Update

October 18, 2018 to June 24, 2020.  That's how long it's been since I last posted to this blog.  Not sure why except maybe there just seems to be too much to say.  Or, not enough.

Quick update - Kiddo is now 16 and driving.  Little Bit is now 13 and thinks she knows all.  We're all in strange times due to this Covid-19 virus and the quarantines.  Hubby hasn't been able to work at all, which is a huge stressor, but I'm grateful to be able to work at home.  I'm working from home most days but am allowed to go into the office one day a week and more if absolutely necessary.  I've been tested for Covid-19 twice, both times with a negative result.  I actually do have a story about that, but maybe for another time.

Booker the Wonder Kitty and Wendy Lou the Tiny Furry Dictator are both still around, of course.  They're a source of constant amusement, weirdness, and joy.  Fuzz Therapy is highly recommended.

I'm still a puppeteer.  If you haven't checked out the videos, find us on Facebook at Hands in Service at Kern or on YouTube at H.I.S. Puppeteers.  Make sure to like and share the videos, and subscribe to the channel!  We're hoping for 100 subscribers!  I guess that's kind of funny when you consider there are YouTube channels out there with thousands...MILLIONS...of subscribers, but we're not in it for the money.  Just the fun.

Anyway - that's it.  That's nearly 2 years worth of updates.  I haven't drawn anything in forever.  I haven't really written anything in forever.  Who knows if I ever will again, but for now I'm not feeling the call to do either - this post not withstanding.  So stay safe.  Stay strong.  Stay healthy.

TTFN
JMS

Help! Aliens have stolen my children!

I'm becoming more and more convinced that aliens from a distant planet have descended upon the household and have stolen my sweet children. Aside from the ongoing battle of their rooms being kept clean (ha ha, I'm losing), the ATTITUDES are currently driving me mad. Especially Girl child. Boy child to a lesser extent.

One minute Girl child is sweet as roses and candy. How does that rhyme go? Sugar and spice and all things nice? Yep, that's her. Then the next minute my sweet little girl is gone and in her place is a yellow-eyed demon bent on world domination or destruction; take your pick. I'm getting whiplash from her mood swings.

Boy child is acting out in other ways, but none of them comparable to his little sister.

I know it's her age. She's exactly two weeks away from her 10th birthday. I know exactly what's going on (I am, after all - a girl, too), but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Nothing I've said, done, or yes, even threatened, has worked and I'm about ready to climb a tree, build a fort, and stay there until she's 18. My fort will be lined with lovely jewel-colored pillows with golden fringe, embroidered elephants, and tiny mirrors sewn into the fabric. Tapestries hanging from the ceiling. A thick, soft mat on the floor to sleep on. Electricity, of course. Maybe a little one-eyed stove for cooking tea or broth. I could live on tea and broth, right?

Of course, I'd have to seriously consider the work situation. Do I leave the comfort and serenity of my beautiful tree fort every day for work? They have showers at work after all, and smelling good might be, well...a good idea. Especially if I'm facing the public. Or, do I tuck tail, request a token for secure remote access, and work from home?

I think the whole showering thing probably wins that argument for me.

TTFN
JMS

The Tale of the Good Queen, the Hapless Princess and the Magical Morphing Mac and Cheese

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a wonderful queen who was good to her subjects and made sure they had shelter and blankets and food in their bellies.  This modest queen settled arguments, gave of her time and funds to the poor and needy, and was well-loved by all who knew her.   The queen did not believe in servants, but she was so kind, her loyal subjects lined up every day to win a chance to help her around the castle.  Only a few were chosen every day and it was considered a great honor to sacrifice time to assist the queen and her family.

The one thing the queen would never allow anyone else to do was cook for her or her family.  She preferred to do it herself, not only because cooking was a particular passion of hers, but because she was petrified of poison.   (Which, truth be told, everyone thought was silly since she was so beloved by all.  Who would poison her?)   Her favorite thing to make was a humble pasta dish which (though pasta was rare in those times) was a family favorite.  The ooey, gooey, cheesy goodness paired with pasta was particularly pleasurable to her family’s palate.

But, as fairy tales go, tragedy struck, and the noble and gentle queen was struck with a wasting sickness - poisoned by her own body - which eventually stole her from her family and delivered her to the great realm in the sky.  Her family was devastated and struggled to move on after the horrible loss, but they did so in their own separate ways.

