Throwdown

Apparently I spoke too soon. Food is still being thrown with all the fury of Zeus atop Mt. Olympus. Last night's attempt at dinner was accompanied by fistfulls of everything from the tray being sent south. Word is that lunch was eerily similar.

Although now that I think about it, this is not relegated only to meals, as his crib toys, books, and anything else he can get his hands on is shortly sent sailing.

Hopefully he grows out of this. Just in case, we may want to send a note with him for his kindergarten teacher. I know in Mrs. Griffin's class, we had a guinea pig...

Unfortunately, the mid-week warmth gave way to cold and rain, and we woke this morning to find our kitchen crawling with ants. We've never had an ant problem before, and so part of me wants to blame it on the weather. Of course, no cold snap can truly do the work of stray Cheerios and cookie pieces, but there were very few crumbs on the floor. Really.

In any event, we had a thirty-minute murder fest in the kitchen and the dining room, using among other things, bare feet (mine, not Vicki's, who thought it was gross --- c'mon, it's not like we had lobsters crawling around the floor), the dustbuster, and some kind of countertop cleaning spray that served not only to drown the ants but restore our floor to its original luster. High fives all around.

Poor Samson, of course, had to ride shotgun the whole time and so got the hipside view of pest control before he could get settled into his highchair and begin throwing his breakfast around.

On a personal note, I think the soft thud of banana on wood is one of the sadder breakfast sounds. No bounce, no reverb, just a dull thump as if it was half-expecting to be dropped all along.