A Year Of Mourning

Dear Lois,

Over the past twelve months, I have become more in-tune to my spiritual beliefs – that is to say, I didn’t become religious or spiritual in light of the recent misfortunes in our lives, but I have reconnected with by base beliefs. Being the only one in our family that wasn’t christened in the Catholic faith (long story…), I’ve been a so-called member of many of the Christian denominations out there. Baptized Southern Baptist at the age of 9, I stayed in that faith until my early teens, then switched between the Lutheran and the Methodist churched until I was about 15. Then when I entered a four year relationship with, what would become my fiancé, my high school/early-college sweet-heart, I dabbled in the LDS (Mormon) religion. Since meeting Chris, I’ve gone to two reformed protestant churches; the Episcopal Church and the United Church of Christ.

Since then, I have exposed myself to one of the original faiths, Judaism. Judaism, with its long history of dealing with the soul of man, its intimate knowledge of man's achievements and foibles, his grandeur and his weakness, has wisely devised a system of graduated mourning periods. During this time, the mourner may express his or her grief and release, with calculated regularity, the built-up tensions caused by bereavement.

The Jewish religion provides a beautifully structured approach to mourning which is divided into five stages. Aninut, Lamentation, Shivah, Sheloshim and a Year of Mourning.

The fifth stage is the twelve-month period during which things return to normal, and business once again becomes routine, but the inner feelings of the mourner are still wounded by the rupture of relationship with the loved one.

The observance that most affects the daily life of the mourner during the twelve-month period is the complete abstention from parties and festivities, both public and private. Participation in these gatherings is simply not consonant with the depression and contrition that the mourner experiences.



This was not meant to look like a shrine,
I just moved the candles
closer for the picture.



It borders on the absurd for the mourner to dance gleefully while his parent lies dead in a fresh grave (or in our case, separated into several boxes and thrown in the ocean, hanging from a necklace, buried with her father, sitting on a shelf, and in my house, hanging out in a Japanese Urn on the liquor cabinet - exactly where she would have wanted to be).

At the close of this last stage, the bereaved is not expected to continue his mourning. So with that being said, No More Sadness. Period. [I so wish it was as easy as typing the words and the actions will follow. Unfortunately, it's not. I don't know how one can expect it to go away.]

While today is a day to remember Mazha’s life that passed away a year ago today, it’s also time to celebrate the new life that came into the world today. Kensi’s uncle Kyle and Auntie Cathy had a baby girl today - Kayla. While I have pictures of her in the hospital nursery, I’ll ‘allow’ the newbie parents to post the first photos of their princess before I do so. I will also let them share the story of Cathy falling asleep during labor (that woman falls asleep at the drop of the hat), and how what she desired the most was to have her eye lashes curled (if people were going to take pictures, she wanted to look flawless). It’s not my place to tell that story, or share with you the uncomfortable conversation I witnessed where Kyle stood in the hallway with his mother-in-law discussing her daughter’s cervix. It’s just not my place. Sorry folks :)

In honor of Mazha’s life, I wanted to share the video that we played at her funeral. It had to be split up into two videos because of YouTubes time limit on video uploads.

Part 1



Part 2

Post 9/11 Foundation Ride For Heroes

The ‘Follow The Flag” campaign began at Ground Zero on September 11, 2010 with the raising of several flags by the actual heroes of 9/11 over the fallen World Trade Center Towers. The same flags have flown over several battlefields in Iraq and Afghanistan and all of the major military academies. These flags will be on tour of across the country from one year, returning to its final resting place at the National 9/11 Museum on the 10 year anniversary of the attack.

Fazha (with Mazha in tow), along with cousins Billy & Marla (their bikes can be seen below), followed the flags and the NAVY New Orleans Full Steam Brass Band, from the beach, through The Strand and down to Pier 21.

She sells sea shells by the sea shore

Murdoch's Bathhouse is one of Galveston's most historic locations. Originally built in the late 1800's, the wood structure was constructed directly on the sand. Without the protection of a Seawall , the 1900 storm destroyed the bathhouse. Although the structure was rebuilt in 1901, the storms of 1909 and 1915 were so violent, that reconstruction was required after each.

Bathhouses such as Murdoch's, which were located on the shore, rented bathing suits and provided showers for the Island visitors. When Murdoch's reopened in 1910, it had 542 rooms, 251 for women and 291 for men. The cost at the time to rent the bathroom services were .25c. After numerous hurricanes hitting the island through the years, only a portion of the original building remains today. In 2008, Hurricane Ike destroyed Murdochs, and in 2009, miraculously, a brand new, sparkling Murdochs returned in its place.

Looking for sand dollars

This past November, we traveled down to Galveston to take part in the 2010 Lone Star Bike Rally. Not only was this a chance to get the family together, but it was time to have the third memorial for Mazha and to spread her ashes in the Gulf.

The riding around the Lone Star motorcycle rally is one of the attractions. Going over the Causeway that gets you over the water to Galveston Island lets you see the water, riding along the beach once on the island, and riding on Strand Street through the middle of the rally are all part of the Galveston TX motorcycle experience. Fazha built a special holder that allowed for her urn to sit, one last time, in their trike, Dragon’s Breath, so she could experience these things one last time.

Here are a couple of the pages from a scrapbook that I put together from our trip.

