Tada! Meet Clayton

Jason named him. I'm crossing my fingers that someone really needs a stuffed bunny and perhaps a sheep print for Easter. This post-holiday spending lull is not good for our accumulation of millions via etsy.com.

Mod Bunny

My mind and hands are bored, so turning to stuffed toys for the answer seems to be working. We'll see how it turns out.

Winter

As soon as Storey went down for her nap today, I threw on gloves, coat, hat and boots and ventured out to the garage to fetch the shovel. We've been bound in at least a foot of snow. It's bad enough not wanting to go anywhere because of the weather. It's worse feeling like you can't go anywhere, which is how I've felt for the past few days. I hate winter in Ohio. And winter in Ohio, at home, with a baby can equal double or triple the blahs.

Buried under all that snow somewhere was our car... and the path OUT of here. It took me 30 minutes, which was exactly how long she slept (sigh, that is NOT long enough). So, surrendering to our seasonal reality, we both got bundled up and headed out to visit my mom.

Ahhhhh... there. That's the best way to warm up a boring winter Wednesday.

Prunes

Gross.
Food should not look like poop.

Buckets

Before Storey was born, our friend Emily gave her a bucket (yes). It had a tag attached that said, simply, "Buckets are amazing."

This sentiment apparently came from experience because Emily's daughter Aliza is just over a year old. Little did we know how highly accurate those words would be.

You can put things into a bucket, dump things out of it, bang on it, wear it, laugh at Mama wearing it, throw it and whack yourself in the head with it. Your voice even sounds big and impressive when you squeal into it. Damn.

Buckets ARE amazing.


They're delicious too.

Funniest Papa EVER!

Storey and I, we do things together. We read. We pretend. We talk about what the dogs are doing. We go for walks and play on the floor. Good stuff. Good, good stuff.

But Storey and Jason. That's a whole different kind of fun. Maybe Mamas produce quiet smiles and an occasional giggle, but only Papas elicit belly laughs in this house. Big, loud, contagious ones.



(Please excuse Howard Stern in the background talking about something apparently large, with a big head. Oh, come on. We all have our vices. This, much like the occasional epithet escaping from our parental mouths, we've justified as harmless until she begins talking. Then we'll reevaluate. Maybe.)

Bleck!

These are a little old (from last month just before she got the flu) but they're funny enough that this post is better late than never. She has moments when she thinks she likes eating cereal. She has moments when she knows she doesn't too.

Yesterday she figured out she has a tongue. She likes to make clicking noises with it and lap at her upper lip like a dog. I gave her a taste of cinnamon and sugar toast this morning and she spent the next hour smacking her lips and licking the cinnamon off her face. Figuring out you have a tongue gets you two steps closer to not spitting your entire dinner onto your shirt so, hey, it's progress.

Monkeys!!!!

It was inevitable. I had to paint big and little monkeys. Had to.