Baby Mussolini

I would go as far to say that children take the first step toward "Evil-Dom" at the ripe age of...say, seven. Most children, that is. But in this instance, I must say I am quite taken back.

I have eight brothers. Two sisters. Being the fourth born, I have been a witness to a great many childhoods. Watching the verbal fights, wrestling, and the occasional knife pull, I guess you could say I've seen a lot. Nothing though, that can compare with the lively hood of the youngest.

There's Enrique. (Twenty Seven) Business owner, single, good-looking, grounded.
Maria Cristina. (Twenty Five) Cocky. Gorgeous. Short.
Juan Pablo. (Twenty something) Clueless. Cocky. So clueless.
Jose. (Seventeen) Football superstar. Or so he thinks...
Nathanael. (Thirteen) Sweet sweet sweet.
Samuel. (Eleven) So, so funny. Great companion.
Benjamin. (Ten) Dark humor. Protective. Strong Willed.
Grace. (Seven) Darling. Funny. So so Sweet.

Now I get to the root of the matter. My youngest sibling, Bobby. Bobby has the laugh of a 300lb man. Is built a little like an Umpa-Lumpa. And has energy seeping out of every one of his, tiny baby pores.

Bobby has been on this earth four years. He has yet to conquer the art of the English language, but if you are missing your dentures when you wake up, chances are Bobby has safely tucked them away in an old boot of yours.

The tricks this kid plays, the evil deeds he laughs at, it all makes me wonder...

Where did this child come from? How does he dance so well? And who the hell is he embodying?

Weary Mice

"I say, the gods deal very unrightly with us, for they will neither (which would be best of all) go away and leave us to live our own short days to ourselves, nor will they show themselves openly and tell us what they would have us do. For that too would be endurable. But to hint and hover, to draw near to us in dreams and oracles or in a waking vision that vanishes as soon as seen. To be dead silent when we question them and then glide back and whisper (words we cannot understand) in our ears when we most wish to be free of them, and to show to one what they hide from another; what is all this but cat-and-mouse play, and mere juglery?

Why must holy places be dark places? "

Til We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis

Hello, and Welcome

My younger brother has just informed me I should have named this spot "Dorks.com"
He is 11 years old, and its times like these when i am reminded why it is I havent lived at home in so long...

I am living at home (now) while attending school. Hopes of pediatrics fill my dreams, and I (sometimes get depressed and) imagine I will be one of those 97 year old women who still hasnt finished school, but little by little, credit by credit, they're getting there. Even if by that time, it will be me who needs the diaper changes, strollers, and medical attention.