photo: joseph ivan long ©2013
I will tell this in two parts:

A. Last month, my mom was hanging with our children and had them write up Christmas wishlists of what they would like to GET for other people. The list my son came up with included the following:

1. For Mommy - sword
2. For Daddy - sword
3. For Sissy - sword
4. For Granda - sword
5. For Everyone - sword
Sword for me. Scimitar. 

B. My newest brother, Micael, got ahold of this list and took it seriously. When Christmas rolled around, we each found ourselves in possession of a sword. Courtesy of him, a table saw, a jig saw, and a palm sander. And HOURS AND HOURS of work.

No two swords are the same. Hand cut, hand carved, designed with precision and polished for each personality. UHH-MAZING. I have already done fierce battle with mine, and these babies are not cracking. One piece. No glue, no joints, no nails. Forged in a garage. You think we had a happy three-year old at Christmas? Imagine a room full of three-year old giddiness. And flailing swordplay.

So. Rad. Micael: we are honored to have you in our family.

Ecraison l'infante.

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