Colors of fall in love

Well, it's happened again. September and October - perhaps the prettiest months in Minnesota - have passed us in a flurry of golden trees and significantly cooler temperatures. I awake to darker mornings and frost on the windows; Mom says that winter is on its way. Whatever that means.
Ken here - to report that we've had a few pretty solid weeks around here. Shortly after my birthday, Mom jet set to Los Angeles for work. Weird to not see her at night, but I think part of her enjoyed hob-nobbing with the CityTarget gurus and watching her past two years of work come to life in a Target store. Not to worry. Grandma and Grandpa Conrad arrived on the scene to hang out with us while Dad went to class. The entire week was fairly entertaining.

Not too many days later, we geared up for Dad's big day. Birthday, that is. Mom scheduled a new babysitter, and Dad found a Groupon for a new restaurant downtown. They seemed thrilled at the idea of leaving the three of us home for the evening, and I was excited for them. I really was. I mean, Sam and I played nicely all day. I didn't start puking till about 2p. Tried to stop, really, but what's a guy to do? I can't help that sickness befell me on the afternoon of Date Night. Poor Dad. It's important to note that Dad is the type of guy to declare a vacation day on his birthday. This year, instead of basking in his birthday glory over a Bryant Lake Bowl breakfast (as has been the occasion in past, pre-marriage-with-kids birthdays), Dad spent the afternoon scrubbing vomit from the floor, washing sheets, and keeping Sam and Georgia away from me. Happy birthday to Dad. The good news here is that I was the only one to get sick, and Mom and Dad celebrated a kid-free, happy-birthday-to-Dad the very next weekend. (New babysitter = awesome).

Halloween! Sam's birthday! The two occasions happen on the same day, and let me tell you - this year - we lived it up. Sam picked a yellow-frosted birthday cake: bright, cheerful, and fairly synonymous with his disposition. Shortly after snarfing our slice of Big Bird on a plate, we hailed our favorite brand of drawing utensils and muscled our way around the block, to the dead end, and back.Never has the march to neighborhood houses yielded such sweet reward! I think 3 Musketeers is my favorite.

I'm looking forward to the election next week. Really. Political ads and party sentiment aside, the pending events of Tuesday give me cause to reflect on the sweetness of choice. Call me an eternal optimist, but the chance to weigh in on the options presented to our city, state and country - and then live together in community with those choices - is really the meat and potatoes of inspired patriotism. So, whether there's a trickle to your economics or an orange sign in your front yard, join me in my gratitude for the responsibility and freedom to choose. I'll trust you to elect our president, color the definition of marriage, and direct our public funds to all the right places. For now, I'll limit my choices to my daily outfits and the amount of milk in my glass.

Until next time,
Ken