Kensington loved walking the beach, which was right off from where our hotel was stationed, looking for sand dollars and seashells. Her auntie Simone and cousin Jordan were the lucky ones, finding prized possessions on the beach. I wasn't so lucky :(

Case of Mistaken Identify

This is the story of my life; one that has been a little burdensome at times. No, its not like I get mistaken for someone famous like Matt Damon…. though there was that one time - it’s the nose (and I think it’s more like the ripped Jason Borne version of MD than some of the other characters he’s played). Unfortunately, I get mistaken for retail workers. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m wearing, if I’m in a store, someone is going to ask me for assistance. Chris loves it when this happens. I could be in Target - where the employees wear red shirts and khaki pants – sporting black pants and a blue button down shirt and tie, and someone will ask me if I can check the stock on something in the back. “Sorry, I don’t work here.” is my normal response if it’s something along this nature. If they ask me where something is, and I actually know, I’ll point them in the right direction. If it’s someone older and they ask me what the price of something is, I’ll either go to the price scanner for them, or go to a register and ask a real employee for the information. I’ve been to weddings where I’ve taken off my jacket during the reception and would be headed to the bar or to the bathroom and someone will mistake me for a waiter. If I’ve had enough drinks, I’ll play along; once I cleared a table’s plates and walked them into the kitchen and another time I went and got a pitcher of water and filled someone’s glass. When they find out that I’m a guest like them, they’re mortified.

I’ve been in department stores wearing shorts and a t-shirt and have been asked if I could open up a fitting room. I’ve been in shoe stores trying on shoes and someone will ask me if I have a certain size or if what they are looking for comes in a different color. I have been a guest at a hotel and someone will ask me if I can have someone come unlock their room because they left their key inside. I have been shopping for cars at a dealership and someone will ask me what the mileage is on a specific model vehicle. This is not a lie. I get mistaken everywhere I go. One time someone told me I looked, “extremely knowledgeable” and that is why they asked for assistance. I didn't buy it.

Unfortunately, I haven’t always been kind in my tone or response. Chris and I were rushing to a wedding once and stopped in at a drugstore to pick up a card. Someone came up to me with a weekly ad circular in their hand and started to ask me questions. What was meant to be an inquisitive, “does it look like I work here?” sounded more like, “Open your eyes lady. Is anybody else in this entire store wearing a Giorgio Armani suit? How can you be so stupid?!?!?” She was humiliated, and so was I after the words came out of my mouth. I apologized profusely, but it didn’t help. Not only did I feel bad for my tone, but the look of disappointment on Chris’s face the entire night made me feel even worse.

Yesterday while shopping at a children’s classic store Janie & Jack, it happened again. I was wearing blue jeans, sneakers, an American Cancer Society Relay For Life top with the word “RELAY” printed down the sleeve holding a large cup of tea I just bought at Teavana. A woman was shopping with what I’m assuming was her daughter and new granddaughter. They were browsing the sale rack and she got my attention. Holding up a light pink ruffled yoke top and a rose colored cardigan, she asked, “Do these two go together?”

“Um… not really.”

“well, what goes with this piece?”

Shuffling through the rack, I pull out a grey knit top and a white cropped cardigan. “I would suggest these two pieces.”

“What other pieces are part of this collection?” I realize she thinks I’m an employee.

“Oh, I’m just a dad offering up his fashion advice.”

“I’m so sorry, I thought you worked here.” and then gave me a puzzled look. Not a look of embarrassment, but one of ‘why are you helping me then’.

“I’m just a gay dad offering up my fashion advice. I would never put my daughter in those two pieces you have,” said in a jokingly and somewhat flamboyant way.

“Are you in I.T.?”

Where in the world did that come from? If I’m not a retail employee I’m a computer geek? That’s a far stretch.

“Nope. Just a gay dad.” Again, trying to play it cool.

“Do you work with computers?”

Okay, now I get it. I’m wearing my glasses. Is that what she’s going for? I’m starting to get confused here, and normally it’s the other way around.

“I work on a computer, but I not on computers.” Referencing my shirt (I’m always the walking billboard for Relay), “I work for the American Cancer Society managing their signature event, Relay For Life.”

“Nope. That’s not it. Do you do something creative on the computer?”

Now I’m at a total loss. What is this woman talking about? I just look at her.

“Are you creative on the computer? Do you create anything on the computer? Graphics? Designs? I see that you are creative on the computer. I just can’t see it.”

“Um. I guess so. I mean I do some design, but it’s not part of my job.”

“Well, whatever it is, you’re going to be famous. Famous, I tell you. You are going to be very famous for your creative outlet.”

I have a blank look on my face.

“I’m a professional charlatan. I know these things. You’re going to be famous.”

And with that, I walked away. All I could think was, “isn’t a charlatan a swindler? That isn’t a good thing, right?” And then I felt stupid. Am I thinking of something else? She didn’t say clairvoyant, because I would have been all up in that. So I then went back and hovered a little in the area that she was in, hoping that we would make eye-contact so I could start the conversation again. I didn’t happen. Chris had by now checked out and we went outside the store to meet with Kyle and Cathy who had munchkin sleeping in the stroller. After telling the story, Cathy wanted to go back to see if the woman could tell her if she was having a boy or a girl. We turned around but realized neither one of us where going to ask her the question. Both of us were too chicken to do it [this part is for Cathy…It hit me when we got in the car, Cathy you don’t need a charlatan or a clairvoyant to tell you what you’re having. You could simply ask your doctor instead of driving everyone crazy. You’re due in eight days and you refuse to find out the sex if baby “P”. I’m tired of buying yellow outfits for when he/she comes.]

All I have to say is Ted Bundy, Bernie Madoff and "Squeaky" Fromme were all once called ‘creative’ before they became famous, and no one thinks the type of fame that they have is a good thing. I can live without the predication.

Unless… (smile)

Here is another case of mistaken identity.

"One more time, papa!"

Here in the Poconos - well, the Northeastern coast is more like it  - it has snowed like crazy for the past two evenings; causing both schools and offices to be closed.

Rescheduling meetings and turning face-to-face interactions into conference calls, we've bundled up in our long johns, robes and slippers and have tried to avoid going outdoors. That's is until our munchkin screams, "Snowman, papa, snowman!"

