I'm sure there's a "cat's away" line in this somewhere, but given that our cat is permanently "away," it just seems wrong to conjure up the image.
We had some freezing rain this morning, and Vicki's school was closed. Sam's school and my work were not, so the guys soldiered on with their days while Jane and Mommy enjoyed a cozy day at home. Apparently, with Samson's toys.
Call me dada. This has, in the few months since my son started "talking," become my name. I'm sure (at least I hope) it will eventually morph into something less early 20th century art movementy --- but I am marked forever as dada. And this is a good thing.
I have no real advice to offer, other than always carry Cheerios and extra onesies, and I don't really have a lot of 'wacky' adventures to regale you with. Truth be told, this is as much for me as it is for you. So, uh, thanks for stopping by. I hope it's at least an interesting time-killer.
And if not, consider this an ironic exercise in skewering the bourgeouis notions of 21st century American parenthood by deconstructing the materialist ethos that has turned childhood into a demographic and rendered adults simultaneous enablers and slaves. Or something.
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