picked apart.

the great thing about little kids?
they say some mean-ass sh!t without realizing it.
i've got a litany of lameness listed off without any self-conciousness,
or pangs of conscience or consequence, every day.
dissed and dismissed in discourse throughout the course of my daily dadly duties;
it's great!
gettin' taken down untold notches,
lower and lower,
by my own flesh-and-bones baby girls.
they must've inherited that kind of scathing observational commentary
from somewhere...
of course, i can't for the life of me figure out from whom.
wherever it comes from,
according to my small and delightfuls,
i'm large, in charge, and generally dreadful.
nice.
add in a mix of shazamrock irish prideful tattoos,
throughout the day,
five total, all accounted for,
and i'm winning, ya'll.
nothing goes better with a dressing down
than a whole day of dressed-up mess-ups.
sparkle magical three- and four-leafy goodness.
i'm sayin',
that's a whole lotta luck o',
if you feel me......

we read the tale of 'smith of wootton major' tonight,
and it was awesome.
j.r.r. could certainly spin a yarn, my ninjas.
sittin' by the hearth,
without a television set to be found in the house,
spending quality time together.
what's better'n' that?
nothin';
never quiet, never soft...