The party was el Luchador-themed, natch, and the morning leading up to his party Ozzy ran around the house naked with nothing but his mask on. Of course I tried to take a pic, but he must have sensed a slideshow 30 years from now when I would totally show it at his wedding. (I am going to be the best/worst mother-in-law.) I ended up having a total Gypsy Rose Lee moment just to take the above photo, promising lollipops and another cupcake if he would just show me his muscles. He refused, so you get this, Lucha Irritado con su Madre. Ah, mi amor.
But my dad complied. I owe him and his girlfriend a cupcake + probably an apology for going public with their especial-ness.
Ozzy's real birthday isn't for another 2 weeks, so yes, there will be a schmatzy birthday letter to my little kind-hearted luchador.
And now for a real Piledriver (I don't know how else to segue from Mexican Wrestling to this)...
Chachi died last week. Last Monday. I came home from work to find that the FIP had progressed so rapidly that he could no longer walk, and one pupil was larger than the other which meant that it had gone into his neurological system and brain. I didn't want him to be in pain, so we had him put to sleep. There are no words for losing him, truly nothing. But this--
He was such a sweet, sweet boy, and we were so lucky to have that furry little belly to rub while we did.
Now go love on your own fur babies, or hug your kids, or if you don't have either just rub your own belly. In Chachi's memory.
xo,
S