On being seven

Dear Little Prince,

What a ride?  What a journey?  What an adventure?

Yes, yes, they aren’t always good adventures… that’s not the point and I think you are now aware enough and old enough to begin to understand that.  We adventure in this kingdom.  Sometimes those adventures are fun.  Sometimes those adventures are work.  Always, always, we do it together and see our way through.  That’s at the core of being part of this family.

First grade and a pandemic.  A growing little brother that adores you and tortures you in equal measure.  Star Wars, Harry Potter (again), bike rides, hikes, math worksheets, and the never ending stream of questions.  They whys, the whats the hows, the whens.  Never ending.  Your curiosity is as fierce as it has ever been, as fierce as your confidence and stubbornness.  It is these qualities that will have you rise up to rule the world one day.  I joke but I’m serious at the same time.

You’re still a weed, getting taller and faster and stronger and learning all the time, sponging in the obscure facts from the history of the world audiobooks you listen to on repeat.  You still struggle with some lessons and most of those are the ones we all struggle with: patience, impulse control, patience, empathy and patience.  Don’t worry overly much about that, though.  In time, you’ll learn these lessons as well as any of the rest of us have.

I know I’m too hard on you sometimes and I hope you can forgive me.  I see this greatness in you and I want to get every bit of it to come out and shine.  So about that patience?  Yes, I know, it is one of my faults as well.  As I said, we all struggle with it at times.  You’ll get there.  I know you will.

You’ll get there flying on your bike and running up those trails.  You’ll get there with your lego learned engineering and artistic skills that already outstrip my own.  You’ll get there with your passion and confidence.  And then you will shine, shine, shine till I go blind from the burning brilliance and my refusal to look away, out of pride and love and my own stubbornness.

You keep being you.  Trust in that.  You’ll see.  You will move mountains, as they say.

Love you kiddo,



The Jester

On being three

I’m a little behind on these posts. Life in the kingdom, as everywhere, has been strange of late and the change to my routines in that strangeness took away my normal wiring time. Plus I forgot.  It happens, you know. Then I was reminded and here we are.


Dear Littler Prince,

So this is three?  Wild and amazing and cranky and empathetic and constantly surprising.  The current state of affairs has certainly thrown what little routine you’d grown used to out the window and you just shrugged your shoulders and carried on.  Part of that is having your brother around, of course, but most of that is just who you are.  You take things in stride, come what may.  That doesn’t factor in when you are tired or hungry.  Then the raging tantrums shake the walls and rattle the windows.  That’s all part of it.  Normal.  Expected.  And perfectly fine.

Your laugh, wild like your hair and your exuberance, is perfectly fine as well.  It also shakes the walls and rattles the windows and reverberates with a joy that is nothing short of infectious.  It fills this house and bursts free at the seams.  I hope you laugh that way forever.  I hope your world continues to be so full of things to laugh at.

You took to your scooter the way your older brother took to his bike.  You zoom and swerve and fall and pick yourself back up and zoom off again.  Faster and more fearless with each passing day.  It too is a joy to behold.

Then the tantrums come and you curl your fists up and your eyes well with tears and you scream and scream and scream.  Those will pass, of course.  They always do.  In the moment and in general.  Though, perhaps I’ll miss the times when the solution to those is a hug and a cuddle, or a silly face made in passing, or any of the other little things that can often cheer you up that you will one day outgrow.  The transition will be slow but it has already begun.

I will miss those days more than you… and this isn’t about me, so I’ll move along.

What this all comes down to is you are learning (exponentially), you are growing (like a weed), you are silly (perhaps like a certain Jester), you are crazy (like all of us here) and, to overuse the word, a joy.  It’s as simple as that.

And long may that continue.

Love you kiddo,



The Jester

rise and shine, it’s breakfast time

“Mommy, wake up!”

Heather fluttered her eyes against the darkness of the room, then squeezed them tightly shut and groaned.  It was much too early.  “Go back to sleep, darling.”


Small hands pressed firmly against the exposed flesh of her cheek.  She tried to ignore it, but they were insistent.  Heather refused to open her eyes.  She nestled deeper into her blankets, shying away from her child’s touch.  “Katy,” her words were spoken from that half-sleep realm when the mind can function but the body doesn’t want to play nice, “it’s too early to be up, sweetheart.  Go back to bed.”

“The man in the radio said I should come and get you.”

Yawning, “Tell him it’s too early too, then shut off the radio and get a little more sleep for Momma.  Can you do that?”

Heather felt Katy’s hands leave her face, and heard the tiny footsteps receding away.  Sleep rushed back to claim her, “Silly little girl and her vivid …”  She was out before she could finish her thought.

Katy sheepishly approached the radio in the living room.  It had been her grandparents and was considered an antique.  She didn’t understand that word, she just knew her parents used it whenever she asked if she could play with it.  “Mommy says its too early and I should shut you off and go back to bed.”

“Oh, don’t do that.  If you go back to bed, who shall I play with?”

A tiny door slid open and the miniature man stepped forward to wink at Katy.  She smiled and held her hand out to him.  He gracefully stepped onto her waiting palm, “Now let’s go see what kind of breakfast we can throw together in the kitchen.  How does that sound?”

Katy beamed and nodded in agreement.  Holding her new friend carefully she tip-toed into the kitchen.  She had visions of pancakes drenched in syrup dancing in her head and could barely contain her excitement.

“We just need to be quiet so we don’t wake your mother.  Set me down on the counter, and then open the fridge so I can see what we have to work with.”


Word Count: 362

Where would I be without the silly wonderful Inspiration Monday writing prompts:


The Rules

There are none. Read the prompts, get inspired, write something. No word count minimum or maximum. You don’t have to include the exact prompt in your piece, and you can interpret the prompt(s) any way you like.


No really; I need rules!

Okay; write 200-500 words on the prompt of your choice. You may either use the prompt as the title of your piece or work it into the body of your piece. You must complete it before 6 pm CST on the Monday following this post.

The Prompts:


master of the house

I wasn’t going to respond to today’s Daily Prompt because I enjoy too many different aspects of life to want to make the decision on which one skill I would like to master, which one I’d like to attain perfection.

However, while commenting on the Cheeky Diva’s response, an idea did come to me that trumps the rest and pushed me to share with my faithful readers.

Sure, I’d love to become a master in drawing and painting.  I’d relish being a master of writing and editing.  Beat matching, track selection, pitch control?  I am a dj after all and to be the master of those skills would be fantastic.  I love sport too and would be thrilled if I were a master of volleyball or soccer (football).  You see my initial dilemma?  How do I pick from that list?

What trumps all of those ideas?

As many of you know, my wife and I are expecting our first.  Fatherhood…  Being a parent…  That’s it, right? 

As Cheeky Diva explained to me, there is no way to be a perfect parent, there is no way to guarantee that mistakes won’t be made – and making mistakes and learning from them is probably an essential part of being a parent.  She is right, of course, you don’t get to be a Diva without knowing such things. 

But, as the pressure of the unknown, the weight of uncertainty, collapse upon me, the desire to know that I will make all the right decisions is tempting to say the least.  To be a master at parenting, to always know what to say, to always have the answers, to always make the right decisions and choices, to be strong when needed and forgiving when required, to be the disciplinarian when called upon and a champion when accolades are warranted…

If I could be master of any skill in the world, how could I choose anything else?