Yes, we had our bouts of foolishness this week. How else would you describe publishing our in-house email chain in lieu of actual content? Or giggling at that stoner-dad in the maternity ward? Or really, any post titled Crapopolis?

But it must have been the darkening afternoon sky, or perhaps we’ve run out of Xanax, because most of the week was spent grappling with unusually sober topics.

Theodore stood back in awe of a mother’s bond, specifically the one between his girlfriend and their newborn daughter. And then, like a true grownup, he had to go back to work, never to see his child before 8pm again.

Matt wrote about deep contentment. He contemplated split vacations and the nature of art, exploitation, and nude images of one’s own children. He also tracked down haunting photos about growing up with autism, while Theodore, through a perhaps careless remark, wondered about the life and sensitivities of a parent of an autistic child.

Nathan, however, was the gloomiest of all. He tackled pedophilia, post-partum depression, and, as a hilarious capper, wrongful execution and one man’s quest to redeem his father.

We’ll have a new guest-blogger stopping next week. Dude had better not be a downer.

May the weekend bring rest, and perhaps even a little joy, to us all.