Tales From The Fragile Balancing Act

The class that this space was created for ended about an hour ago but for some reason I'm feeling I need to stay up and put one more out there.  I'd like to keep this going but think this ends chapter 1.  I'm opening this up to any idea that weasels its way into my head after tonight. My younger sister, a big fan of this medium, encouraged me to post a video here after she saw it.  I'm fairly certain that its entertainment value comes across only to us, as we intimately know the featured talent.  She's certain this is not the case and pushed for it.  Apparently, I'm letting her win this fight.  I've gotta make up for the daily torture she received from me the first 14, or so, years of her life. There's that unintentional familial tradition, really an equation,  that exists wherein the more children one collects has a direct relation with the amount of pictures taken.  Back in the day, when pictures were actually an object, one tha...

Four Generations :  John Driscoll, - Thomas John Driscoll - Christopher Thomas Driscoll - Dylan Christopher Driscoll In early October of 2007, my first born Dylan was just a few weeks old and Laura and I spent our days taking in his every breath, movement and coo.  As the Red Sox were making a run towards their second World Series of the young century my father made the trip from upstate New York to meet his first grandchild. He and my stepmother entered our home excitedly and with an ample supply of gifts to shower upon Dylan.  While doing so, my dad produced an old and yellow piece of paper that seemed to have verses written on them and placed it nonchalantly on the dining room table saying "That's something I wrote when you were born." Having never known of the existence of such a document, I quickly snatched at it to read but the action was met by my father sternly stating "No, no, don't read it now!" You see, while I've never doub...

August 2011 It is the eve of my family vacation.  Destination: Lake Winnipesaukee.  Me and my wife Laura have been going up to New Hampshire every year for over a decade.  One of our best friend's parents have a house near Meredith and its doors have long been open to the two (now five) of us.  These trips are not quite the carefree and relaxed excursions they once were and do not entail anywhere near the same amount of debauchery.   For instance, as a father now it is highly unlikely that I would ever wake up with nothing on but a bathmat wrapped around my waist,  in a different room than the one I went to sleep in, mere feet from a man I met only the night before.  First impressions, baby!  I rule at those. No, on trips like these now, as evening descends I often feel like I never stopped running the entire day.  Kieran and Mason are now at that perfectly harrowing stage where, when outside of the comfort of our happy hom...

Alright, enough is enough.  I've let this blogging thing mutate into some heavy burden dangerously hanging over me and it's time to just suck it up and get back into it.  Part of the reason for this lapse, is that while writing every day about my life is not so foreign to me, this forum, knowing virtual strangers are getting their first impression of me here is.  Another reason for the blogger's block, is that I started off, out the gates, with this how to parenting-type post that I am far from equipped to follow up upon.  This is okay.  My purpose here was always just to jot down anything interesting, funny or poignant that took place in my life, day to day. That being said, my second entry is actually following suit with my first, sticking with a parental tale from my weekend as a stay at home dad. My wife works in a hospital as a physical therapist -- a Doctor of Physical Therapy I like to include, as she may be the first in my family line that holds thi...