Someone else's treasure?

So what is so special about this trashcan? After all, Sea World has hundreds of them throughout the park. They are in the standard pebbled-concrete enclosures. This one had a fine trash bag and lid. In fact, it was in most ways as natural as they come.

But apparently, this one is delicious. How do I know? Because I watched a two year old boy licking the concrete sides. Not just touching his tongue to it, but truly licking it. His face showed sublime ecstasy as he ran it repeatedly up the sides of this filth-sicle. No grimace of disgust, no hesitation, and no restraint. He licked it with passionate glee. God only knows where his parents were, though the scream that erupted from an angry mother moments later indicated that eventually they noticed Mommy's Little Angel was missing.

But really, all that I could grasp was:

HE WAS LICKING THE DAMN TRASH CAN.

Wabbits...

Job hunting is depressing. I went through the second round yesterday with a marketing company. You know when you leave a store and there's this smiling man with a catchy table who is really excited to sell you a great deal on a fabulous savings package?

That's my job offer. In fairness, the products were legit and good deals. And the manager training me was a genuinely positive guy. But ambush marketing? Sure, I could do that. Do I want to? No.

This would be easier to turn down if any of my other prospects looked better. The jobs that actually appealed to me were filled without so much as a distant wave my direction.

The pressure I'm feeling is really self-imposed. I have income moving my way, and I've been a smart spender lately. But I'm a pretty typical man in that so much of my self-worth is pinned on my financial value to the family. I know, typical male ego...

A decent job is out there, but where? And how will I land it? I really want to own my own business, so I need to get into a business world of some sort. But how? And what? And why won't the breweries in town magically adopt me as their spokesdork?

Now you're older still...

On the way to preschool today...

Daughter: "Daddy, how long until I am 5?"
Me: "You just turned 4, honey."
Daughter: "But will I be 5 soon?"
Me: "It will be a year from now. You get to be a big 4-year-old for a long time."
Daughter: "But I won't just be four. I will get even fourer and fourer."

Being four isn't just an age. It is a state of being that has degrees. Miss Neverpoop seeks to achieve a greater degree of fourness with each passing moment.

I shudder to think what that means for us. More spontaneous feats of climbing? More random fits of independence? A greater level of bedtime combat? A deeper commitment to her puppy impersonations (complete with spontaneous leg-licks)?