Buncha new pics...

Braden's shoes... not sure why he has shoes.

The kids chillin'... Brady looks pretty gangsta.

...and here chomping his fingers...

Brookers glamming in a dress her Nonny made ~ she wore this number to church. The pigtails lasted all of 15mins.

"Heavenly Father...

please bless the cheetos that I will be eating, 'cause they are so good, and dat I can poop and pee in da potty and not in my pants cause I am a big girl and bless Nonny and Papa that he can feel well and Nina that she can be a dog... Jesus Christ, Amen." Brooklyn's prayers are getting better.

She recently celebrated her 3rd Birthday in style - at Chuck E Cheese. Buncha pics below:

So what can I say about Chuck E Cheese birthday parties?

The Bad: pizza is so bland it needs ketchup and mayo, Chuck E Cheese looks like a hydrocephalic gerbil, your kid will catch a cold from exposure to dozens of other grimy booger-eating toddlers spreading germs, and the $35 "special Birthday Surprise" is a stale doughnut pilfered from the dumpster behind the neighboring Starbucks.

The Good: the kids all leave you alone most of the evening, someone else gets paid to clean up the mess which includes any toddler pee on the floor ["Oh my gosh I can't believe it's really Chuck E Cheese and I can't have Dad take me to the potty because I might miss him!"] and spew in the carpet ["Daddy, I fink da pizza is dross and I fink I don't feel well and I fink I'm gonna puke-up... BRRRAAAAAAPPPPP!"]

Yeah, Chuck E Cheese is pretty awesome.

"I am da mommy and you are...

...da kid," Brooklyn told me this afternoon. "Okay, I'll be the kid".

Brooklyn then proceeded to speak with me only in character, meaning that she was "Mommy" married to "Hockey Prince Charming" with at least one kid: me.

I asked her, "Where is Hockey Prince Charming?"

"He is busy working, Kid."

"What does he do for work?"

"He sits right there (pointing to my brown office chair in front of my work PC) and makes e-mails all day long and talks on the phone." I thought that was pretty funny.


Anyway, Braden has grown quite a bit over the last couple of weeks, drinking lots of milk and filling his diapers with a seemingly endless supply of grey poupon.

I'm too lazy to re-import this picture right-side up, but Braden loves his bath time.


Little bit of a smile, little bit of a faux-hawk. Braden is a truly happy kid; yet unaware that life sucks, people are mostly tools and the government taxes you even after death.

A close up of our Brady-bear. So the dude looks more Albrightesque than Eppersonic, I think. Here's my take:

• Eyes: Torgersen/Thomas
• Mouth: Epperson
• Nose: Albright
• Ears: Albright/Thomas
• Eyebrows: Charles Bronson

A couple of weeks ago we moved from our Yuma Foothills home onto the Marine Corps Air Station in town. We're happy with our new place and the nice community. We did the move ourselves, which was kind of nice in that we got a chance to sort of inventory our stuff.

Brittiny once told me, after she watched me help a neighbor move a washing machine out of an apartment basement: "I would so much rather have babies than life heavy furniture."


Having witnessed 2 pregnancies there is no way lifting a bunch of boxes can compare. For one, helping someone move doesn't make you irrational or gassy. Secondly, at the end of a pregnancy you have a cute little kid, instead of damaged furniture and a lot of marital tension. I did split my $9 TJ Maxx cargo's bending down to hoist a box of books.

The next morning we awoke in our new place. The fact that we were up until midnight moving boxes didn't phase Brookers-boo. She quickly made a friend, Leslyn, and marshalled a robust tea party, hosting in her Vera Wang fairy costume.

Leslyn's dad is a Gunnery Sgt with the Marines. When the girls started pouring the "tea" he blurted: PINKIES OUT, MAGGOTS!

A few days after settling into our new place we decided to try out the base pool. It's across the street and really quite nice. In the below pic Brooklyn is trying to maintain her cool despite being told she would be swimming 20 mins earlier.

Note her cute pose - she's managed to stay relevant despite her scene-stealing little brother.