Many years later, her oldest daughter, the princess (who was never meant for the throne), was married and had a family of her own.  She remembered the queen often and fondly, though the princess had been very young when her mother had succumbed to cruel fate.  One of the best things she remembered about the queen was her pasta and cheese dish, but, though she’d tried several times to recreate it herself, she proved to be a hapless, dismal failure in the kitchen.  The princess certainly had not inherited her mother the queen’s talent for mealtime magic.  She could, if given time and left alone, prepare perfectly palatable – and on occasion, even pleasurable – meals for her family, but her husband (times were more modern so it was not strange) was an excellent cook.  No one went hungry and no one ate burned toast unless they wanted to.

After years of defeat and distress at not having been able to provide the pleasant pasta dish for her family, the princess discovered a magical repository of virtual information and began researching and testing in earnest.  Finally, she had it!  The princess was able to create a perfect reproduction of the queen’s popular pasta repast and it was an immediate hit with her own family.  Now, with a few tweaks and super-secret ingredients she has made this dish her own, but with enough of the original recipe as to be able to think of her mother the queen whenever she makes and consumes it. 

And they lived happily ever after...with pasta.  And cheese.

One Mom's Honest Wish List

It bears repeating: Piss poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine!  (Maybe I just wanted an excuse to use this graphic.)  Yeah, I guess I'm being snarky.  I feel like the last few weeks I've been in emergency-management-mode rather than my usual, and preferred, mode of planning things out (to the best of my ability) ahead of time.  And, quite frankly, I'm tired. 

I guess being a parent (and, sometimes, a wife) automagically means you're in a constant state of crisis.  Mom!  I can't find my...  Mom!  I'm hungry.  Mom!  Can you help me with...  Mom!  I hate these pants!  Honey?  Have you see my...?  This crisis-mode sort of spills over into other aspects of my life (like work) and at this point, I'm kinda over it.  (I've been using that hashtag a lot lately, it seems.  #overit)  Below are a few things which, were they to occur, would, with minimal effort on the part of the others in my home, make my life so much easier.  **Fair warning, this could also be considered a list of Mom/Wife Peeves.  I'm certain I'm not the first person to come up with this list.

MOM'S WISH LIST

1. I don't want to have to uncover the dining table in order to be able to use it.  Your dishes should have been put in the sink after you were done eating.  This isn't difficult, really.  Just a matter of habit which you should be in already.  Breakfast dishes, especially.  Those icky, congealed bowls of leftover milk are disgusting.
2. I do not want to have to empty the dishwasher before I can fill it.  The dishwasher is not storage for clean dishes or a drying rack for wet ones.  Please put the dishes away, in the cabinets, where they belong.  If you can't reach, ask for help.
3. I do not want to empty the washing machine before I can use it.  Clothes which have been washed and have been left to sit - wet -  in the closed confines of the washing machine, have this awful habit of starting to stink (or wrinkle horribly) after a couple of hours.  This is the best reason to move the laundry along in a timely manner.  However, the other reason - the honest one - is that it just ticks me off when I go to use the machine and there is another load in there waiting to be dried.  I wash, you wash, I wash, you wash - we cannot wash at the same time.
4. I do not want to put away the ironing board so I can get to the dryer.  The small room which houses the dryer is not the place to iron your clothes.  Further, it is not the place to leave the ironing board set up.  The excuse that you were waiting for the iron to cool down is a weak one; there are other options.
5. I do not want to step on it.  If you spill it or drop it, pick it up.  Period.  If I find it on the floor, it will become mine - to do with as I please.  Up to, and including, throwing it away.  (This includes change.   If I find your forgotten or discarded nickles and dimes, they will become mine, too.)
6. If you pee in it, spit in it, or bathe in it, don't leave stuff on it.  Meaning, rinse out the sink after you're done brushing your teeth (or shaving your whiskers).  Wipe off the seat if you sprinkle when you tinkle.  Ring around the tub?  Mr. Clean Magic Erasers work wonders.  Just sayin'.
7. If you take it out, put it back.  Or, if you remove it from where it was, put it back where you found it.  This includes laundry which may be hanging up to dry which will not get dry lumped into a pile on the back of a closet door so you can shower.  This also goes for food, toys, games, and other items.