Layering ourselves up, we head outside (during our lunch hour... I have co-workers reading this:) with sled in hand and all the supplies we need to build a snowmanchuy. It wasn't our best attempt to create our own Frosty, but it was our first. The snow was more powder the first day and then turned into more icy / crunchy last night, which is when we should have built it. 30 seconds after building it, the head fell off. Poor thing. Hopefully we'll have better luck next time (and if the weather stays as planned, that day won't be that far away).

Here is a short vid of us headed down the drive way. We're still trying to figure out the video aspect of our new Canon. [Has issues uploading the snowman vid, so I'll work on uploading that one tomorrow]

Here's a quick page that I did with some of my favorite pics.

To download this QP (Christmas's Angels by Thaliris), click here. I love her work and am constantly going to her site to buy her kits. Because I wanted additional pictures in my piece, I added a winter wonderland frame that can be downloaded here.

The futures so bright...

She's gotta wear shades!

Little Miss Kensington loves playing with her Mr. Potato head characters. Actually, she likes playing with the accessories more than she does the potato. There isn't a day that goes by that she's not wearing his glasses or has a set of lips in her mouth (which we would take over her binky. We said the moment she turned 2, we'd wean her off of it... its been a challenge). And when there is a camera around, she begins to ham it up. She's just like her papa!

Who do you think you are?

(Music that inspired this post: Bruno Mars; Grenade. Hit play to listen to a great cover of the song while you read. Think of it as mood-music)

While sitting in an off-site meeting, I saw my blackberry’s red alert light going off, followed by a vibrating pulse. The pulse kept coming so I grabbed my phone and hit silent. Knowing how rude it is to be checking email while in a meeting, I waited until the break to scroll through the list of work and junk emails. I saw that I had a message on our It’s Daddies site referring to our A sad ending to 2010 post, and the author of the comment was Anonymous. This isn’t the first time someone left an anonymous message. Some people leave them so they don’t have to log-in to the system, but they identify themselves in the message. Mazha would do that all the time. I decided to read the post before heading back into the meeting since 99.9% of them put a smile on my face, (and because of the subject matter of the meeting I was in, I needed a little pick-me-up). This is what I read:

Now, my initial thought was to walk (okay, more like run) through the hallway to see if someone left their computer on in their office so I could log into the site and delete it immediately. This is just one more reason why I can’t stand the Blackberry. It’s impossible to go onto websites when you’re connected to a company’s server. Then, I decided it wasn’t worth reacting to and I should just laugh it off. The next four hours I wish I would have heeded my own advice. I sat behind the table in a board room fuming with disgust. Knowing that this wouldn’t be the best time to add my input into any conversation, I sat in my chair, head looking down at my notepad, and took copious notes so I could follow up with people after the meeting.

When I got home I read the post to Chris and told him I planned on responding to it. Being the clearinghouse for my post, he suggested that I just delete it and forget about it. After 13 years, he should have known better (and Chris, when you finally do read this, don’t you even think of asking me to take this down). While I deleted it, I haven’t forgotten about it. Not one bit.And every time I hear Bruno Mar's Grenade, I can't stop thinking about writing a response - and so here it is.

You see, with today’s technology, NOTHING is Anonymous. When I first created the blog, I had no clue as to what I was doing. But through this process, I’ve learned a little bit about the hundreds of enhancements that are available to me as a blogger, such as the great FEEDJIT Live tool that I subscribe to (seen on the right toolbar), that not only tells me when people visit the site, but also their city/state/country. I liked it because of the great visual of the map… but it does something else. It provides me with that little thing called an IP address. Fortunately for me, when our fan “Anonymous” visited the site and left a message, they were the ONLY one that happened to be on the site, which made my investigation quite simple. You see, within 5 minutes of logging in through the back end, I was able to get “Anonymous’s” IP address, which lead me to another search feature of pulling the registered location addressing. Entering that information into Anywho.com (Thanks AT&T) and pulling a reverse look-up told us exactly who left this message.

The reason for this blog is so we can share our experience with others (what was meant to be just for the adoption process, and now our journey into parenting). Not to be rude - but I think after your post, I have every right – but no one asked you to check out our blog, or to continue to return to it, or to be a part of our lives. You’ve chosen to go the route you’ve gone.

For clarification, our daughter (no quotations needed, thanks), didn’t lose anything, but instead she had gained the world. She has been given opportunities, which unfortunately she would have never been exposed to. This is why so many birth parents take the courage step and choose to place their child for adoption.

When it comes to Kensington’s family tree, she will always know her roots, but her newly extended branches have lifted her up to the sky so she can reach for the stars. If you would look at this situation through the lens of reality instead of through the lens of cynicism, you would understand that. Because others have accepted this, she has a relationship with her paternal aunt, grandmother, great aunt, and great-grandmother and her maternal aunt, uncle, cousins, great aunts & uncles, great grandmother and many others. She knows her heritage and continues to learn through each family gathering.

And, just for your understanding, our daughter (again, no quotations needed) does have two daddies on her birth certificate. We were there the day she was born and have been there with her every day since. We are her parents and you need to accept it. We’re the ones wiping her snotty nose and taking her to the emergency room at 2 in the morning when she has a fever. We're the ones she is shoving 'already chewed up food' into (our mouths, that is). We’re the ones that have changed thousands of diapers (I posted the amount in one of our earlier blogs, but we stopped counting months ago) and attended parent/teacher conferences with her school. We are the ones using flashcard every day to increase her vocabulary and the ones instilling in her respect for others (something someone needs to assist you with). We’re the ones tucking her into bed each night and helping her say her prays for ALL of those that love her. She has a bio-mother and -father that are in her life, AND she has a daddy and a papa that bend over backwards to give her everything she wants and everything we’ve never had. S&S are not the only ones that have made great sacrifices, as all birth-parents do. We too have put our lives on hold for a great purpose… the purpose of raising a princess that will marry William and Kate’s first born (whether they have a son or a daughter). It’s our daughter’s birth-given right to marry true royalty.

