Dozens of times, I've started typing a vignette about one of my kids...and I stop. The thought that goes through my head? I haven't introduced them, nobody knows who they are, blah blah, blah.
So I'll fix that. Now.
I have three children, and I'll address them by carefully chosen nom de 'nets. That I just made up this second.
My thirteen year old daughter, Sparkly.
She'd totally wear these.
Why Sparkly and not Sparkles? No stripper names for the children! That's a rule. It's fascinating to me to see my face (my mom's face) play out on an opposite gender child. Hmm. This will require a post all it's own.
A typical conversation I've had with Sparkly:
Sparkly: Papa, superman is flying low.
Papa: Bad news, so is supergirl.
Sometimes, it's like having a conversation in my head, we're so similar.
My ten year old son, Dusty.
Imagine a hundred pounds lighter, and a dirty uniform.
He wants to be Dustin Pedroia like I want to be Scott Westerfeld. Really. Badly. He also defines hero worship for me. I can do no wrong in his eyes. He makes me want to be that person he sees.
A typical conversation I've had with Dusty.
Dusty: Papa, coach says I need a cup for little league. What's a cup?
Papa: Gets awfully hot out there, in the outfield...
Yeah, I get yelled at. A lot. I misbehave more than the kids.
My (almost) one year old, Gummybear.
Can't walk, can't talk, but boy how happy we are when he sleeps. The boy has been afflicted by low aspiration syndrome.
Typical conversation I've had with Gummybear.
Papa: How's the little baby business today?
Gummybear: Um, gai!
He's allergic to everything except dirt. You try keeping weight on someone who can't eat dairy, wheat, or fruit.
That's the brood. From now on I'm going to be blogging about my kids, so keep this post handy. Or I just might leave a link up on the side bar. You never know.