I've gotten to a point where I am just not doing anything because whenever I do something, someone goes right behind me and messes it up again.  I don't expect to live in a perfectly clean home; I have children and am aware that a clean home, at this point in my life, is next to impossible.  I do not want to live in an untouchable museum.  But I do expect the home I pay for (and all the stuff in it) to be treated with respect and taken care of.  Plus, treating my home (and all the stuff in it) like crap kinda feels like you're treating me that way, too.  And no, I'm not projecting your animated feelings onto an inanimate situation.  I know you love me - I love you, too - but I'm tired now, OK?

Please clean your own rooms, clear off your own dishes, wash your own clothes, etc.  Everyone in the house is now old enough to handle these things.  You are not too tired.  You are not too sick.  You are not too busy.  You are too lazy.  I will try to do better, too, because I know I'm not perfect. 

Signed, 

Exasperated Mom

Life Skills Resume -OR- Mommy Magic

I was thinking about what my resume might look like if I were simply honest.  I mean, not that my resume isn’t honest – it totally is – but it’s honest work stuff and not necessarily honest life stuff.  Does that make sense?  I mean, resumes are supposed to be all about how awesome you are at your job; the stuff you do that earns you a paycheck.  But what if we got paid for knowing and doing and being other stuff? 

For example:

SUMMARY:  Hard-working, committed mother of two with over 42 years of experience in the field of General Life.  Extensive background in service and commitment with a well-established ability to sacrifice for the sake of others.  Ability to meet important deadlines and complete homework projects.  Solid Internet research skills and a familiarity with multiple technical medias as they relate to networking and child appropriateness levels.  Child-friendly with ability to entertain biological children as well as children of others in a trusted, safe environment where they are encouraged to thrive.  Strong written, verbal, and interpersonal skills coupled with an ability to win in a family- or self-driven environment. 

EDUCATION: School of Hard Knocks

RELATED SKILLS:

• Proper coffee making
• Proper table setting
• Proper bed making
• Basic Mathematics
• Strong English Language vocabulary and grammar
• Proficient reading
• Excellent table manners
• Good hygiene, oral and body
• Above-average technical
• Quirky fashion sense
• Don’t have to keep up with The Jonses
• Extensive knowledge of Alone-Time benefits and recuperative powers
• Deep, enduring and life-affirming animal appreciation

I could add stuff like:

• Can make a campfire
• Can make macaroni and cheese
• Can pour without spilling
• Can color within the lines
• Can be serious or silly, depending on need
• Am thought to have certain magical abilities to include: having eyes in the back of my head, Extra Sensory Perception, Trouble identification, Boo-boo Care, and the ability to make red lights turn green with a wave of my fingers
• Am known to have a direct line to Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny (et al) and can contact any and all on short notice with behavior updates

I wonder what one would get paid for skills such as these?  Should my General Life job be considered my second job, or should it be considered my first job, and my job-job would then become my second job?  Am I confusing you yet?

Something to consider.  

My brain hurts.  I think I need coffee.  Or a glass of wine.

TTFN

JMS

With apologies...

...headache today.

          One of those awful, make-you-sick headaches.

One of those keep-the-lights-off headaches.

     Where really, you just should have stayed in bed.

With the covers over your head.

              But there is work to be done.

Which, after actual work, could possibly include black, plastic trash bags and the overabundance of things mysteriously (or not-so-mysteriously) disappearing from the kids' rooms.

                                And as much as I dislike hashtags:

#overit

TTFN
JMS

Raw

I suppose I should begin this post with another disclaimer to let you know this is soul-bearing, raw, and completely honest.  It's somewhat cathartic, although I know it really won't fix anything.  And I know this is a side of things some people will say shouldn't be shown to the public, but...

I sat on the floor in the bathroom last night at 11 o’clock and leaned against the bathroom sink and just cried.  Sobbed, really.  I think I need a break.  A real one.  One where I'm not worrying about my kids and if they're okay or what they’re thinking, doing, saying, eating, if they’re warm and comfortable or need me.  One where I’m not worrying about cleaning my house or figuring out what to put into a yard sale or about keeping up appearances or saying the right thing.  One where I can have the squishy floor in the bathroom fixed without breaking a sweat over finances.  One where I don’t have to worry about money or how I’m going to put gas in my car so I can get to work or where I don’t have to scrounge around for something to take for my own lunch so the kids can have a decent lunch at school.  One where I wish I could be truly selfish, just for once.  One where I don't have to worry about getting up if I'd rather sleep until noon.  One where no friends are dying and where people aren't saying or doing hurtful things.  One where if I ask someone to do something they'll do it, with no questions asked and I won't have to repeat myself.  One where when I say something, it will actually be heard and no one will later say, “You never told me that!”