“Guess it's okay for you to want to live an honest, open life” … honey, you don’t know me. My life, because of this blog, is an open book. Before Kensington, we had learned to live only half a life, and now you want to diminish the better half that we’ve built. Who do you think you are? Leaving comments like that, with the meaning of really leaving scars. So, "shame on me"? [that's the right use of qoutations] No thank you… shame on you! I feel bad for you. You're gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul. Again, who do you think you are?





To download the digital frame created by az_cosmos, click here

To download the green journaling digi, click here or visit trixie scraps to get the entire kit. Its part of their birthday bash collaboration.

Finger Lick'n Good

Being huge fans of Chelsea Handler and her montley crew of E! Entertainments “Chelsea Lately” nightly comedy talk-show, Chris and I were ecstatic when we found out that her panelist were touring in our area. So three months ago, we bought our tickets, scheduled a sitter and counted down the days until last night when we would venture off into the middle of nowhere - the former quarters of Caesars’ Pocono Resorts, Cove Haven; home to the famous 7-foot tall Champagne Glass Whirlpool Bath for two. No, we didn’t partake. This time.

As her “Comedians of Chelsea Lately” roundtable guest rotate on tour, our hearts skipped a beat when we saw that our top three (and Chuy, of course) were the ones slated to perform: Funnyman/Hottie Josh Wolf; judge of NBC’s Last Comic Standing, Natasha Leggero; and my personal all-time favorite, the one and only, Loni Love (who, both Variety and Comedy Central have named among their Top 10 Comics to watch).

Wanting to do something special for Loni for mustering up the courage to tour in our Red State - in an area of the Keystone where the banjo could be considered the state instrument and people here do believe they can see Russia from their house, my first thought was roses. It’s nice, it’s warm, it’s… well, it’s the white thing to do. So scratch that. So what do you get a B3 (Big, Bold, Black) Diva? Anything she wants. And knowing Loni from the show, there was only one thing that would comfort here while looking out at the sea of Caucasians in the crowd – a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Yep, I said it.


So, making a 25 minute detour in the snow, we headed to KFC, picked up a bucket of mixed thighs and breasts, and rushed to get to Cove Haven by 7pm. Penning a note on a ItsDaddies.Plural note card, I told her what I big fan I was, and that yes, the chicken was safe to eat.
We arrive at the sold out 1000 entertainment hall with 10 minutes to spare. We grab our chicken and camera and rush into the building. It was completely empty, except for the three stage hands that were setting up for the band, and one sitting at one of the 125 tables. “um… we’re here for the show. Is this the right place?” He said we were in the right place, but we should head into the side door, which was the conference area. Conference area it wasn’t, it was more like a conference room. And this conference room was being turned into the Green Room for Loni and the others. Chris and I just look at each other. An older gentleman, John, was in the room and asked us what we were doing there. “We need to drop something off for Loni Love who’s performing here tonight. Are we in the right place?”


“Yes, the band starts at 8:30pm and the Comedians go on at 10pm.”


I shoot Chris an evil eye. He made the reservations and put it in his phone as 7pm, which happened to be the time we needed to leave the house, and not the time we needed to be in the boonies.


“What do you have for Loni?”


“Chicken.” A look of confusion pans his face.
“Are you delivery guys?”


“No, no, no… we are here for the show. For some reason we thought it started at 7pm. We just need to drop this off for her.” Still, a look of confusion. This poor guys was probably just walking through the room at the same time we are and now we’re trying to explain why we’re delivering a bucket of KFC to one of the headliners performing.


“Loni knew we were coming to the show to see her tonight and, knowing that we’re out in the middle of no-where, she asked if we could pick her up some KFC.” (Okay, so I lied. Again, who is this guy and what does it really matter). 

“Oh, do you guys have comped tickets?”

“No, we’re just big fans and catch Loni's show anytime she’s performing on the East Coast. Every time we see her, we bring her a bucket of chicken… it’s kinda our thing. We knew we were going to be here tonight, so last night she sent me a text message asking if I could pick this up for her.”

“Oh, okay. Is this her dinner?” (oh God. What if they have something planned for her already and they stop making it because of this).

“Not sure. But knowing Loni like we do (where is all of this coming from???), I would have something set up for all of the performers and have this on the side for her. She’ll pick a little bit of everything.”


And with that being said, we turned around and headed to exit the building to try to find something to do for the next 3 hours before the show really starts. I detoured to the bathroom and Chris followed. “What was that? Do you know how many lies you just told?” , “Chris… I wasn’t lying, I just fabricated the true a little. It isn’t going to hurt anyone. That guy will leave the bucket on her table and if she eats it, she eats it. If not, no big deal. I’m sure he’s not going to have any interaction with the entertainment.” Chris starts to freak out. This isn’t the first time I’ve done something like this in the past 13 years we’ve been together, so I’m not sure why this is coming as a shock to him. Though, he's still recovering from the incident where I had a gallery owner thinking we were going to be buying two art pieces that were only $35,000 a piece. I got her down to $60,000 for the set and told her we needed to talk to our accountant first before we made that large of a purchase while we were on vacation. That woman is still probably waiting for us to come back since she gave us the account information on where to wire the funds to.  They would have looked really great in our house. Too bad we don’t have the $60k to blow on something like that :)


Laughing as I exit the bathroom, the guy, John, was there. “Excuse me, since we have some time to kill before Loni goes on, can you tell us where in the resort we can get some food?”


