A little boy and his knives (if I am ever mad at my son in the future, I will think of this evening and my heart will grow soft).

Some children go to bed with their soft teddy bears.
Some children go to bed with their snuggly blankets.
This is my son. He is headed off to bed with his knives.

Yes. These are his knives. Pronounced "knife-EZ." And they go to bed with him. Every single one of them. To snuggle.

Good night, world. 

Just to Keep Things in Perspective:

I tucked him in once, and left, and then I missed him. So I went back and whispered to him in the dark:

I love you, buddy.

- I love you, Daddy.

Thanks for being such a wonderful boy.

- Thanks for being such a wonderful boy,
he whispered back.

I'll come lay by you in a little bit, okay?

- Mommy's going to sleep with me.
he replied.
You can sleep with Sissy.

___

Message to my cousin Bobby on his 33rd birthday:

from Left: Joseph, Bobby, Josh, Leanna (February 19, 1984)

It was the winter of 1984. The coast was cold and spirits were high.
Doves crying and Bono was a boy and Foreigner was cool,
and it was the rockingest birthday ever because...well, look at us. 

Iconic. 

Even though you got a bigger piece of cake than I did. Butthead.

Love you, Blood. Hope today has rocked hard, like Tom Waits covering the Carpenters. See you soon and get a big birthday-hug from the Jenny, from me.