Mi estimada familia: (My dear family)
Joyeux Nouvel An! (Happy New Year!)

Another year has come and gone, and so much has happened during the 365 grand and glorious days of the year 5764 (pronounced 2004).

Of course, you all know about Monroe's Nobel Peace Prize, Grant's Academy Award, Tyler's Pulitzer, Washington's Medal of Honor, Madison's appointment to the Supreme Court, and, naturally, Clinton's meeting with Goddess (he received a beautiful Hermes tie, and of course, the additional, five commandments). So let me start with Eisenhower, who just turned two and, you know, has quite the pair of lungs.

Well-the Little Mister (as I love to call him) was just invited to join the Three Tenors in Blackface on their Mississippi Delta Slave Arias and Other Favorite Songs of the Old South Tour. It will be the first time the little fella's been away from home, but la mia famiglia (my family)-i.e., the boy's mistake for a father (the polo-playing low-life), his cheap whore-secretary, the whore's crack-fiend husband (posing as her brother-what a laugh-ha!), my girlfriends from the D.O.D. (a.k.a., Daughters of Darkness, a.k.a., the Anne Rice Stake and Ale Investment Club), and of course, yours truly-figured it was the kind of thing that would look good on the old resume when the Little Mistake (oh, excuse me-I meant the Little Mister) applies to Harvard.

So, I said, why not let the tiny tyke sing a little blues, which is only fair, since his coming into my life that's all I've ever done.

Oh yes-since the Little Mister's been born, a night doesn't go by I don't cry myself to sleep asking the Dapper Dipper in the sky the eternal question-why are all women suckers for men in uniform?

OK, so maybe hubby-to-be number six wasn't the first guy in silks, but he was the tallest to impregnate my sacred body after lathering me up in a bathtub full of Cristal and Vanilla Haagen-Dazs. (By the way, don't ever let a polo player tell you that ceremony completely takes the place of the morning-after pill.)

Did I mention Monroe's Nobel Peace Prize, Grant's Academy Award, Tyler's Pulitzer, Washington's Medal of Honor, Madison's appointment to the Supreme Court, and, of course, Clinton's meeting with Goddess? It makes a mother proud, doesn't it? Certamente! (It certainly does!)

I know, I say this every year, but this year (I swear) I am definitely going to build more cabinets. As we speak, all shelves are jam-packed with the children's sporting trophies: Grant's Olympic Gold in the triathlon, Tyler's two Tour de France triumphs, Washington's three MVP Super Bowl trophies, Clinton's NBA and MLB Rookie of the Year and MVP awards, and of course, Madison's five Ironwoman trophies. Oops-a-daisy-I meant four. I forgot she gave one to Jodi. After all, weren't they roommates up at Yale, and every Thursday evening don't they still have sleepovers and watch Silence of The Lambs?

Oops-a-daisy again! What about the Little Mister's two Grammys and his La Scala's Golden Throat Award? Can't forget those-, no siree, bobcats.

Of course, when I'm talking about their awards, I'm leaving out their college, high-school, and elementary-school trophies that fill the second- and third-floor bedrooms, not to mention the five fully illustrated pages in The Guinness Book of World Records. The only thing missing in my trophy case is the head of hubby number six (the polo- playing, low-life). Un que pinchazo! (What a prick!)

I'm a Ginsburg (pronounced Du Pont) Girl, well-endowed with Ginsburg (pronounced Du Pont) genetic gifts so magnificent in size and shape men (and some women) have been throwing themselves at them (me) since I first wore sweaters. (If you have to know, I was twelve.)

I'm fluent in all the romance languages and some that want to be. I have an MBA in Banking and Finance from the London School of Economics, a PHD in Molecular Biology from Stanford, and-and- everybody mistakes me for a young Katie Couric. So you tell me- why am I putty in the hands of brutally handsome men?