“Well, guest of the Resort are eating in the main dining room now, which is that way (as he points in one direction), and we have a café in that building there (pointing in the opposite direction). I was going to eat in the main dining room tonight, but now I’m having second thoughts. Why don’t I walk you guys down to the café.” Chris pinches my arm behind Johns back. “Actually, since you guys were so nice by bringing something for Loni to eat tonight, dinner is on me.”


“Oh no, seriously. We couldn’t.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put it on my account.”

Chris and I just look at each other. As we walk into the building, the service staff snap to attention as John heads in. (What did we get ourselves into?) “I’ll have my regular, and get these two guys anything they need.” Chris is now pinching me harder as we whispers into my ear, “Why do you continue to get ourselves into these situations? This guy is ‘somebody’ and you just told him you were friends with Loni Love and she’s expecting that. Tonight when she gets in, she’s going to ask ‘what the hell is this’, and this guy is going to come and throw us out of the resort.”

We sit at our table and John asks if we mind if he joins us. He too is waiting until the show starts. Chris kicks me under the table. Come to find out, John has been in charge of Entertainment for all three of the Resorts. He’s been one of the head honcho’s for the past 16 years. About 20 minutes into the conversation, about ten guys in suits walk in and head over to our table to talk to John. They then sit at the two tables next to us. It’s his security detail. He starts going over the agenda for the evening with them. Chris continues to bruise my leg under the table. I join in the conversation with them and start talking about Chuey, Josh, Natasha and Loni. Hell, for the fun of it, I start throwing out Chelsea’s name. Chris is now pinching himself to stop from laughing. We find out from the security team that the performers are not going to be there until 9:30.

John turns to us, “Tonight we’re doing a meet and greet after the show. Come back and join me. It’s going to be crazy… we have a sold out house, so about a thousand guests will be at the show. The meet and greet will be for about 300. Just some to the side where you saw me and these guys will let you through.” Cha-Ching.

About an hour and a half later, we end our conversation (which morphed from conversations with his staff, to his role in the resorts, his wife and children, and both of our jobs), it was time for John to head back to make sure the band was ready to perform. We headed to main stage and parted ways. I looked at Chris, and with a smirk, told him that he owed me one. Then reality kicked in and we stared feeling bad for ‘fabricating the truth’ to this guy. Oh well, too late to do anything about it now.

Fast forward. It’s now 9:30. The band has been playing. Drinks have been served. People are walking around. I catch an occasional whiff of cigarette smoke from those going outside before the show as well as the sporadic hint of White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor (there was a handful of 60 year old guests that were there at the show because they booked their weekend at the resort and got the tickets for free and they had no clue who these people were). All of a sudden I turn to Chris, “Take a deep breath. What do you smell?” That’s right, it was KFC. Seems like Ms. Love found her bucket and someone was heating it up for her. We died laughing.

It’s now 10pm, Chuy comes on and says a couple words to a huge round of applause… then Natasha opens and kills the crowd, as does Josh who followed her. Chris has the biggest crush on Josh, who happens to be Scott Wolf’s (the star of Party of Five, Everwood and V) cousin, my own Matinee Idol.

Then, here comes the Diva herself. Starting off like Chuey, Natasha and Josh with a, “Where in the hell are we” opening. Don’t worry sister. I’ve been here 7 years and I’m still asking myself that same question. She then ventured into her 'Big Girl' jokes where I got my first shout out from her, thanking me for her bucket of chicken. “Where’s you at, Paul?” I stand up screaming, “I love you, Loni”, then she throws out her first, ‘I love the gays’ reference. Throughout her 40 minute set, I ended up getting 4 shout-outs and a special, “Thank you, Sugar-Stix”, her version of a term of endearment to the gays and then I got an additional term of endearment as she ended the show. This one I got on video (shhh… don’t tell anyone), but it’s a little too racey for our “It’s Daddies. Plural.” site.

Third in line for the meet and greet (Thanks, John), I have my little sign, as seen here, professing my love to Ms. Love. Her face lighting up as she saw it when she came out of the green room. We were able to get a group shot with the gang (Me next to Loni and Chris next to Josh – sorry Chuey and Natasha, we love you guys but you two, tonight, were icing on the cake for us). After a kiss on Loni’s cheek, I went to head out and she said, “Give me my sign!” Telling her the sign was for me to get her attention – like a bucket of KFC didn’t do the trick – I ended up giving it to her. The gang thank us for the chicken, which Natasha told us they devoured the entire thing, and we headed out of Cove Haven into the snow and on cloud nine. “Oh what a night!” Wait a minute. That’s a song from the 1960’s group, The Four Seasons… which, if you act now, you can get your tickets to see next month at The Cove.

By the way, yes, Chris is holding slippers in the photo, and no, this isn’t a usual accessory for him. Dearfoams happened to be the sponsor of the Meet and Greet and they were handing out slippers to those in attendance. Just felt like I should clear that up :)

A sad ending to 2010

As most of you know, 2010 was not the best year for our family. In February we lost Mazha, and in less than a month, my sister lost her brother-in-law, Jack, and her nephew, Shawn; only to be followed by Jack’s wife two weeks ago. We lost our auntie Carol seven months to the day from when Mazha past. I’ve attended five other funerals and over a dozen memorial services (four for Mazha) for friends, family members of friends, volunteers and committee members.

Today, we had to put our 13year old Duncan, an Akita/Labrador mix, to sleep. The past month or so, he’s has some incontinence issues and we feared he was having kidney/bladder issues. The vet ran some blood work and did a urine exam and diagnosed him with Lyme disease. One more reason why I hate the deer in the Poconos.

