Flamenchy Purse

When I'm in my early forties and my teenage daughter is begging me for whatever high end purse is trending at that time and I'm wondering why in the world a simple generic brand won't suffice, show me this picture and slap me in the face.

For the past month, my dainty Millie has been clutching anything with a strap in the same fashion she is this Flamingo handbag we found at the mall, so it was inevitable that I'd find myself buying a purse for my petite princess. But, of course, Cristina didn't want just any old knockoff knapsack. She turned into one of those crazed pageant moms that go Dr. Frankenstein on their glitter-dunked mini Gagas, and deemed unworthy every bag we came across.

In the end, I'm the one who spotted this flashy fowl and I knew Cristina would approve. She did... and so did Millie.

Looking at this picture makes me incredibly satisfied as a father, but I can't help but think I've created a monster.... a credit card maxing, head-to-toe matching, never enough accessorizing, mall monster. And just like Dr. Frankenstein destroyed himself trying to silence his horrid creation, I too will eventually attempt to silence the mall monster that is my offspring.

Except, when compared to a young woman with all her complexities, an eight-foot tall, freak of experimentation with incredible strength and a penchant for bloodshed is a complete teddy bear. I'll tell Emilia that "enough is enough" and that no 16 year old needs a Givenchy, then three minutes later, after the wrath of Hades is unleashed, you'll see me with my tail between my legs and Cristina trying to pick up what's left of my manhood.

To be honest, though, as long as I get a slice of cookie cake from Mrs. Field's, my little monster can have whatever she wants.

Princess Millie

I always heard that girls are harder to raise than boys, but I never thought that would ring true so soon. I mean, my daughter is barely one year old.

My son was all smiles and curiosity at that age. Emilia is all smiles...and grins...and glares. I'm not sure if it's a girl thing, or if she inherited a particular gene from my mom, but she pulls off "malevolent" and "sassy" like she's an evil Disney Queen. 

Don't get me wrong, she just as easily can be a complete Disney Princess with her endlessly deep eyes and genuine giggle. She's just so different from what I was used to for the three years before she arrived. To some degree, her and her brother are polar opposiblings.

Darc is optimistic and social, spending most of his days in varying degrees of happiness. But with Milly, it's a roller coaster of temperaments that range from pensive and peaceful to short-tempered and irritable. And me trying to understand her emotional nuances conjures up the image of a confused gorilla trying to tell time with a mood ring. Not only does the gorilla not grasp the concept of time, but even if he did he wouldn't be able to tell time using a mood ring. At the end of the day, I'm wired more like my son, and in our analogy we're just two monkeys eating bananas.

It doesn't mean I stop trying though. If anything, I think she's made me to try harder. Because of her, I'm more sensitive and attentive - two things I should have been better at anyway because I was already a dad and a husband before meeting her. In that respect, she's made me a better person.

I just hope I can do the same for her. At the very least, I want to show her how a loving husband is supposed to treat his Queen, and a supportive father his Princess. And, in this analogy, Darc is the jester. Just kidding, he's the handsome monkey Prince, my son.