I’m Roughy

Omega Child had a great day today.

First day of camp, a lot of new friends and one swim in the pool interrupted by some errant vomit.

Not his, mind you. But it did put the kibosh on his swimming.

Anyway, if you’re a parent you know that after a day of camp your kid is in terrible need of a bath or shower.

Oh lord, do they need a shower.

He’s no tween but man he stinks like one.

So off he goes for his evening shower. After which he came downstairs half dried and in his underwear with his hair in a million different directions.

Which then led to this conversation:

Wife: Honey you’re head is a mess?

Omega: What do you mean?

Wife: Your hair is all crazy.

Omega: Oh no. It’s roughy.

Wife: What?

Omega: It’s roughy. I’m a roughy, I’m tough.

Since then I’ve been wondering what that means. I suppose that’s grist for the blog mill later this week.

Hey, are you following Dad Moon Rising on Twitter or Facebook? Why the hell not?



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Reading: Dead Beat by Jim Butcher Listening to: The Heist, Macklemore Watching: Damages

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