Several medications later, it still wasn’t helping. Some dogs develop severe progressive kidney disease as sequelae to Lyme disease. This severe kidney failure is difficult to treat and may result in death of the dog. Some dogs may also develop heart problems or nervous system disease after being infected, in addition to lameness, swelling in the joints, swollen lymph nodes, lethargy, and loss of appetite.

This morning Duncan kept falling as he was having issues using his back legs, and then he was having breathing problems. He laid on the floor, covered in his quilt, and just looked at us. Kensi, who is his biggest fan, knew something wasn’t right. She leaned down to give him one final kiss, and he finally accepted her love’ns without blinking or turning his head. While he loved her dearly, he’d struggle accepting her affection by running from it – which only made her chase him more. In the end, she finally won out. She'll no longer be able to hide the fact that when she doesn't want to eat something, she sneeks it to him, and he covers for her.
Chris and I fought back the tears as we knew this was the end, and so did he.

Chris went and started the car, letting the seats down to make room for him. Duncan tried standing up, but kept hitting the wall as he attempt to walk. I scooped him up and walked up the snow filled driveway and placed him in the back seat for his final ride, the ride that brought him to all of the other puppies in the sky.

We'll miss you Lil' Man!

September 21, 1997 – December 27, 2010

Our Christmas wish was granted.

Last year I shared with you all Kensington’s first encounter with Santa Claus. Not every child enjoys their time with Santa. Some kids are plain scared of the fat man with a red suit. I was envisioning her sitting on old St. Nicks lap, with tears streaming down her face and mouth open wide with blood-curdling screams escaping her tiny, and yet very powerful, vocal box. You know the pictures I’m talking about. There are hundreds of websites and books dedicated to these disastrous family photos. I was hoping we’d experience this family tradition first-hand. To me, that cemented fatherhood. Unfortunately for me, our little angel was just that – a little angel. I asked Santa’s little elf to pinch her to make her cry and he looked at me like I was crazy. “No, seriously. Pinch her. It’s for my Christmas Card. There’s an extra $20 in it for if she goes from happy baby to wailing baby. But noooooooooooo. Santa’s little midget with pointy ears that looked like a Spock wannabe wouldn’t buy in to my scheme. Because of his unwillingness to grant MY holiday wish, we got a gorgeous princess, smiling away, on Santa’s lap.

And then this year happened. We arrived at Santa’s village just as he was about to take his cookie & Milk break. I tried to rush her in, but it was a no-go. The velvet rope went up and we were halted in the line. We had to wait for 30 minutes. Keeping a little munchkin occupied in line wasn’t the easiest thing to do. She wanted her hair bows out and I threaten her with never seeing another episode of The Backyardigans again if she even thought about touching her hair. Then after I made that statement, I started to wish she would test her luck. No such luck.

Santa arrived and Kensington was, once again, excited to see him… until she sat on his lap. Tears started streaming down her face. The photographer was trying to get her to stop crying by shaking some lame stuffed animal in front of her face (like that would make me smile). “Take the picture, Take the picture.” She just looked at us. “Take the PICTURE,” I grunted. She did so, and I quickly snatched up my tearful chickpea.

It had taken a year to wait for this moment, but my wish finally came true. Not every child enjoys their time with Santa, and that’s okay. She’s just following the tips she learned from the “Stranger Danger” videos we’ve been showing her.

"Silent Night... not in our house!"

Sew Magical, Sew Cute (what parents will do for their kids)

Let the games begin… about a month ago we were informed by one of my colleagues that Lalaloopsy Dolls were the “in” toy this year. Her boyfriend and her were looking for them everywhere for his daughter, and we were all told to be on the lookout. This line of dolls are cute little creatures with button eyes that closely resemble the classic rag dolls from years ago (Think Tim Burton meets Strawberry Shortcake). The general story of the Lalaloopsy dolls is that they magically came to life as soon as the final stitch was sewn, and the magic that brought them to life also imbued them with personalities that matched the materials used to make their clothes. One Lalaloopsy doll's clothes were made from a baker's apron, and she loves to cook. Another's clothes were made from a painter's overalls, and she loves to paint. You get the gist. To me, it’s a marketing ploy to get girls to beg their parents to buy these rag dolls. They don’t really do anything.

While in Philly doing some Christmas shopping, I came across the last two in Toys R Us and called her to ask her if she wanted me to get one. Not sure if it was one of the ones she already has (There are 10 in the set), I bought one knowing I could return it if needed. Then it hit. The bug. Knowing that I had a coveted doll (I should have bought both), stirred up a monster in me, and it was contagious. The bug bit Chris as well.

The next day we were in our local Toy R Us and the crowd got brutal. A new truckload of dolls had arrived. Out of nowhere, Chris and I knew this meant ‘game on’. We were now going to hunt for all 10 of these sadistic creatures. The makers of Lalaloopsy did it right; they don’t have a single store sell the complete set. You have to hunt. And hunt we did. Long story short (because I have to get ready to Drive to Massachusetts in a couple hours), we were in 3 states, 12 stores, tons of pushing, biting, and pulling hair (between me and Chris for wondering why we’re doing this for a doll that our daughter doesn’t want or care about), and we finally collected the complete set. Many have told us to sell them on eBay to double our investment, but we couldn’t do that to our KGrace. So instead, we adorned our Christmas tree with them. Behold, our life size Lalaloopsy doll.

Beyond Her Years

It seems like it was just yesterday that we brought our little girl home from the hospital. Now, she’s all grown up. She’s putting on make-up, driving around in her Hummer, going to dances with boys (yes, plural). We’ve once again started the process of, “The Courtship of Kensington Grace”. It seems like many parents want to arrange the marriage between their little one and ours. We’re totally up for it. When it comes to arranging a marriage for your child, what side of the fence you’re on affects your point of view regarding the advantages and disadvantages of the scenario. And seeing that in her school, there is one girl for every 9 boys, we’re the ones calling the shots.

If we leave the west for a few days and transplant ourselves into any culture that promotes arranged marriages, we will, in time, realize the logic behind this practice and appreciate the reasons why they work. Some of those reasons can be attributed to the wisdom of elders. Because they raised and cared for their children, they instinctively know what’s best for their children, which includes the decision to select a life partner. I’ve been in the dating world… it isn’t pretty. If there is anything we can do to thwart her from making the same mistakes we did, why wouldn’t we do so? :)

According to professorshouse.com, the benefits of arranged marriages are:

1. Risk of incompatability is diminished (we know what’s good for her, and she’ll like it)

2. Idea of divorcing is unthinkable (Our new stance on life: If Gays can’t get married, Straights can’t get divorced. That should be the sanctity of marriage – 2 years ago, 48% of our elected House and Senate representatives were divorced. And yet they claim that gay marriage would be the fall of our country’s morals.)

3. Extended family support has its benefits (the more money the parents have, the better your chances. Support me, baby, support me all you want!)

They claim, there are some “minor” disadvantages as well.

1. Inability to make up one’s own mind (quite frankly, I think this is over-rated. I would much rather wake up and follow someone else’s schedule & plan, than to try to come up with my own. Call me lazy.)

2. Love takes second priority (Love? As my good friend Tina Turner once said, “What’s love got to do with it?)

3. Interference from extended family (See number 3 above. I can be bought out… and so can our daughter. She takes after her pappa!)

Let the bidding begin (please, bid increments must be in at least six-figures).

Circumventing Clause (Mrs. Clause, that is)

It has been a complete whirlwind in our house for the past month. With numerous social events on the calendar, five – yes, five birthday parties for our munchkin, mixed in with volunteer committee meetings, both of our sisters visiting (one from Texas, one from Atlanta), and two out of state conferences that I attended, I never knew where I was coming from or going to. Chris started sending me calendar invites so things would start popping up on my blackberry so I would know where I needed to drive to next, for the next event he committed me to. Funny, as mentioned in the previous post, he never sent the calendar invite for a 6pm Friday night holiday party. He too probably thought the timing was off and he didn’t want to confuse me anymore than I actually was.

Due to my coming and goings, Chris has been a trooper and wrapped up all of Kensington’s Christmas gifts from us… and all of the gifts from Santa are in the basement and have been unboxed, assembled, batteries inserted, and ready to be placed under the tree (well, we say that, but the way our tree is situated, it’s not really feasible). Albeit, one gift has remained upstairs because of the sheer size of it, and because it came from Mrs. Clause, not Santa himself. Mrs. Claus has been generally depicted in media as a fairly heavy-set, kindly, white-haired elderly female baking cookies somewhere in the background of the Santa Claus mythos. That’s not the case here, though she does assists in toy production, and oversees many elves on a daily basis. Her personality tends to be fairly consistent; she is usually seen as a calm, kind, and patient woman, often in contrast to Santa himself, who can be prone to acting too exuberant (come on, he’s on a deadline and his helpers have little nugget-fingers. Do you know how hard it is to use power tools with little snausages attached to you palm?) While, in the media, she is sometimes called Mother Christmas, and Mary Christmas has been suggested as her maiden name; we call her friend, advocate, co-architect.

Mrs. Clause’s gift was behind closed doors, and Chris and I have made every effort to ensure that KGrace didn’t see it if we had to go into the room. We’d crack the door open just a smidgen and creep in, only to hear a soft “knock, knock” followed by Kensington’s tiny fist pounding on the door. She knew something was up, and she was going to do her damnedest to get to the bottom of it. So, imaging our surprise when after dinner last week, we head into the living room for an exciting episode of “The Fresh Beat Band” (seriously, we need some adult entertainment in our lives. Nick Junior is starting to make me have nightmares), when from around the corner we hear, “Beep, Beep!” Chris and I, along with his sister, Rhonda, looked at each other. We’re pretty familiar with all of the toots, horns, chimes, etc on her toys. This was one we hadn’t heard before. We get up and follow the “beeps”. We come around the corner and in the storage room... the door is open (how in the world did she turn the knob? Note to self, get more child-proof door locks). And there she is… sitting in her gift. She flipped the power switch, fastened her seatbelt, and was ready to burn rubber.

Moral of this story: What our daughter wants, our daughter gets. Lord, help us all!

“Got Jesus on my necklace”

These are words you don’t necessarily want your daughter to spew out in public. It’s not that we’re not of the Christian faith, or that we want to conceal our beliefs from public viewing; but repeating the mantra of Ke$ha (who isn’t the ideal role-model we would have selected for HRH), is a little embarrassing. For starters, she has a character in her name. Not just any character, but one that made me correct people when she first hit the scene because I thought she went by “Casha”. It was an understandable mispronunciation. And just look at her… glitter on her eyes, stockings ripped all up the side, looking sick and sexy-fied. Oh no-o-o (We should go-o-o). [editorial comment: two hours after this was posted, Chris gasped and stated that he was appauled by the previous two sentences, as well as the title of this post. He didn't realize this was pulled straight from Ke$ha's lyrics. So, if you too are not in tune with today's music, please don't be offended. This blog just may not be for you. Yes, Chris, I'm talking to you. Hahahaha.]

Kensington, in a display of expressing herself, has turned into a karaoke diva. Give that girl a microphone and a smoky bar-like setting, and she will own the stage. Unfortunately, she has been banned from most of the clubs in Eastern PA and Northern New Jersey (they stated that since she once signed a contract with a recording company, she’s ineligible to participate in “amateur” competitions – stupid rules. If there is wiggle room on American Idol, there should be the same considerations here at our local cabarets). Given that she can’t utilize the nightclubs as an outlet to illustrate her talents, she has deemed her car seat in the backseat of my truck the next best suitable place. Her audience… me and daddy (and whoever is lucky enough to gain admission into the two open spaces next to her). It’s a very, let’s say, up-close and personal performance. We look at it as if we were given backstage passes to every performance. It’s nice to know those connected to the box office.

