The first time it happens, we're out walking: my little boy holding my left hand, his older sister on my right, and the baby, six weeks old, asleep in her Snugli. We're still at the stage when my taking a shower seems like an accomplishment.
Usually, when characters in a movie are one-dimensional, that's not a good thing. But in "Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian," the waxworks figures who come to life after sundown aren't crassly sketchy or dramatically lacking. They're one-dimensional, all right, but knowingly, delightfully so.
Had I simply stayed home and written last night, this month's column might've opened with a tribute to the glorious wonders of spring. I could have said something incredibly meaningful about purpose and passion, nature and nurture.