Lillia, after another round of nebulizer treatments: I love this daddy! My daddy is the best! Oh, there's Maccy dog! I love him!

Matt: Man, I want some nebulizer. That stuff's like baby ecstasy.

One morning a few weeks ago, I woke to Matt getting up early - really early. Apparently the beagle was whining to go outside before our alarms went off. I heard the sliding glass door open, and then I heard what sounded like a death cry. Over and over again.

In case you haven't heard, this particular beagle eats everything. Including fishhooks and screws. So when I heard that hellacious noise, I thought he was shitting something horrible. "Wow," I thought. "He's dying for sure this time."

I stared at the ceiling until Matt came back and climbed into bed. "What was wrong with him?" I asked.

"I guess he had to pee," Matt said.

"Well what the hell was that sound?"

"That was Pecker." One of the roosters. Apparently roosters go through a "voice change" as adolescents just like boys do. And a pubescent rooster crow is like something out of a slasher film. And loud. I'm surprised the neighbors weren't all screaming at us out their bedroom windows.

So the next day, Matt found Pecker a new home (one that may have featured some seasoning and a side of potatoes - one can never tell). And all was well.

Until 5 O'clock this morning. Our remaining rooster, a big white guy named Cockasian, has found his cock-a-doodle-doo. And, much like when 13-year-old female humans hit puberty, we will all suffer.

Any takers?

Matt, to Lillia: Hi, my baby back ribs!

Lillia, to Matt: Hi, my daddy back ribs!

Matt, via text: Lillia sees dead people.

Me, also via text: Why do you say that?

Matt: She's looking out the window saying "Where did the girl go?"

Me: Are you on Fifth Avenue?

Matt: No. Why?

Me: When we drive to town in the morning, she always says "There's the princess" when we're on Fifth Avenue. I think it's when we drive past the strip club.

Matt: OK. I'll watch for that.

"It's a sunny day!" I said when I got up Sunday morning.

"Yes, I wished it for you," Matt said. "Happy Mother's Day."

We had our first summer BBQ at our new house. Everyone came - except my dad, who was working, and my one sister who is rogue and lives in Hawaii, of course. There were approximately five children under the age of one, and even more between the ages of one and 18. Lillia was in heaven. Our backyard looked like your average city park on the Fourth of July. Plus lots and lots of beer. And a very tiny grill. Which Matt manned stupendously.

And even though it's only May and not quite as hot as I prefer, it was perfectly comfortable for backyard-lounging and fire pit-surrounding. The neighbors are officially disappointed.

I love my family. I really do. But when I returned to work this morning and looked at my Onion weekend horoscope, I found it completely inappropriate, yet somehow fitting:

"It's difficult to imagine what life would be like without your family, which is why you'll resort to a series of detailed sketches, diagrams, and plans."

Happy Mother's Day everyone!

Me: What should I have for lunch?

Matt: Shrimp Taco from Taco Bell.

Me: Yuck. I do not trust Taco Bell with my seafood. I was thinking something more along the lines of a sesame soy oriental salad with mandarins and grilled chicken.

Matt: OK. That was my second choice.