Coming to you at that lovely time of year when companies are either already hibernating until January or scrambling to finish things before Santa arrives. Meanwhile, I’m trying to operate somewhere in between – keeping busy yet attempting to shut things down roughly one week before Christmas. In that spirit, I’m writing this while wolfing down a sandwich at my desk
Stuff I Wrote
MIT Sloan Ideas Made to Matter: Dynamic work design, explained – a lengthy primer on a concept we’d all benefit from embracing, if not at the very least studying
Spend a good chunk of the first week of November napping thanks to some viral thing that wasn’t serious enough to warrant taking time off but was nonetheless enough to make it hard to look at the ol’ computer screen for too long
Listened to my first holiday song of the season – Christmas Eve / Sarajevo from the Trans Siberian Orchestra, of course
Cooked a 12-pound turkey for seven people, two of whom didn’t eat any (one for dietary reasons, one because he’s a very picky 4-year-old), which left plenty for turkey soup (which is really what I’m here for, let’s be honest)
Bought a Christmas tree and immediately decorated it, because said 4-year-old is also not the best at waiting
Entered the season of “do the tires *really* need air, or is it just that the temperature dropped?”
Adventures in Fatherhood
We continued our annual tradition of making gingerbread houses. I fulfilled my patriarchal duties of taste-testing the candy. My son managed to decorate his house all by himself, coming up with his own ideas and drawing inspiration from Mommy as well as our friend who joined us for the evening. For some reason, my contribution – pictured here – didn’t inspire him. I don’t understand why.
After largely ignoring our balance bike for the better part of two years, we randomly decided to try it out again. We got the hang of it but also seemed a bit frustrated as to why we had to ride on quiet paths and not one of the most well-trafficked rail trails in the nation.
We’ve started to play a game where, when Daddy leans forward in his seat, we sneak behind him and yell, “Squish me!” I respond to this by saying, “Son, the first thing they told us in all the First-Time Parent classes was that you shouldn’t squish your baby.” I now use this to explain other, not-fun things that I do – e.g., “Another thing they told me in First-Time Parent class is that you have to make sure your kid wears socks.”
We have discovered the Magic School Bus. This is great, except that we’re ALL IN like a poker player who just wants to leave the table. We’ve checked close to 20 out of the library – apologies to anyone in Eastern Massachusetts who hasn’t been able to put them on hold – and read them I’d say an average of five times apiece. I’ve gone hoarse more than once.
Happy holidays, everyone! May you get exactly what you wish out of the season. Talk to you in 2026.
Welcome to This Month in Digital Health. Here, I highlight news articles and trends that recently caught my attention and attempt to explain why they matter. The main theme for the last few weeks has been reports and stories confirming things we already knew – which is still important, because it always helps to hammer home the message.
Private equity likes money. Two fairly damning reports from Health Affairs illustrate what private equity’s doing to healthcare. One found hospice facilities owned by PE had higher profits and lower per-patient spending compared to other ownership models, and another found specialists affiliated with PE negotiated higher prices than independent physicians. Mind you, other for-profit entities exist in healthcare, and non-profits don’t always hold up their end of the bargain; it’s still not a good look.
Other things we already knew or saw coming from miles away:
Financial uncertainty + unpredictable federal policy = not a great time for digital health IPOs. Plus, memories of 2021 aren’t all that distant. (Remember Babylon? Pear? Yeah.)
Writing this one amid recovery from my first colonoscopy. As a few people told me, the prep was the most difficult part – in particular, trying to function without eating for close to 30 hours. I don’t know how people do this routinely. (I was ready to fight someone for a sandwich within seven hours of fasting, but it wouldn’t have been a very good fight because I had no energy.) All the more reason to 1) make less invasive options for cancer screening more readily available and 2) make sure people get the food they need.
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Stuff I Did
Got my COVID and flu vaccines
Ran the BayState Marathon in 3:24:31 – the fifth marathon I’ve done since the spring of 2022 within a 2-minute range around 3:25, which if nothing else apparently means I’m consistent
Finally finished reading Barbara Tuchman’s The Proud Tower, which I started roughly a year ago
Started wearing a hat and gloves outside in the morning, which I’ll likely be doing until mid-April
Decorated several pumpkins, none of which stayed on our stoop for more than 48 hours because there are hungry rats in our neighborhood
Dressed as a car for Halloween to complement my son the crossing guard and my wife the crosswalk
Adventures in Fatherhood
The current phrase of the moment is A December to Remember. I initially said this in jest while fruitfully listing the months of the year, as I have no intention of ever buying my wife a Lexus for Christmas (nor does she), but it has since prompted serious conversations about what is and is not practical to give to someone as a holiday gift.
