Wishing a joyous and loving birthday for you, my friend. As I stated in my comment to your post, I shall celebrate with some Lost And Found and by starting This Beautiful Mess. See you at lunch. :D

Yesterday, my wife awoke to find our son still in his bed. Granted, he was awake, but he's only three and still hasn't quite figured out the whole Christmas morning, Santa has left presents, thing. So she went to get him up, and moments later he came in to our room. "Hi, Daddy." "Merry Christmas, buddy!" I tell him as Mom helps him up on the bed. "Merry Christmas, Daddy," he replies, giving me as big a bear hug as his little arms can muster. He then proceeds to plop down next to me, still hugging me, and we stay like that for about forty-five seconds before he pops up and says, "Come on, Daddy. Let's go get presents." If nothing else, those sixty seconds made this the best Christmas ever.

From Jack on the World_SIG list, who said, "You'll never see this in the MSM." The text accompanying the photo reads:

"Air Force Chief Master Sgt. John Gebhardt, of the 332nd Expeditionary Medical Group at Balad, Iraq, cradles a young girl as they both sleep in the hospital. The girl's entire family was executed by insurgents; the killers shot her in the head as well. The girl received treatment at the U.S. military hospital in Balad, but cries and moans often. According to nurses at the facility, Gebhardt is the only one who can calm down the girl, so he has spent the last several nights holding her while they both sleep in a chair." CMS Gebhardt will never be singled out by the American or Arabic press for his compassion. He will not receive an award for the love and affection he has shown a little girl in such desperate need of both. His action may not resonate with anyone on this blue marble except the little one on the receiving end. A couple of nights ago, I caught a M.A.S.H. re-run. It was the one where a Korean-American baby is left outside The Swamp, with a note attached telling the camp the baby's father was an American GI. Like Japan, Korea is a very homogenous culture, and children of mixed heritage were (are?) looked down upon. This little girl would not have a happy childhood, and would likely even be killed before she reached adulthood. The staff of the 4077 try in vain to get her transferred to the U.S., and finally resort to leaving her at a nearby monastery, where the monks will keep her cloistered and safe from those would harm her. As they're saying their goodbyes outside the monastery, Hawkeye tells the baby, and forgive me for my paraphrasing, "You brought a little light in to a world filled with darkness." Thank you, CMS Gebhardt, for bringing light in to a little one's world of darkness. I know you are likely not concerned with receiving it, but I pray she is able to thank you some day, too.

There are some people in this world who have no concept of grieving over the death of a pet. "What's the big deal?" they ask. "It was just a cat/dog/bird/hamster." On some level, these people do have a point. They are "just" animals. Animals do not experience emotions the way humans do. Every reaction you see from an animal is conditioned, instinctual, or in-bred. A cat does not love. A dog does not love. Yet their domesticated behavior may, to our own emotions, look like expressions of love, and for that, we love them in return. We know in the back of our minds that when the cat plops itself down on our chest when we're trying to go to sleep, purring contentedly, it's not really saying, "I loooooooove you", but then we don't really care. We smile, give the cat a little rub on the head, maybe on the nose, and some long body strokes, and the purring only gets louder. It's a great way to fall asleep. We love the cat for this. (Especially when you're the only one in the house the cat does this with.) People who ask "What's the big deal?" when a pet like that dies will never get it. I'm so happy that Tom and Tiff are not among those people. I never had the opportunity to meet Guinness, though Tom and I shared many a conversation about him, and our other cats. Of all the photos of Guinness Tom has shared with me, and the rest of the world, this one is among my favorites:

There is something so very cat about it, and Guinness was a cat's cat. Kelly and I lost our first pet, our Pembroke Welch Corgi, Linus, in April 2002, having had our little pup for ten wonderful years. We know the heartbreak the Bridges are going through, because while Guinness was not a human, he was not a baby, a child, he was also not "just" a cat. He was a member of the family.

Yesterday was my wife's birthday, and I didn't get around to posting birthday wishes for her. One of the dilemmas for married guys--at least, I hope this is a dilemma for married guys, or else it's just me--is the older we get, the harder we find it to pull off those grand, romantic gestures for our beloved. Such was the case yesterday. I thought a lot about what I wanted to say, but couldn't get thoughts converted to bits on the screen. So here is what I'm left with: Kel, I love you more now than when we first said the words sixteen years ago. I love you more now than when we exchanged vows and rings fourteen years ago. I love that you're my best friend, and you love me even when I'm not very loveable. I love that you're the mother of our son, and how awesome you are at being a mom. I hope you had a good birthday.

Marriage is where it's at. At least for me.

So, fellow dads, how's your day going? A pretty quiet one for us here at the Phisch Bowl. It was nice to sleep in a little, then off to church, and Mi Cocina for lunch (Sunset Fajitas!). Both the little phisch and the missus crashed for a nap, and in addition to doing some online reading, I've enjoyed one of my Father's Day gifts: the fifth season DVD set of Seinfeld. Season five is notable because it includes my favorite Seinfeld episode, "The Marine Biologist", which I watched, along with the episode's extras, a few minutes ago. A pair of homemade gifts from the little phisch: a framed handprint he made at school, and a pocket-protector card he colored in Sunday School this morning. As usual, these will take prominent spots on the refrigerator and study whiteboard. I'm usually the one who gets our little guy down for his naps, and today was no exception. As he drifted off, and I looked at his peaceful face, it was one of those Hallmark moments where your heart feels like it's about to burst. Since becoming a father, I have learned more about how much my own dad loves me than I ever thought I knew. Likewise, having had those thoughts parents have, since becoming a dad my relationship with God has deepened, as I understand more how wrenching it was for Him to give up His only Son for the world. My fellow dads, I hope you all have a great day. Dad, I love you. Thanks for always being there, and setting the example you did.

About this time fourteen years ago, my beloved and I were dancing our first dance, or cutting the cake, or visiting with the numerous friends and family members who were generous enough with their time to spend it in celebration with us. A lot has changed in the world in fourteen years. A lot has changed within each of us. If you had told me fourteen years ago how our lives would be today, I would have thought you insane. Yet we have a really great life. Sure, there are a few things I wish could be better. I wish my mother-in-law would have had more than nine months with her only grandchild. I wish my Granddaddy would have been around to see his first great-grandchild, and my Pappaw would have seen his tenth or eleventh. (There are so many great-grandchildren on that side of the family, it's hard to keep track.) We've had our ups and downs, but all of that plays in to shaping the kind of people we are today, and the life we have together. I wouldn't trade it for the world. I love you, Kelly. Happy Anniversary.