Holy Crap, I’m Not Even Sure I Can Blog This

Why she should feel the need to whisper anything while we were alone in her room with the rest of the house awake, I couldn’t guess – but then, you don’t argue with those who rule by divine right, and so I dutifully leaned down so the cute, blond, 8-yr-old Reigning Queen of Pink could whisper in my ear: “Sweet titty-fuckin’ Jesus, I’m tired!”

You know you’re living the dream when…

Your 12-year-old has your drink order ready 60 seconds before you walk in? Excellent!

A Dream of Christmas

I understood why we had called him Father Christmas, the Pater figure bringing home presents to his children, to all of us. I never did find out what was in the green bag at my daughter’s feet. After all, it wasn’t for me. My present was her smile.