I guess I'm just tired in my body and in my soul.

I wish I didn't have to be ON all the time.  That I didn't have to force myself not to cry at work when my "upset" has nothing to do with work.

I don't think the tears are done yet.

Bear with me.

TTFN

JMS

Observations and such

The gray and charcoal colored, dense nap, industrial carpet in my office is in desperate need of being vacuumed.  I could do it.  I know where the machine is.  I don't want to interrupt folks trying to work.

***

Girl-child woke up happy this morning.  Apparently the cheerfulness was directly related to a much-anticipated field trip.  She should have a field trip every day, if it means she's going to wake up with a smile on her face.  (Note to self: Coffee is, unfortunately, still not an option for her.  She’s only 8.)

***

I have a bright orange, squishy, stress-relief ball on my desk.  It has a black smiley face wearing sunglasses printed on it.  While I appreciate the squishiness, and the stress-relieving qualities it possesses, I am slightly put off by the smiley face.  It taunts me.  It seems in direct opposition to the purpose of the object itself.

***

Did you know the word "that" is overused?  I've been consciously aware of my own personal overuse of this particular word and have been making a concerted effort to eliminate it, except where absolutely necessary.  Trust me…it's not as easy as it sounds.

***

Many people spent the last months complaining about the cold and lamenting a lack of warm weather.  The cold doesn't bother me much, unless I'm cold when I should be warm.  (This makes sense, if you think about it.)  During the winter months I'm usually okay.  Spring is a wonderful time of awakening and greening and chirping birds and new life and growth.  It's quickly becoming one of my favorite times of year.  I've always been fond of autumn.  I still am fond of autumn.  I don't think spring will ever overshadow my love of autumn, but it's running a very close second right now.  Here's the problem, though.  This year, spring flew by too quickly.  Granted, technically we're still in spring, calendar-wise, but now we're dealing with eighty degree days and frankly, I'm just not ready for that kind of heat yet.  I will take the cooler, dryer weather over the heat and humidity any day.

***

I have officially lost twenty six pounds.  Not really an observation so much as a fact, I suppose, but one I'm glad to be able to share.  I still have just over seventeen pounds to go in order to reach my goal weight, but this is big.  This is huge.  No, I was.  Now I'm…not.  Or, at least, I'm getting there.  And that's a good thing. 

TTFN
JMS

The What If Game

I've never been one for games.  Not really.  I’ve enjoyed a good game of Solitaire on occasion.  I think crossword puzzles are jolly good fun.  I like Monopoly, as long as I don’t have to be the banker and I can use either the shoe or the dog.  Jenga is fun with multiple people and with two stacks of bricks on top of one another, both on an exploding base.  I've enjoyed a few rousing games of Cards Against Humanity (I will not apologize!  I have never laughed harder!  It's good to be rude, occasionally, and among trusted friends!).  I've never been one for sports, to play them or to watch them, though I enjoy men’s college basketball.  Golf, tennis and baseball are, to me, like watching paint dry.  But there is one game I hate, loathe and despise.  My children, especially boy-child, like to play this game often.  It is called The What If Game.

Here’s how it works:

• What if I didn't brush my teeth?
• What if I just picked out my clothes in the morning?
• What if the sky wasn't blue?
• What if I just read for ten more minutes?
• What if that cloud over there was over our heads right now and we were the only ones getting rained on?
• What if I slept with my feet where my head usually is?
• What if I didn't do my homework?

Alright, I know.  Those are probably not the greatest examples, but I think you get the picture.  What if this?  What if that?  And this game has no rules, per se.  Mostly, in the mind of boy-child, the point of The What If Game is to extend an argument or not do what he has been asked to do. 

So, What If I just walked away and didn't play the game? 

“MO-OM!  CAN I FINISH WHAT I WAS SAYING? 
YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!!!!”

