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Lyli and Scarleht are enunciating the world around them, spewing it out their little gorgeous mouth holes, wrapping everything up in a neat hundred word vocabulary with a cute little bow of a smile. It's quite frankly the most amazing thing I have witnessed in my short fast life. Today they play around me while I work online, giving their baby dolls rides on their "bicycles" (read, plastic vehicular thinggummies, one looks like a motorcycle of sorts, the other like a lawnmower). I revel in this observational helper role, just watching it all fold up into the two towering personalities they are earnestly becoming.
Drinking with beautifully tragic Olysouls last eve at the good 'ol Bro-Ho. Reliable whiskley and old hat mirror ponds well into the morning, lost journal, slept in car, hungover drive home with the rising sun. sobering, that fucking sun sometimes. but not as much as a daughter or two.
1 comment:
Do you happen to be a farker? The dead baby pic looks familiar...
meaning, I use it occasionally.
Oh, and your blog was referred on mothering.com by your wife. Thank her for me.
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