We have resumed the annual cool weather tradition of Family Star Pants, which is when we all wear navy blue pajama pants with white stars. (They’re from Primary; I’d add a link, but they don’t sell these specific pants any more). In an added wrinkle, I was asked to wear them to preschool drop-off. We walked. Did I mention these pants have no pockets?
We made it around the block for trick-or-treating. We’re still young enough to only pick one treat per house – and at half the houses, he picked either toys or candy that he knows other members of the family like. (Papa, for example, likes Peanut M&M’s.)
I made a group of tweens very happy on Halloween night at about 7:30 when I said, “I need your help. It’s time to put my kid to bed, and I want to turn off the porch light. Can you please just take the rest of the candy out of this bowl for me?”
Welcome to This Month in Digital Health, where I highlight news articles and trends that recently caught my attention and attempt to explain why they matter. The key theme for the month? Everything’s a mess.
AI use isn’t equitable. HHS data released before the shutdown found an unsurprising digital divide in predictive AI use, with small, rural, independent, and critical-access providers all lagging. Groups such as the Coalition for Health AI fear safety net providers will only fall further behind unless they’re able to recruit the IT staff required to get AI efforts up and running. This is broadly consistent with pretty much every single type of healthcare IT, and sadly I don’t see it changing any time soon.
Of the 5 million adults projected to lose Medicaid coverage due to work requirements, 41% have three or more chronic conditions – you know, the type that require frequent interactions with a physician to manage properly.
Amazon is rolling out pharmacy kiosks, which are totally going to fare better than all the other pharmacy kiosks that have failed in the last 15 years.
Apparently moving workloads to the cloud willy nilly has left lots of healthcare organizations with unpredictable and untenable costs, which means some workloads are coming home like the Prodigal Son.
Foundation models are all the rage in radiology, as they’re based on millions of images and purportedly are more accurate. That said, FDA authorization is slow and typically tied to a single use case.
September was about puttin’ the nose to the ol’ grindstone after four weeks of being off more than I was on. I also intentionally worked half days every Monday last month, mostly to ensure I’d have time for my long runs and partly to help ease my way into the work week. (Garfield was right; no one likes Mondays.) Anyway, I have no lovely bylines to share, though I promise I was, in fact, working.
Also … as you may or may not have seen, I decided to start a monthly news roundup. The first post should go live in mid-October. As a result, I’ve decided to switch from Stuff I Read (which will be covered in said newsletter) to Stuff I Did. Is it as exciting? Probably not. Does it matter? Definitely not.
Stuff I Wrote
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Stuff I Did
I’m running the BayState Marathon in a couple weeks, so I devoted a good chunk of my non-working and non-catering-to-every-need-of-a-preschooler time to getting through the most important part of the training cycle. Now it’s taper time, which is when marathon runners rest their bodies and do their best to avoid every germ their children bring home from school.
I started writing to voters in California through Vote Forward. I did a lot of letter-writing while watching playoff baseball, because these days even when the Red Sox are playing I still have brain space left to do other things.
We have already done most of the stereotypical Fall New England Things: Go apple picking, buy several pumpkins, and run the heat and the air conditioning on the same day. (This is equal parts because of the weather and the insulation limitations of a 100-year-old house.) My wife had a pumpkin spice latte. I’ll break out the flannel soon enough.
Adventures in Fatherhood
Speaking of the Red Sox, my son and I went to our first game at Fenway Park back in August. It was roughly 90 degrees, and we lasted an hour. Highlights included the bus ride (we’re lucky enough to not need to take the very crowded Green Line), seeing Wally the Green Monster, and going to Ben & Jerry’s on Brookline Avenue once we decided we were too hot for the ballpark.
The other day, afternoon snack at school was pretzels, which my son doesn’t like. But instead of rejecting it, he asked to save it for me, since he knows I like pretzels. Kids, amirite?
I’ve been able to apply an important lesson in parenting to working with clients. Whenever my son is asking me to get him some milk and also read him a book and oh by the way throw away a soggy tissue, I tell him, “Daddy can only do one thing at a time.” This has helped me make sure I set priorities at work, too.
