A New Year

Her name will be Sophia Jane. She will have my nose and wear it proudly despite Bob Hope references. She will play a million instruments, learn a million different languages, and then forget them because that’s what children do when they become whole. They take the bits and pieces and save the ones worth saving to remain whole. She will rebel or maybe not at all. I never saw cause for rebellion, I was born free. Although I did seek it. She will know the difference between wrong and right and will fight to the death to render them. Fingers crossed she will be healthy and happy all of her days. She will fall in love and out of love. One day, some day, a fool will break her heart and turn her tears into gold. She will be a million times better than her mom and pop at everything and will never cease to amaze. She will be a Sophia Jane, a wise girl in a new world. Here’s to the New Year and all the promise it really does bring

Because the Mafia is/was a Beautiful Thing

I went to bed alone and woke up alongside the Spartan. The very same Spartan who showed up just to cook me breakfast, the one I thought I could/would never miss. The Mister whose ego when in the same room with my own can control electrical devices and possibly, the tides. And it didn’t scare me, it revived me. It wasn’t alarming, it was refreshing. The winds have shifted and I can’t blame it on hormones this time. This time, he’s right; this mafia is a beautiful thing. We have a beautiful thing.

Ten fingers, Ten tows, and a button nose...

Girls rule Boys drool and I can see now why it tis called a miracle. To watch a baby swim around in a haze of black and white that is your own stomach is quite the thrill. I have pictures. I have hope. I have a Sophia Jane. Healthy, happy, one pound. And I can truly say that this is the happiest I have ever been in the whole of my life. The Sox winning the series, my first love, sourdough toast, while wonderful, have not a tenth of the joy she brings.

THE HE SHE OF IT ALL

I am making Christmas cards, in battle with a glue stick, and excited for tomorrow’s news. Yes, tomorrow donkeys I will find out if I have a Jack or a Sophia Jane. The surge for such knowledge has dominated me entirely. First comes fear, than excitement, followed by fear, and excitement again. If you’re placing bets on this one, call em off. I have tried my ass off to determine if Professor is a he or a she with no end. The pictorial debut and a happy healthy baby, fingers crossed.

Flesh and Blood needs Flesh and blood

I am stubborn. Really stubborn. I make a decision regardless of its weight and stick by it despite the ruins. I am not one to compromise or reason with. Winter is my favorite time of the year because the cold suits me. I am wrong a lot. I say mean wretched things and I displace praise. I can hold my own and have always been to proud admit otherwise. In other words, I don’t need nobody.
So when a somebody comes along and offers laundry, eggs scrambled (the only way I’ll eat them), coffee, fresh and dark (the only way I’ll drink it), and quiet, witty conversation (the way I prefer it) I am quick to decline it. So begins the discourse. First, I pick at it. I seek out indiscretions, mistakes, liabilities. I slowly and surely devour it. It is destructed and I, again, am alone. Because I don’t need nobody.
Or maybe I do.
Maybe, just maybe I can learn to live with the spoils of someone else. Maybe my pride can step down. Maybe it has to this time. Maybe I’ve no choice in the matter. Maybe it’s beyond me. Maybe Johnny Cash was right, “Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you’re the one I need.”