When I’m wrong, I’m wrong

I woke up this morning in a house worth more than I’ll probably make in my lifetime. The bed was as comfortable as any I’ve ever enjoyed. My wife was beside me. She opened the balcony doors and said, “I’ll probably be able to wear short sleeves today.” That was all she really cared about.

We chose to spend this weekend with my wife’s family on the Florida Gulf Coast. We are in a little community called Seaside. It one of these all-in-one developments, a developer-fashioned walkable community. What it lacks in character it makes up for in convenience and…well, it’s the beach, and a nice one to boot.

I’ve spent a lot of time grousing about my grumpiness. I’m concerned about my work situation. I’m concerned about paying for the new kid. I’m working a lot and scheduled to work more. I’m desperate to go on a trip in a few weeks with my brother and our friends. It’s the laundry list of someone who is allowed to be a little bitchy, but probably should give it a rest.

Why? Well, just look at this.

That is a happy family, folks. When it comes down to it, no matter what happens in the next year, we’re going to be smiling like this.

I have a beautiful family and am the luckiest guy I know. Saying I’m thankful should be redundant. The fact that it’s not means I have to work a little harder at opening my eyes when I wake up in the morning.