We had a wild stomach virus roar through our house last week, so sorry for the dearth of posts, but it was ugly at our house.
Interestingly, Jane got it first, so she wins the Typhoid Mary vector award for least likely carrier in the house. Honestly, we just naturally (and almost always correctly) assume that Samson is the bringer of germs, but this time Jane threw us a curve. A wicked, wicked curve.
All is well now, so I've got to play catch up. More to come soon.
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About Me
- dada
- 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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