(Oh, the humanity!)  Usually, at this point, there are tears already on the verge of spilling.  I understand he’s frustrated.  I truly do.  The problem here is he tends to talk so much at home without getting to the point, I tend find myself drifting to other things in my head rather than listening to him with 100% of my attention.  This is my failure, too, I know.  Eventually, I have to ask him to please stop, take a breath for goodness sake, and to simply do what I've asked him to do.  This is the point where The What If Game begins, extending his not-complying-with-mom’s-edict, culminating in “MO-OM! CAN I FINISH WHAT I WAS SAYING?” when I simply walk away, refusing to argue anymore.

The What If Game is endless and always (always) leaves all players frustrated and upset.  It’s a worthless, unproductive waste of time and I loathe it.  A much more creative, pleasant and surprising game for all involved is The Yes Ma’am/Sir Game.  I think we could save a lot of time playing this game instead of that game.

TTFN
JMS

A light that burned too brightly, snuffed out too early

On April 23, 2015, I lost one of my dearest friends, Nikki.  The world lost a wonderful person and Heaven gained an angel.  If you follow my blog at all, you know that I typically don’t name names here – or I try not to – because I don’t want my ranting and raving and rambling to affect someone else and my opinions are my own.  That being said, my friend is now gone, and I am devastated.  Selfishly devastated for my own loss of a treasured friend, yes, but even more so, I am devastated for those she left behind: her loving husband and their three beautiful little children (ages 9, 6 and 2); her mother, who lived with them and their entire family.  To say that this is tragic would be an understatement.

As anyone who has dealt with loss and grief knows, there are many things that run through your head at once.  Disbelief coupled with hurt and overwhelming pain.  Unthinkable.  Unimaginable.  Indescribable.   The entire thing only serves to leave giant, gaping holes in those left behind. 

Nikki’s light burned so brightly.  She quite literally vibrated with energy.  I don’t think I ever saw her truly still.  She was a fabulous mother, a wonderful friend, and a beautiful, beautiful person inside and out.  I’m going to miss her terribly.  But more than that, now that I’ve had a very teeny tiny amount of time to think things through (sorry about the alliteration) is this overwhelming GUILT that I feel.  And I think – I know – it’s because I feel like I was a terrible friend.  I also know she would give me that patented Nikki look and tell me I was crazy and to get over it.  Then she’d probably roll her eyes or smack me (literally, but lovingly) upside the head.  I can’t help but think of all the times I forgot something important or wasn’t able to take her calls when she phoned, or couldn’t make it out to her house for a visit after they moved away from town.  I hope she does know I loved her; love her still.

And aside from this inconceivable loss, there are several other issues that are plaguing me on a personal level.  My own mother died when I was quite young.  Not as young as Nikki’s kids (I was 15, my brother was 11 and our sister was 7), but still, I know what it is to lose your mother.  I need to say here that I am in no way attributing Nikki’s loss to the loss of my own mother, but there are a lot of similarities here that must not go unnoticed.  My mother died and left behind an oldest girl, a middle boy and a youngest girl.  Nikki left the same.  And I’m wondering, now, in my own small way, if I was not meant to go through the loss of my mother, and all that meant for me growing up, in order to be here for Nikki’s sweet babies; to at least give them someone to talk to when and if they need it.  And believe me, if I had had someone I felt comfortable enough to talk to about all the (pardon me) crap that went on in my life after I lost my mother, I would have been a lot better off for it.

I’ve known each one of those kiddos since they were born.  The oldest (9) used to fall asleep in my arms at church every Sunday.  All three of them know me as Aunt Jennifer.  At one time or another, they’ve each been hugged by me, kissed by me, loved on by me, disciplined by me, taught by me, bathed, dressed and tucked in by me.  I’m not a stranger to them.  And as Nikki’s friend (and as Kevin’s friend) I hope that I will be allowed to continue to be Aunt Jennifer and to be there when they need a momma-figure. 

And that is something else, too.  In no way do I expect to take the place of Nikki.  No one else can be “momma” to those babies.  But Kevin is lucky that he’s got a TON of strong women to help him with the “momma” stuff if and when he needs it. 

I know I’m all over the place with this post, and I’m sorry.  I’ve had a few days to think about it and still don’t really know what I think.  I’m numb.  And if I’M numb, I can’t even imagine how Kevin feels.  Everyone is going to tell him that his kiddos are his first priority now, but really that’s not true.  He is his own first priority, because if he doesn’t take care of himself, he won’t be able to take care of his kids.  He’s got an amazing support system.  He’s got a community full of people who love him.  He’s got so many things to be thankful for.  But he doesn’t have his Nikki.  And I cannot even imagine that loss.  Losing a parent, while devastating, is not the same as losing a spouse.

