The Canadians Killed My Pet Seal

The children are now officially 2 years old as of this past Friday. My Lordy Almighty, how time has passed by so quickly.

Kids grow up so fast. It seems like just yesterday that they were those helpless little poopy geysers at the foot of our bed, and now they're strutting around the playground giving other kids wedgies and reminding them, "2 years old, bitches. That's right. Best recognize."

One of their gifts this year included a talking Tigger doll that does cartwheels. Freakin' cartwheels, I swear to god. As I sat on the ground marveling at this technological achievement, I glanced over and saw both kids over at a chalkboard that grandma had given them, scribbling away contentedly. Zoey was sighing and humming along with her internal music, and Zach was drawing what looked like either a deformed penis, or an 19th century Victorian carousel. Either way, the fact that they were ignoring Tigger and found so much pleasure in these artistic pursuits warmed my heart.

At this very moment, I had no regrets about not showing up for the Local Bruisers meeting.