Man, I hate it when a contact gets stuck somewhere behind my eyeball. You can feel it, but you can't see it. Ew. And since I have this gross-out thing about eyeballs (like Rachel on "Friends"), I can hardly lift my eyelid up without retching--so I usually choose to wait it out. This means I have to go to sleep that night and the contact will magically appear on my pillow the next morning. Luckily, however, the one that lodged itself back there this morning just came out. Whew.
So after working out this afternoon, Amy and I watched a few home movies from back in the day. Specifically, the days when she was about seven or eight, and I was about eleven or twelve. There are things that we did with video cameras that made great sense at the time, but are terrifically bizarre, frightening, or a combination of the two today. After about ten minutes, we looked at each other and mutually agreed that perhaps odd parents homeschooling odd children leaves those children with no litmus test for normalcy. Perhaps for my future kids' own good, Alex and I should not purchase a video camera. Then they'll have nothing to be blackmailed with down the road.
And, yaknow, in case they want to work with the FBI someday and a background check is required, they might still stand a chance. I know I wouldn't.