. . .

Emma is at that age where she is obsessed with everyone else’s age. “My number is three,” she tells me, and “Daddy’s number is three three.” This morning, though, she said “Happy birthday, Dad! …your number is three four!”

Happy birthday to my beautiful, kind, gentle, funny Bear. He’s spent the morning doing laundry (there’s a big pot on the stove filled with water, a shirt that needs re-whitened, lemon slices, and vingear. stain-master eric WILL get that shirt back in order; after all, he’s only had it for five years!), taking em for a bike ride and tumbling in the playroom, and eating leftover chicken and rice. there’s a Woodstock station on the sirius satellite, the sun is shining, and this day is begging to be filled with the grateful dead and lots of dancing around.

simple good times at Chez Jose. always.