And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself?

It must be difficult for poor Jennifer, surrounded as she is by all of this unabashed masculinity. Of course, most of it is just me, but imagine it when the lads hit their teenage years, all sweaty and dripping testosterone? Henry will be at leasy six foot four (at twelve years old), and Ezra won't be far behind him. How will she cope? Where will we put the shoes? They'll be like kayaks.

For now, she's stuck with us (unless she wises up and hits the bricks). Jen took this photo just this morning, as Ez had just finished telling Henry and I a story about this dream he had in which he, Normal Mailer, Henry Miller, Charkes Bukowski and Ernest Hemingway went out to a strip joint in pre-revolutionary Havana and one thing led to another... Well, I'll let him tell it on his own blog one day. I think that the look on Henry and My respective faces will tell you enough to catch the drift. That said, I think that I'll just keep the Henry Miller out of their reach for the time being, best they stick with Spot.