Lest I Be Accused of Favoritism . . .

A photo of Cubby, just to make sure Charlie doesn't get all the airplay around here. (Plus, is this not cute?  Not the fish so much, but the boy in the tiny life vest.)

The Return of the Sheepskin

Different baby, same sheepskin.

I Know Where Those Hands Have Been

This past Sunday's Family Fun involved fishing.  For A. and Cubby, obviously, not Charlie and me.  MY fun was getting a milkshake before the fishing.  I'm much more into ice cream than impaling worms on a hook and dealing with flopping fish.

ANYWAY.

After watching Cubby play with the worms for about ten minutes, and then fondle the bluegills that A. caught--including minute examination of the eyes and opening and closing the mouth--I was very reluctant to take his hand to walk back to the car.

Yesterday I turned around in the garden to find him squishing a slug in his fingers.  Lovely.

Soon Charlie will be right there with him, with the filthy hands and the mud on the pants and the dirt on the cheeks.  I don't suppose it's just a boy thing, but I bet it mostly is.

Sharing Is Caring

And isn't it just so sweet that Cubby cares enough about his baby brother to share his drippy, nasty cold with him?

Here he shares the joy of this wretched musical toy given to Charlie by our very nice neighbors that plays perky little songs over and over if you so much as look in its direction.  Irritating as it is, it's still better than two children with a cold.

And because I care so much about you, allow me to share this very pretty photo I took of the curly maple bowl made by my dad the (not amateur) carpenter extraordinaire--and expert bowl turner--on its maiden voyage as a food vessel.

I'm sure my formerly vegan father is relieved that it is holding tomato salad and not something like lamb hearts.  A not-impossible thing to find in a bowl at Blackrock, unfortunately.

Have a lovely day, poppets.