The kid and I got back recently from a week in the Black Hills with my parents and my sister's family. All-and-all, it was a good time, but unfortunately, I discovered I'm not as together as I thought I was. It turns out I've got quite a robust reservoir of anger bubbling below the surface. Here at my beach shack, in control of my environment, I didn't notice it, but throw me into a two-bedroom cabin with 7 family members, 1200 miles away from the mighty Pacific, with no access to organic produce and, well, kaboom!

While the Faye herd is admittedly a handful, I was over-the-top livid, bursting into blind rages several times over the smallest of infractions, including:

• My dad eating too many Fig Newtons.
• My nephew throwing a half-eaten apple into the woods.
• My sister daring to critique my ability to properly drain garbanzo beans.
• My brother-in-law making fun of me for getting mad at his son for throwing a half-eaten apple into the woods.

And my personal favorite:

• My mom accidentally melting my daughter's toothbrush over an open flame.

Anyway, I suppose it's good to know that's there so that I can work on it.