Mom and I began teaching you Spanish at an early age. That’s not quite right. We sent you to Spanish camp when you were three, and Mom learned Spanish to teach you. Being the joker you are, on the very first day, you insisted on saying, “Me llamo Cookie.” Everyone thought it was hilarious, and the name stuck.
Sleep deprivation has caused me already to forget many of the hilarious things that has happened in the last few years. As I hope to be one of those dads with dad stories to tell you when you’re older, I’m writing down daily and past events, in no particular order, and I will one day share this site with you so you can learn just how your Mom and I raised you and what we were thinking when we did so. …though given your current illusion that I’m an omniscient, infallible superdad, I may wait until you’re much, much older. I’m going to savor this for a while longer.
Small addendum to future Cookie (and this is a promise, not a threat): the reason why this site is public is that I remember being a teenager. Cross Mom or me on something major (we’ll discuss what transgression is flagrant enough), and we’ll post something truly embarrassing online. Love you, Cookie!