I’m not going to address the apparent lack of updates. This way, you’re free to ponder vast conspiracies or clandestine international excursions which I can guarantee are far more entertaining than whatever explanation I would divulge.

Serena’s doing pharmacy things that I don’t understand. My kids are great but they drive me crazy. Blah blah, no one really cares about the boring stuff we’ve been doing.

So there I was, in the back seat of a limousine five inches from a Yakuza crime boss trying to get a feel for the situation. I could see through his expression about as well as a curious passerby could see through our heavily tinted glass. This situation could go either way. He asks me what I like to drink. I say anything that’s not Russian. He coughs a fabricated chuckle out of his over-sized throat and hands me a glass. My eyes count four giant rings on his fingers, each one set with a different stone. I see the smudges from his fingerprints on the glass and I surmise he’s more nervous than he lets on.

You might think that’s a good thing, but if he’s nervous it’s because he doesn’t trust me. And if he doesn’t trust me, then I’m clearly in over my head. His eyes narrow and I see him slightly lick his lips as he prepares to speak. I cut him off. I tell him I’m a spy. Another fabricated chuckle-or was it a chortle? I insist I’m a spy, but I offer him a proposition. I tell him that I’m not out to bring down his organization; a lie. I tell him I’m after information; a lie. I tell him I’m no danger to him;a grievous lie. Then I open my coat pocket, pull out an envelope and open it. I say…

Here are some pictures of my awesome kids: