This past week I've been converting my upstairs office into a nursery. That means hauling every piece of furniture downstairs to the basement, then turning around and hauling a different set of boxes and furniture back up. At one point I was carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other, a bag looped over my wrist, and my car keys pinched between two fingers — convinced I could squeeze in one more trip. My wife offered to take one. I said, "I've got it." Three steps later,

When I was a kid, I loved when my parents put out our Slip 'N Slide in the front yard each summer. All the neighborhood kids would come over to cool off, laugh, and have fun. Recently my wife and I were lamenting the loss of carefree summers. We're not kids anymore; we have adult responsibilities. But there's still something in my brain, almost like a circadian rhythm, that's triggered by sunshine and summer heat that signals maybe it's okay to coast.