Happy fall. Happy Halloween. Happy conference season to my health IT friends. Until next time.
I recently hit a milestone birthday. Depending on whom you ask, I’m either “has a slightly better chance of qualifying for the Boston Marathon” years old or “needs to schedule a preventive colonoscopy” years old.
Fortunately, my patient portal happily reminded me of the latter. (I won’t say which portal it is, but I will say it rhymes with “Chai Mart.”) My portal even went a step further and surfaced a Request Appointment button.
“Hooray!” I said to myself as a classic borderline Gen X / millennial who likes talking to a stranger on the phone about as much as, well, getting a colonoscopy. I eagerly clicked the button.
My portal gave me three options for scheduling the procedure: My current PCP, my previous PCP, and my podiatrist. Now, all three are good doctors and lovely people – and not the least bit qualified to give me a colonoscopy.
There’s a cost of being too convenient
For years, keynote speakers have talked about making healthcare more convenient, much like many other industries. If you can order a burrito or plane ticket from your phone, the argument goes, then why not schedule an appointment?
I’d argue, though, that being too convenient does a disservice to the healthcare organization and the consumer / patient. The portal isn’t the ideal place to give patients free rein to schedule an appointment with anyone within a provider network, especially one as large as mine. (Again, I won’t name it, but it’s the one based in the Boston area that likes to spend a lot on both rebranding and construction projects.)
Limiting that functionality to providers with whom a patient has an established relationship is annoying, but it’s also a sensible business practice. What’s the business value of not just suggesting but making it possible for patients to do something they simply can’t and shouldn’t do?
If I tried to schedule a colonoscopy with any of those providers from the portal, it would probably trigger a six-step workflow that ends in some poor administrative staffer calling me when they should be eating lunch to recite a phone number that I could find after approximately 3 seconds of sleuthing online. (Finding the page with the phone number is one thing; scheduling the appointment is another. It took a while, but I got it done.)
More isn’t better, especially when it gets messy
I went through this experience as I started in earnest on my next eBook, which attempts to unpack the long and winding road for patient engagement technology over the last 10 years. (The timeline is only somewhat arbitrary; I made the move from journalist to research analyst in June 2015.)
There’s a duality at play here. On one hand, technology such as the portal is a lot better than it was a decade ago. It’s possible to schedule (some) appointments, log in for video visits, communicate with providers, view test results, and even link records from external sources such as your pharmacy. Each of those tasks used to require a different application or website, along with some combination of phone calls, CDs, faxes, and expletives. Some of this stemmed from portals developing these features natively; in other cases, they acquired the functionality from a once-burgeoning ecosystem of patient engagement point solutions.
On the other hand, there’s still a long way to go. For starters, more isn’t necessarily better. Just because I can do all that in my portal doesn’t mean I should, or that I want to. In fact, seeing a list of 20-odd things I can do is quite intimidating, especially if I’ve logged in with a very specific task in mind.
In addition, though there are clear benefits to having far fewer point solutions for patient engagement, we’ve lost a little bit along the way. For good or ill, those products were purpose-built to solve a single problem. They become homogenized once they’re folded into a portal trying to serve the needs of a patient population that may number in the millions.
The third issue is the general messiness of patient workflows. Effective technology needs automation, and automation is extremely challenging when workflows differ for quite literally every end user. Case in point: I called Large Affiliated Boston Hospital No. 1 to schedule my colonoscopy, only to find out my PCP has placed the order at Large Affiliated Boston Hospital No. 2, which then set up my procedure at Affiliated Boston-Area Outpatient Facility No. 13-A. (I think it’s near a Wegman’s. I may go there for lunch.)
Stop ignoring small problems with easy fixes, please
Here’s the thing. We can accept (albeit begrudgingly) that the workflow above is bewildering, and unlikely to be made simpler without systemic change irrespective of what technology is in place. But why do we have to accept that smaller problems with easier solutions have been largely ignored?
Let’s go back to the “Schedule a Colonoscopy” kerfuffle within the portal. If a patient clearly cannot go through with the workflow – in my case, not being able to receive a clinical service from my current roster of providers – then why not make that “Schedule” button go away? Or, leave it there but make it point to a page that says, “Hey, to schedule this procedure, you need to call this number?” Heck, I’d wager an error page would be preferrable for most users than a prompt to do something that’s straight up not possible. At least that way, the patient and the person they inevitably have to call on the phone can have a hearty guffaw at how the $1.2 billion EHR implementation can’t do something that’s laughingly basic and also a well-accepted clinical recommendation.
