal who is ever eager to help his daddy with the most menial of chores. Last night, during a brief intermission from Wallace & Gromit and the Curse of the Were-Rabbit, I looked at my empty glass and asked Kyle if he would get me the milk jug from the bottom shelf of the fridge. He dutifully ran to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door—from my vantage point on the couch I could see the word “BLEMNTORD” spelled in primary colors on the front.

Does he know “bottom”? I wondered. Up and down and under, yes, but what about bottom?

“Give me a hint,” I heard him say.

“Bottom shelf,” I said. “The milk jug; it’s almost empty.”

There was a pause, then an excited “Oh!” and then he was dashing across the living room with the jug in his hand. He watched as I uncapped it, then poured almost a full glass.

“What are you gonna do with that?” he asked.

“I’m gonna drink it,” I said, handing him the empty jug. “Put that in the sink for me, okay?”