It's Always Sunny in TaterTown

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia is one of those ever-so-twisted dark comedies that Knute and I love to watch; if there's any new episodes out there, I haven't seen them as my limited downtime at the end of the day is spent blogging for you. I'm selfless like that.

While we're both Irish by heritage, we don't own a bar. And we don't have our own arch-enemy version of the McBoyle's looking to do us harm by humiliation every day.

What we do have is our own Mouthy Irish Family, one where you'd better be a prankster with a big mouth to survive the gauntlet if you plan on marrying into our clan.

Mental note to future boyfriends/girlfriends of The Royal Monkeys: liking dogs is non-negotiable, and while we will help you up after you fall down the stairs, run into a wall, or slide headfirst down an icy driveway until you crash on your rear end, please understand that first we must howl with laughter as we re-enact the comedic moment that is your injury. Hate us if you must; it is simply how we are made.

Some of the local Mouthy Irish Family will descend on us here on Monday to celebrate Prince Tatertot's 5th birthday. I've polished the sliding glass doors with high hopes for a Tommy Boy styled collision by Uncle Meatball; now all that's left to do is see to the food, the beer, and the fun.

And to watch this ray of sunshine blow out his candles:

That's him wearing the birthday boy crown he got at preschool on Monday morning of this week when they celebrated the summer birthdays for his class. He's worn it non-stop since.

And yes, his head really is that big. He's got one melon of a noggin; wouldn't it figure his was my one and only birth without pain meds? Glorious memories, lemme tell you.

But I can forgive Prince Tatertot his injurious entry into this world for he is, and always has been, a true bundle of joy in our lives. He slept well, ate well, and laughed early as an infant. He's empathetic and kind and funny and always smiling. It is impossible to be in a bad mood around Prince Tatertot; he is a walking ball of giggles and I marvel that my sarcastic self ever helped to create such a happy child.

As he heads off to kindergarten this fall, I know his report cards and teacher's conferences will be different than his eager-to-please sister's have been. He is brilliant and creative and ingenius when it comes to building with Legos, but I can see the mark of a late bloomer on him. And that's ok with me for this boy is so heartbreakingly sweet that I can't bear to see him grow up too quickly.

And luckily, even when he is grown up, he'll be just one more big goofball in the Mouthy Irish Family. Our particular variety of goofballs never grow up, as evidenced by his father:

Growing up is over-rated; one more future goofball is just fine with me.

WM

*Check out Jane's Makes Me Smile Monday carnival for more good writing this week!