Is it extra custom coding? Yes. Is it difficult custom coding? At the risk of sounding like an overconfident and mediocre middle-aged white dude, I’m guessing it probably takes less time than it would take the provider organization and EHR vendor to get on the phone and argue over who, under their contract, is responsible for completing such work.
I know the industry isn’t going to solve the patient engagement problem quickly, with existing technology, and/or for the majority of patients, especially given the current reimbursement and regulatory environment for preventive care and the general state of balance sheets for digital health companies. Plus, let’s be honest: From patients getting kicked off insurance to funding streams drying up to the basic tenets of science and medicine facing an all-out assault, the industry has bigger fish to fry than ensuring a fairly seamless colonoscopy-scheduling experience for overconfident and mediocre middle-aged white dudes.
Still, when you hear leaders at all levels at all healthcare stakeholders talk about focusing on the proverbial low-hanging fruit in improving the patient experience – small fixes that could have a big impact – it’s hard to look at examples like this one and wonder why no one’s bothered to look under the hood.
Summer vacation is officially over. The Beastwoods have returned from a week in Portland, Maine and Acadia National Park, which came just a few days after our inaugural camping trip that wasn’t in Granny and Papa’s backyard. Both trips were indeed a success. Kiddo’s back in school and Mom and Dad are back to work. The cat, meanwhile, celebrated her 17th birthday with quite possibly the best gift we could have given her: A quiet, empty house.
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Things I Read
I neglected to bring a book on vacation, assuming incorrectly I’d not have the energy to read after bedtime. As my wife likes to say, “We all make choices.” Instead, I treated myself to a few Wikipedia rabbit holes. What did I learn?
The northernmost point in Maine, Estcourt Station, is basically a sliver of a town in Quebec that was cut off when the international boundary was properly surveyed. The border crossing closes at 5 p.m. on Friday; after that, if you want to go to the “other” side of town before Monday morning, you apparently need to drive on hundreds of miles of gravel logging roads through the North Maine Woods. Plan accordingly.
Acadia is on Mount Desert Island, which is the second-largest island on the Eastern seaboard (to Long Island). It’s just a big bigger than Martha’s Vineyard, which is in Dukes County, Massachusetts. The county includes the Elizabeth Islands – most of which are owned by the Forbes family.
The largest park in the Lower 48 is actually a state park, Adirondack Park in upstate New York. It apparently has more than 100 villages inside it, as more than half the park is actually private owned. Most villages lack cellphone coverage. (The park’s actually held up as a good example of public-private partnership for the sake of conservation.)
Adventures in Fatherhood
To answer a question I posed on LinkedIn, I believe we have determined that Vermont (Ben & Jerry’s) has the best ice cream in Northern New England – or at least the most recognizable. That said, we did find a Friendly’s in South Portland. Everyone in the family enjoyed the nostalgia, though my son was a bit confused about why his sundae had a face.
Every once in a while, I talk to my son about Very Dad Things to Do. One is turning off all the lights before we leave the house. Another is telling a Dad Story, which is a lot like a Dad Joke in the sense that it’s not very interesting. On this vacation, the Very Dad Thing to Do to which I introduced my son was getting a giant wad of napkins from McDonald’s, putting them in the glove compartment of the car, and then forgetting all about them.
If you’re ever in Waterville, Maine, and it’s not Monday or Tuesday, stop by the Children’s Discovery Museum. I only learned of its existence while perusing Google Maps from the aforementioned nearby McDonald’s during our 10:15 lunch stop, and we ended up spending two and a half hours there. Highlights included the “pizza oven,” the “rooftop garden,” and the $2 globe stress ball that we may or may not have misplaced since we got home.
I always feel a bit nostalgic just before the beginning of the school year. That’s the time, way back in 1995, when I joined the high school cross country team and started running. (The picture is from junior year, I believe, but what’s a couple years in the 90s among friends?)
I didn’t join the team because I necessarily liked running. I liked sports, particularly basketball and baseball, but those were out of the question after puberty robbed me of most of my hand-eye coordination. Mostly, I did it because I was going to a new school, my parents and I agreed it might be nice to at least recognize some faces in the hallway or in class, and we figured cross country would keep me in shape and out of trouble. It didn’t hurt that cross country wouldn’t turn anyone away and didn’t cut anyone.