Kids are stupid...

...but probably only because they spend most of their time trying to act like adults. I mean, have you seen Flavor of Love? We adults are setting the bar pretty fetching low.

Today Brooklyn threw a sweet fit. She was actually upset over a timeout levied earlier in the evening but launched into a vocal and violent protest vs. Brittiny such that I had to start her on an additional timeout.

Why time her out again, you may ask? Often enough the first timeout doesn't "take" and must be repeated in both frequency and severity. It's like going to a chiropractor for "adjustments". It's not uncommon for a healthy 2 year old to require a baker's dozen of "adjustments" before lunch.

So at this point I'm pretty sorry for the kid, since she's visited the well-worn timeout corner a few times already that day. Walking her down the hall I feel like the a-hole prison Warden, Drumgoole (Donald Sutherland) from Lock Up introducing Frank Leone (Stallone) to his cell. I kneel beside her and say, "Brookers, you need 3 minutes of timeout to cool your jets and think about how mean you were to Mommy." Judging by her reaction she clearly hears Warden Drumgoole's voice sneering out: "This is hell, and I'm going to give you the guided tour!"

Anyway, so 3 or 20 minutes pass - I wasn't keeping a close eye on the time - and I go back into Brooker's room for the post-timeout routine.

"Why are you in timeout?"

"Because I was hitting Mom like this (punching the air) and kicking her."

"Thank you for telling me what you did. Now please go tell Mom you're sorry and promise her you won't hit her again."
"No. I no want to."
"Brooklyn Margo you will march right up to your Mother and tell her you're sorry for hitting her or you will stay in timeout all night long."

At this Brooklyn hops down off her bed and marches, arms gesticulating wildly in the air with each step, knees kicking high off the tile floor - she's actually marching, the same way she does to her stupid Barney video where a bunch of annoying High School the Musical rejects march and prance around and pretend to give a crap about a dog named BINGO - all the way down the hall. Mom is sitting on the couch, so Brooklyn leans in and says, quite unctuously:

"I'n sorry Mommy fo' hitting you."

"Thank you, Brooklyn. I forgive you."

Brooklyn pauses for a moment, standing in front of the couch, then turns and runs full speed back to her room crying all the way. Those present to witness the apology are left to ponder its significance: Had we witnessed tears of joy from the soul-cleansing catharsis that comes only from true repentance? Was Brooklyn contemplating the far-reaching love of a selfless mother who so easily forgave her trespass? Did the gravitas of the intricate relationship between mercy and justice just bring a two year-old to tears?

If you answered "Yes" to any of the above three hypo's you obviously don't have kids. To look into the eyes of a sly two year old, when, out of necessity she is forced to apologize, is to see a stubborn will tortured by the realization of its own weakness.

Though her lips may ask forgiveness whilst tears flow down her porcelain cheeks, her heart cries out: "You'll never break me, Drumgoole!"

Heavy is the head that wears the crown...

... but Mom is quick to remind me that in the Epperson line there is no crown, no walloping great wodges of cash to bequest, no "sceptered sway". But, for the record, she spent her first 20 years as a Torgersen and cannot be trusted. ;)

At 07:28 PST on Tuesday, June 17th, Braden Brent Epperson abruptly entered LDRP room 303 at Yuma Regional Medical Center. Brittiny was a champ through her pregnancy and labor, and as I write this, is enjoying a well-deserved nap.

King Darius had Xerxes and JFK his "John-John", now I have Braden Brent.


Here's Baby Braden trying desperately to give me the finger. Who do you think he looks like?

Grammy and Brooklyn came to visit us at the hospital. Brooklyn seemed un-phased by the competition, and was ever-so-sweet to her little brother. We'll see how long that lasts.

When she was asked to hand back Braden, Brooklyn replied, "No, I am Braden's Mommy." It was a cute moment.

The official stats above. I like the stork cartoon in the lower right of the card. I asked our nurse, "If the stork delivered our baby, then what's with the big bill?" Get it?... Maybe that joke would work if the story were about a duck delivering babies instead of a stork... Oh well.