The Many Faces of a New Big Sister

no lie - these were taken in this order, over a couple of minutes the day MONSTA's lil' bro was born.  

Papa Say: Little Girls are Better than Men

MONSTA's cousins came in this morning.  She hasn't seen them since she was 3, and still, they've played together nonstop since arriving.   Amazing.  If they were grown men, they'd need a tray of shots and a dark secret before acting this close.  

WIFE Has a Birthday

Today is a big day.  It's WIFE's birthday.  Out of deep respect, I won't tell you how old she is. Okay, I will, but I'm going to do that thing where you put your hand in front of your mouth as you say the number.  Ready?  Today, WIFE turns...Now remember:  discretion is 9/10s of the law.

I wanted her to feel like a queen today.  For her to be completely at ease, and to see our apartment as a fine Tahitian spa, where all her dreams of relaxation and long hours of uninterrupted sleep can come true.  By the time she lays down tonight, I wanted her to have bliss coming out of the wazoo.

Too bad none of this happened.   Why?  Because she was too occupied being the kind of mom that deserves such finery.  She was just too damn busy getting spit up on, and fretting about "good latches" while another human literally sucked the life from her.  And when she wasn't doing that, she was helping me stop our oldest from smothering the new addition with nasal drip and a bear hug that could scare Dusty Rhodes.   And for the most part, she did it all with that top-shelf smile that still knocks me cold.

If MONSTA 1, 2, and I could give her everything she deserves - everything she's earned - we would.  She'd have that spa-month and all-inclusive buffet.  But we can't.  Working in non-profit makes that decision for you.  So today, we settled for our unconditional love, attention, and a Kindle Fire.  It doesn't make up for the bouquet of flowers I should be bringing home every week, but it's a start.

Happy Birthday, baby.  I love you now as much as ever.

I'd Never Wish Anyone Harm, But...

I'm a nice guy, and I don't wish harm on fellow humans, but to the guy who created the virus currently eating my laptop from the inside out...in my dreams, you're in a dark, dungeon of a room.  It's your home.  From here, you ruin people's lives because of some sick personal philosophy that you gleaned from the meth-fueled ramblings of some other sick person working out of a dungeon room.  The kind who thinks "Girl with a Dragon Tattoo" is this year's best comedy.  In my dream, you're on the floor, crushed by the weight of the super computer you used to destroy my night and waste my time.  It isn't killing you, per se, but you can't move it either.  It's all so, come se dice... Sisyphean.  Ah, if only you had made more friends, and not pushed those who loved you away.  Maybe someone would eventually stop by for a visit, some tea, a few kind words.   They'd find you on the ground, injured but not dead. They'd try to lift the computer off you, and if they could not, they'd get help. They would try and try until you, my friend, were free.

But this Hollywood ending is not for you.  There is no one coming.  Just this giant computer that can never be moved.  And don't look now, but your cat - the one you neglected all these years - is looking very, very hungry.  Let's hope that like Garfield, your cat prefers the taste of Italian-American cuisine and not, well, your face.

But like I said.  I'm a nice guy, and only wish you the best.  All this...it's just a dream.