Let Us All Eat Cake!

Hello, duckies!  Yes yes, still in Tucson, still awaiting the arrival of A., who is wearily slogging his way through work in the hopes that his office won't explode when he has to leave it on Friday.  This is like the trip that never ends, right?

But, oh, we are so grateful to be here today, for today is my father's birthday.  My dad is something of a grumpy old man*, with a grumpy old man's attitude about birthdays.  That is, he doesn't give a damn about them and could not care less if no celebration in his honor occurred.

Too bad he's married to my mom.

She makes sure there is cake and ice cream, party hats and balloons, and as many people singing "Happy Birthday" off-key as possible.  And this year, those people will include her, me and Cubby, my brother and niece, my sister and her fiance and their daughter.  That's a lot of people to butcher "Happy Birthday."  Also a lot of people to eat cake, which is why we're making two of them.

I get my prodigious appetite for cake directly from my parents, as you can now see.

If you would like to eat cake on my father's behalf, I'm sure he would be most pleased.  Or not.  Hard to say.  But it would probably please you, so go ahead, in honor of my dad.  You're welcome.

*  Luckily, a grumpy old man with a fine sense of humor who doesn't take offense at public teasing.  Uh. Right, Dad?

A Matched Set

The appropriate parties having been notified, I can now let you in on the Top Secret sex of Precious Cargo.  You ready for this?

I'm not sure I am.  It's a boy.

Yes, another boy for the family Blackrock.  Another tiny man who in ten years or so will probably be fighting with his big brother on an hourly basis and eating us out of the house.  I told A. he'd better make sure these boys know how to hunt at an early age.  Then all we have to do is teach them how to dress a deer or rabbit themselves and how to cook, and TA DA!  They can feed themselves.  Wouldn't that be nice.

Incidentally, despite the many of you who predicted or hoped for a girl this time, no one who knows us in real life is in the least surprised that we're having another boy.  Boys run in A.'s family.  His father had only brothers, A. has only (biological) brothers, and now A. is continuing the family tradition.

So now I can pull all of Cubby's old clothes out of storage for the next round of infant testosterone.  And think of another boy's name.  Damn.  Another boy's name.  Boy's names are hard, man.