Millians, Inc.

Mary Millians. Master Diver. Who violates the cardinal rule of underwater signaling. With impunity.

Barracuda! Aighh! I think. They could be Elba sardines. Hard to tell without some kind of reference for size.

Uh, oh. Did I leave Alex home alone with the kids and go on a Mediterranean cruise and go diving off the coast of Elba? Oh, man, I think I did…

Dear Buddha. Who the hell gave me a Chelsea Grin? Does anybody have any Advil? Is there a doctor plastic surgeon in the house?!?

Olivia showing off her Hippo face tattoo. If the camera were panned 45° right.

Piper. Ice cream. Spoon. That is all.

Summer of 42. Because this is me (on my way to join the Lollipop Guild, it appears), it’s summer, and I am today 42. Ugh.

That’s the saddest pony I’ve ever seen. Probably the starting point for my irrational fear of horses.

Murray tractor. Saddle oxfords. Zither. That’s how I roll.

OK, on three, Davis, you look down to the right. Yes, your right. Olivia, you stare at Piper. Dad, you look at the ground. Piper, throw yourself to the ground. Margaret, you look right at the camera. All-right. One. Two. Five. Three!

Outdoor potty training + P.F. Chang’s = FAIL.

Jeez dad, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m just having a little drinkee poo with the bear. Hic.

Yeah, that’s a bow in my head. I like bows. You got a problem with that?!?

Yep, this pretty much sums up our vacation…

Peachtree Presbyterian Preschool Daddy Day 2010. Olivia and me. Dear Buddha, why can’t Adobe make liquify work on chins without warping your kids head?!?