My Life as Jim Belushi

I would like to apologize in advance for this entry. I just realized that it's a shame that more people haven't been reading my blog, because if anyone ever stumbles onto my blog and reads this entry, I don't think they'll make an effort to stumble over here again.

What do a sick wife, a hyperactive two year-old and a precocious eating and pooping machine with a fantastic proboscis have in common? If anyone thought, "Wow, sounds like another failed fall pilot starring the wildly untalented Jim Belushi!" then I would seriously encourage you to get off the couch now and try to get some exercise. There's more to life than cable television, Ralph. The correct answer is: they're all surnamed Borra, and they couldn't have come together as a stereotypical sitcom family at a worse time. Despite the prodigious talents of my wonderfully able teaching staff at St. John (Papot and Concha), the welcome digital prestidigitation of Franco, and the ambling, folksy humor of an upright Ralph Lumo, I had a hell of a day managing my duties at St. John and discharging some of my obligations back in UA&P. I've taken great pains to be more patient, organized, and strategic in managing my time and the amount of effort that I put into what I have to do, but the work doesn't seem to stop, and even scarier, I find myself sometimes wishing that it never does.

Still, I normally manage to get over my creepy metamorphosis into some sort of stress-addled workaholic by the time I get home. There is very little, I imagine, that can compare with the sublime satisfaction of being greeted by one's family at the end of a hard day's work. Today was a little different. Instead of being met by my cheerfully exasperated wife, who oftentimes begins our joyful mini-reunions at the end of every working day with a mock-serious "Guess what our sons did today...", I was met by a very tired mother who valiantly tried to stave off a particularly nasty cold just to feed our ever-growing, newly baptized bundle of joy, Manuel.

As I tap out this entry, my grand vision of nurturing our fledgling St. John into a premier learning institution is swiftly, and cruelly, supplanted by the need to change my son's diapers before his poop spills out and contaminates our already fragile ecosystem.

I'm quite sure that by tomorrow I'll be able to convince myself that "this too shall pass", and that it surely is true that "the course of true love never did run smooth", but right now I'm so pooped that I can't even bring myself to compose a witty retort at my own self-conscious attempt at weak punning. Yes, tomorrow...