PARTY CENTRAL, VEEP.

When I was a kid, I was at a friend's house and, being the curious and snoopy person I (still) am, asked what a particular room was with the door just cracked open.

"Oh, we can't go in there," he said. "That's my parent's bedroom. We don't ever go in there."

Which I was thinking about this morning as I was snuggling with my wife for a few extra minutes and was brought to reality by the repetition of a homemade Thor's hammer (1x3 wood, shoe box, colored duck tape) being brought down mercilessly over and over by a vicious grinning child. On my body. Again and again. The worst shrilling of an actual alarm clock seems almost peaceful in comparison. But it did make me curious about the family policies of parents-in-general and the allowing or disallowing of children within this space. I think I accidentally heard, long ago, that one radio woman who knows everything about relationships and men and women and children refer to parents' bedrooms as a 'sacred place,' or something of the sort, and loud as I laughed then, it pales to the humor I feel now in imagining our bedroom to be more sanctuary and less...circus.

But seriously, I'm so curious about different parental policies concerning kids in the bedroom, at any point. Just curious.

And a happy Labor Day, especially to those who are spending it in labor or Labor.

VEEP.

Our daughter just referred to me as "the Vice President of our family."

I'm collecting my thoughts on this. It's not so much that it was said as an insult or as a compliment; it's that it was simply stated as...reality. Oh well. At least I'm married to the Commander-in-Chief.