The first day of practice, roughly one week before Labor Day and two weeks before school started, was the first time in years I’d committed to running more than one mile at a time. I showed up in cotton shorts, a cotton T-shirt, and high-top basketball shoes. It took at least 45 minutes – not to mention a few walking breaks – to cover the 3.1 miles of my school’s cross-country course.
I showed up the next day, though. And the next day, too. After a couple of weeks, my parents were willing to invest in proper running clothes and shoes. That was just in time for the first meet, in which I placed dead last – 29:45 for the 5K. I was dead last the following week, too, albeit a minute faster.
By the end of the season, I was firmly in the middle of the JV pack. The coach encouraged me to stick around for indoor track, which, in a twist very helpful to the narrative, also didn’t cut anyone. I did – and learned quickly that “indoor” referred to where the meets were held, not the practices. (At least not for the distance runners.) Back to the sporting goods store we went.
Carving my own path
It’s worth noting that, throughout high school, I wasn’t very fast. I’m not being self-deprecating; facts are facts.
It took until senior year to make varsity in cross country (top 7). Even then, by the end of the season at least three freshmen had improved dramatically enough to routinely beat me. (The coach kept me in the No. 7 spot, though, and none of the freshmen complained. I always appreciated that.) Meanwhile, in four seasons of indoor track and four seasons of outdoor track, I scored a point (from finishing in the top 3 for a race) exactly once. It was an indoor track meet sophomore year when I think I was one of maybe 12 kids in the entire conference who wasn’t home sick with the flu. (Get your flu shots, everyone!)
Many friends had plans to run competitively in college. If I remember right, a couple teammates even got scholarships. Meanwhile, I went to art school in the middle of Boston.
But I kept running. Freshman year, I did it on my own, mostly on the paths along the Charles River. Sophomore year was the only time the college had enough interest to form a men’s cross-country team, which I was happy to join.
Before my junior year, and arguably against my better judgment, I signed up for a fall marathon: The 2001 BayState Marathon in Lowell, with a course that wound through my hometown. The mistakes I made are easily recognizable in retrospect. I don’t recall any honest-to-goodness speed or hill workouts, and my long runs topped out at 16 miles. I also waited until – I wish I were kidding – the day before the race to buy a watch. Suffice to say, I hit a wall with about 10 miles to go. My primary memory from the race is leaning against a telephone pole to get some rest.
But I finished – and I kept running. Yes, it would be five years before I did another marathon; my first one scarred me, plus my senior-year and first-job-out-of-college schedules made it hard to commit to training. That said, I squeezed in runs whenever I got the chance and found 5Ks where I could.
Something shifted in 2006, and I started to commit to running at least one marathon a year. Except for COVID (2020) and the birth of my son (2021), I’ve managed to do it – and this year, 30 years after I started running, I’m aiming to do two marathons in one year for the first time in a decade.
Coming back slowly and steadily
To be clear, running hasn’t been all sunshine and roses. I was sidelined for a few weeks in 2000 with runner’s knee, and I’m pretty sure it came back right before my marathon in 2006. In 2015, I tore my calf in the middle of a marathon and, probably against my better judgment, hobbled to the finish line. (This prompted my wife – watching me run for the first time that day – to not-so-subtly wonder if I was always in that much pain.) I needed several weeks to recover, but over time I regained my strength and confidence. Last year, I went nearly two months without running due to pain in my right foot that was eventually diagnosed as Morton’s neuroma – the treatment for which is orthotic shoes and a dose of humility. Here, patience and pragmatism aided my recovery more than anything.
Recently, I found myself briefly stepping away from running for reasons that had nothing to do with physical health. In September 2023, roughly two weeks before I planned to run BayState – and mark the first time in eight years I ran a marathon in the spring and the fall – my father passed away. I did a speed workout a couple days later, asked myself what the hell I was doing, and promptly took 10 days off. I did that same thing that Christmas, when the weight of simultaneously celebrating and mourning left me far too fatigued to run.
My most recent stretches without running – the mental health breaks in 2023 and the wow, my foot hurts break in 2024 – were tests that I’m happy to say I feel like I passed. I think I learned a lot from 2015, when I was under orders from my physical therapist not to run (but nonetheless stay active) for nearly two months, and to take it slowly once I started back. The wisdom of fatherhood, middle age, and running a business probably helped, too. I didn’t lace up the ol’ running shoes until I was good and ready – and that ensured I actually enjoyed the experience.
