Moneypenny, Week 2


Greetings from New Sixam, my dearies! Here you see myself and my bouncing baby boy. He quite literally bounces. He’s in constant motion and only pauses briefly to sleep.


Corey was promoted. To gladiator, apparently.


We’ve had to start locking the club members out of our bedroom. They’re taking a few too many liberties. The lady in front is the only female in the group, and thus likely to become Felix’s spouse. I’m not sold on her, to be honest. She’s a tad creepy, and she’s an adult, which would mean she’s potentially too old for Felix, even if he weren’t currently a toddler. I’m working furiously on the rocket whenever I get a spare moment in hopes I’ll actually be able to travel to Sixam in the near future to meet a wider variety of possible daughters-in-law.

I notice neither of you have mentioned the spouse hunt, yet. Paolo’s still single! Just saying!


Jillian’s still a marvelous nanny/trainer, though she came to me earlier this week and suggested, in hushed tones, that she has a suspicion that Felix is an alien. A darling girl, really. Just a treasure. But not too bright.

No comments on the incense burner, please! I know having it sitting on the rug that close to my precious toddler doesn’t look safe, but it keeps him happy as a wee clam and the rug hasn’t caught fire once yet!


My fitness continues to improve, though I’m finding it difficult to maintain focus, if you want to know the truth. Jillian has had to literally lock the door to the gym to keep me from diving at the basketball hoop whenever I get the chance. I’m not sure how to explain this compulsion I seem to have to Dream Big and attempt to dunk that ball, but it is what it is. Someday! When Felix is all grown up and out of the house I expect I’ll be constantly found hanging from the rim or tangled in the net.


With Jillian’s help (and a small fortune spent on incense), Felix maxed his three skills by Thursday, and was launched into the world’s briefest childhood.


Good-bye, my baby boy!


And hello my tiny heartthrob! I ask you . . . can you even? I cannot.


The boys messing around while Mummy grinds away at the gym down the street. As you know, my largest challenge consists of racking up as many satisfaction points as possible while not actually completing any aspirations so that they can remain unique for future generations. It’s all a bit of a juggling act, and we do tend to find ourselves participating in a lot of nonsensical activities or making bizarre purchases whenever I get a whim, but this time it worked out quite well since Felix could play (playfully!) on the jungle gym while I worked out at a gym venue.


And then back home to the computer, where the boy spent 80% of his remaining childhood minutes.


The other 20% was spent (adorably) on the monkey bars down the block, which I did not witness personally because fate is a cruel, cruel monster. At least I’ve got pictures.


Corey was promoted to Head Gladiator.


My portrait. I know, I know. Serves me right. I just had to do sit-ups at the exact moment Corey needed to capture my image, and naturally the result was a high-value masterpiece. Your scrambled eggs don’t seem so bad at all now, do they, Loelia? I’ll have him try again, but for now this beauty is museum-bound.


Friday evening my baby was ready to break his mother’s heart yet again by becoming a teenager.


I ask you . . . has the world ever seen such an astounding specimen? I couldn’t have arranged his physical attributes better if I’d custom-ordered them myself. He’s got the best of both his father and I and I’m so proud I’ll no doubt explode after finishing this letter.


Portrait of the heir as a studious young man.


The alien-form portrait in case either of you were interested. I don’t don it much in everyday life as I prefer to remain incognito and I’m fond of skirts, but that particular outfit is well-suited to the climate of Sixam so I may whip it out once the wormhole generator is finished.


A typical club gathering. Flaming basketballs and mind-reading are common occurrences in our neck of the woods.


A ridiculous table I bought to fulfill a whim. Don’t get excited. We shan’t be having any parties. No time! No time!


Mother-Son multitasking.


The rocket ship. Despite working my fingers to the bone, I ended the week about half an upgrade short of completing the wormhole generator, so the spouse hunt will have to wait. Do us a favor and hit up Alien Night again at the bars on your weeks. I’m not at all convinced that the lovely Rhonda is the right choice for my daughter-in-law.


She’s frighteningly competitive at chess. And she doesn’t seem to bathe.


Felix has inherited my proclivity for random dunking. He carries it off with great style!


He fishes now. All the time. And stares eerily at cameras.

And that’s it for my report, darlings! Like the two of you I’m cautiously optimistic about next week. My child has done a fair job of outshining me, as your children have you, so it will likely be Mummy who’s holding up the show, but time will tell. I’ve got the upgrade to finish, one more reward trait to buy and of course there’s the career. It’s going well, but that wishing well is looking more appealing all the time. Perhaps we need just a push over the edge . . .



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