So, however you worship, say a prayer for Kevin and the kiddos.  They’re going to need every ounce of support they can get.

TTFN
JMS

Mirror-Mirror or Dear Abby

Most people who know me understand that I am not, and never really have been, a girly-girl – except maybe when I was very young.  I don’t like dresses, preferring instead the jeans and tee-shirt attire.  Oh, I know how to dress up, and dress professionally, and tend to succeed when I do, but I prefer the comfort of jeans.

The other day I did something I very rarely do; I wore makeup.  Mostly makeup just annoys me.  Plus, I am allergic to most makeup (yes, even the Bare Minerals stuff everyone suggests to me) so mostly I just avoid it.  On top of that, I tend to be impatient – duh! – so taking the time to put on my face every morning would, in my opinion, just be a waste of time.  (I feel the same way about my hair, which explains how almost every single day of my life is a bad hair day.)  Now, granted, when I do take the time to put on makeup (and do something about my hair) I get comments on it – which is most definitely flattering – but with the allergy thing and the lack of any real desire to beautify (har-dee-har-har) it’s just better if I forego makeup altogether.

However, something occurred to me: I have a daughter.  Well…OK, I didn’t just figure this out.  I was there when she was born and her constant presence in my life makes her kind of hard to forget.  Plus, she’s kinda cute and I love her, so I think I’ll keep her around for a while.  But, it occurred to me that if she doesn’t ever see mommy putting on makeup or doing something about her hair, or thoughtfully considering an outfit, she might decide she doesn’t care about her own appearance.  And, while I don’t want her to worry about how she looks, (‘cause I think she’s pretty perfect as is) she will want to ask questions about makeup and hair (and boys – yikes!) as she grows up.

So, when I made the decision to do a little something extra to my appearance the other day, she came in and watched.  And wanted to know what everything was.  And watched very closely as I applied the goop to my face.  And showed her interest in the stuff by wanting blush applied to her cheeks, too.  And, when I was all done (and feeling pretty fabulous, actually), she said, “Mom, I like you better without makeup.  Can I pick out your earrings?” 

(Sigh!)

Oh well, I guess you can’t win ‘em all.

TTFN

JMS

Boy-child's birthday

Today is boy-child’s 11^th birthday!  (Well, actually, in …Off on a Tangent world, which is my virtual world, which is me, mostly, boy-child’s birthday was yesterday since I’m usually about a day behind reality here.)  Anyway, boy-child is officially a year older, and so, therefore, am I.

He was born early – about 7 weeks – and while that’s not really as early as some other premature babies, it was certainly scary enough for this first-time mother.  He spent the first twelve days of his life in the NICU at Children’s Hospital getting a suntan (he was slightly jaundiced) and being fed through a tube (he didn't have a suck-reflex, so he had to learn it).  Visiting him there was scary, too – but I couldn't stay away.

One night, hubby and I had gone home for the night with the intent of returning to the hospital first thing the next morning, and I had an anxiety attack just before midnight absolutely convinced something was wrong with boy-child.  All alone.  In an incubator.  In a big scary hospital.  All alone.  Alone.  SOB!  So hubby drove my hyperventilating-self to Children’s Hospital (a 30 mile drive, mind you) so I could see our little baby boy.

Boy-child was so tiny.  Born at 4lbs 6.8oz and 17 ¾ inches long.  He had a full head of black hair which, as he got older, all fell out and grew back blonde.  He had giant brown eyes.  Giant.  And he had a way of peeking at you from under these mile-long eyelashes – even as a tiny infant – that just melted your heart.  He had a huge noggin!  As he got a little older and started sitting up, that head, more often than not, was the reason he couldn't keep his balance and tipped right over.

As a now 11-year old, not much has changed except that he’s bigger, and he has grown into his head.  He still has huge brown eyes and long, dark eyelashes, though, and he makes use of them regularly because he knows just the right look will still melt my heart and he can get just about whatever he wants.  (I’m really not a pushover, though, and he doesn't really get whatever he wants, but darn it!  He’s hard to resist!)  I just love him to pieces.

Happy birthday, buddy!  I love you!

TTFN

JMS (a.k.a. “Mom”)