Keeping at it, for many reasons
Most of the time, I have little trouble understanding why I’m still running after 30 years. After all, distance running suits my body type, desire for long stretches of quiet time, appetite, pain tolerance, and stubborn perseverance. Few people who meet me for the first time are surprised to learn I’m a runner.
Occasionally, though, I can’t help but wonder. When I head out the door in the pouring rain, after my son’s bedtime, on days so cold that only my face is exposed to the elements, or during a family vacation, I sometimes ask myself, “Why, Brian? Why?”
Part of it is probably the sense of accomplishment. It’s estimated that roughly 1% of the global population has completed a marathon; fewer have done more than 20. I’m proud to be able to say that – and to say that I’m still going. Honestly, I think the fact I wasn’t all that fast in high school helped my cause here. I never faced pressure or experienced burnout. I’m only chasing my own goals and aspirations, not someone else’s. (The free post-race bananas and bagels help.)
Pride plays a part, too. On those rough days – like this morning, when I did a hill workout in what felt like 98% humidity – I think about that 15-year-old in black high-top basketball shoes, showing up on the first day of practice with little clue about what he was getting into. I think about the 21-year-old toeing the line for his first marathon, with absolutely no clue about what he was getting into. I think about the handful of times I missed qualifying for Boston by just a few minutes, and also the time in 2012 I bonked so badly I seriously contemplated curling up for a nap on a front lawn along the cource. (I didn’t. Again, in keeping with the narrative, I kept going and I finished.) I think about when I finally qualified for Boston in 2015, on my 12th try, and had the privilege of running that race the following spring. I think about the first-time father who plodded through a handful of miles while his infant napped or his in-laws kept watch and tried to maximize family time by deciding to wedge his runs into the work week. I look back on the past versions of myself and think he’d be proud I’m still doing it at 45.
Lately, too, I think about my son. I’m not sure he fully understands why I run, or why I run races so long that he and Mommy more often than not get bored and go do something else while they wait for me to finish. (I don’t blame them.) But I know he wants to give me a hug, see my medal, and share a banana when I finally finish. He may not be able to explain the concept of pride, but I get the impression he’s proud of Daddy. And that helps to keep pushing me along, too.
Recently, Healthcare IT Today (a client of mine) was gracious enough to interview me about all things telehealth. The podcast is live, and you can give it listen here. As I’m often the one asking the questions, it was a nice change of pace to be the interview subject this time around.
Naturally, a good chunk of the conversation focused on my eBook – namely, why telehealth hasn’t had the post-pandemic comeback that so many healthcare stakeholders expected. Host John Lynn and I also tried to think of where and how telehealth might be able to expand these days without much heavy lifting.
To celebrate my appearance on the Healthcare IT Today podcast, I’m offering the eBook at a discounted price of $14.99. The discount applies until Sept. 9, which is when I’ll be back in the office after a bit of time off at the end of the summer. The half-off price applies to everyone, whether you graced the podcast with a listen or not. I’ve toyed with the idea of discount codes, but I wasn’t about to do that for the first time before I go traipsing around the woods in New Hampshire and Maine with limited Internet access, on the off chance I ended up breaking something on my website (again).
Starting this one off with Stuff I Read because Matthew Holt, a longtime observer of the healthcare technology landscape, encapsulated a lot of feelings I’ve had (but hadn’t put to paper) about last week’s interoperability glad-handing in DC. Signing a pledge to make tech tools talk to each other is admirable; doing so in the direct presence of men who are quite open about their disdain for proven medicine, healthcare’s safety net, medical research, and the needs of others is not – to say nothing of their very public targeting of the communities that all too often make computer engineering and healthcare delivery possible in the United States. For days, I’ve had a line from They Might Be Giants’ “Your Racist Friend” floating through my head: You can’t shake the devil’s hand and say you’re only kidding. Thank you, Matthew, for saying the quiet part out loud.
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Adventures in Fatherhood
Our street’s in the process of being repaved, along with a stretch of the main road through town. We’re also getting new sidewalks. What this means: My camera roll is full of videos of construction vehicles hard at work to appease my son’s truck obsession.
We recently invested in a foldable wagon. It’s bulkier than a stroller but apparently like 123% more fun. I lay even odds we actually use the stroller again.
Have had a busy few weeks on a big custom project for a client. Hoping to emerge from that soon. Happy August.