This talent first showcased itself about eighteen months ago when Kensington was first introduced to the Black Eye Peas and “Boom Boom Pow” while traveling to and from school. She’d become overly excited each time it played on my SiriusXM radio. But anytime a country song would play, she’d scream with repulsion (Chris loves playing with my channels, so often when I start the car I get the pleasure of listening to his selections – Country and Christian - both I change as soon as I can). I’m don’t blame her… we have similar musical taste.

It moved from one song, to the themed songs of “The Backyardans,” “Blues Clues,” and “The Fresh Beat Band;” each she would hum along and bounce her head back and forth… now she’s included her signature move - stomp, stomp, stomp, quarter-spin, fall and repeat. Now she has expanded her participation beyond humming, and lengthened her repertoire to Top 40. Ill-fated as it is, Ke$ha and “We R Who We R” have been on the list for some time now. A few months ago, she would sing back-up… only spouting the last word in each sentence (which, because of Ke$ha’s own limited vocabulary were “dumb,” “numb,” and “young.” I swear that woman is a modern day Sylvia Plath). Now, she’s taking center stage and demands, at times, audience participation (which to me is just intolerable. When I pay good money to see someone in concert [Beyonce], don’t tell me “This is my favorite part of the concert, this is where you sing to ME” and point the microphone to the audience and expect us to belt out “to the left, to the left, everything you own in the box to the left”. Sorry. That was a tangent. I know. But it really does bother me. It’s bad enough I have Drunken Dianna next to me and I have to hear her sing along while I want to be “in the moment” with my bodacious Bee, and now I have 17,998 other inebriated people trying to camouflage a tune [Baby you dropped them keys, Hurry up before your taxi leaves].

Okay. I’m Back. Sorry Dianna, whoever you are. I didn’t mean to call you a bad singer. I was just using you as an example. We’ve all been next to a “Dianna”, and you just happened to be at the right concert at the wrong time.

Kensington now sings along to Bruno Mars, Rihanna, Neon Trees and her pappa’s personal favorite, Pink. Granted, her use of our language isn’t as extensive as, oh, lets say a 3 year old, but she tries. So, Chris and I look past the times when we too are bopping along to Mumford & Sons’ “Little Lion Man”, and it sounds like… I hate to say it… Dianna is riding along with us in the back seat.

Regretfully, Kensington signed the above mentioned contract with her record agency under protest by her management team (a little Bieber-esk if you ask me), and thus is unable to produce or perform in any videos that can be posted on this blog. We’ve tried to capture her on using several means… camcorder, video camera and even my blackberry. While she may love the camera to get her picture taken, she knows when we’re shooting video and refuses to belt out another tune. That’s what I call a Diva, with a capitol “D”. Sorry Dianna, I'm not talking about you again.

Our own little "DADT"

On the eve of this country’s repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”, we had our own little DADT incident here in our household. You see, Chris and I had another one of our communication mishaps. Friday night we had a holiday party to attend, and I assumed it started between 7 – 7:30. So, image my surprise when I received a call just prior to 6pm asking me where I was at. The party was to start at 6pm and I was nowhere close to the house. I told Chris to go without me, and I would pick Kensi up at school, get us both ready, and would be there by 7:30 (the proper time a holiday party on a Friday night should start, especially one so close to Christmas, which was cutting into my precious shopping time).

I enter the house with kiddo in tow, and rushed to change & juice her. Chris had her outfit picked out and her diaper bag was packed and ready at the door. I quickly hid the presents I was able to buy, and rushed upstairs to iron a dress shirt and sweater.

Chris and I are at a stage that we can actually turn our backs on Kensington and know that she’s going to be okay. Every outlet is plugged up, every cabinet drawer and door is latched or locked, and all sharp objects are hidden underneath my pillow waiting for January 1 when Chris’s life-insurance through both of our policies double. She’s content with playing in her playroom… putting her baby dolls to sleep, making Elmo drink from the teacup, rolling around in her ball house or her ball pool, pushing her stroller from one side of the living room to another or climbing the ladder to get the candy canes placed on the tree above her reach level.

I’ve finished ironing and, with a little pep in my step, called down from the balcony, “I love you, Kensi.” I hear her call back, muffled, “I love you, papa.” Things are good. I stroll to the bathroom, brush my teeth (note to self, no red wine for at least an hour now… Pinotage grapes taste way too sour when mixed with fluoride) and add a dab more product into my hair. Once downstairs, I head to her playroom (oh, the days of having an actual dining room). No Kensington. Okay, I see. We’re playing hide-and-seek. She’s in the pantry (i.e., taste-testing the bag of cookies to make sure Pappa and Daddy won’t be food poisoned – I believe in a past life, she was a royal food assayer). I open the door. Nothing. Really? That’s the first place I would have hidden when playing this game. I hear a whimper from behind the office door. Duncan is locked in the office. I’m sure our chickpea is in there as well. I open the door to two blue-bugged eyes staring at me. A black Sharpie hits the floor, with the cap off. She comes running, pushes me out of her way, and into the living room she goes. I look around the room. Yep. There it is. One of Chris’s filing cabinets that she loves placing stickers and magnets on, has now been tagged. I think she’s covering for Duncan. She found him midstroke and took the permanent marker from his paws to beg him to stop. She had to have shut the door behind her so I wouldn’t hear her scolding him.

She’ll never be labeled as a nark. We taught her right. So for now, we won’t ask… because surely, she’s not telling.