thankful we can pet the cat

Like these posters Captain America colored? We don't support potty humor at our house, as you can see.

Pinga wearing the jammies Claire gave her.

Superman asked what was in the water on the Sunset cover photo, and said there was probably a megalodon that he would punch.

Storytime with the balding and someday-to-be-balding menfolk.

Superman when he was saying prayers tonight kept his eyes half open and reached out with his foot to stroke the cat, while saying, "Thankful we can pet the cat . . . "

we don't poop in the garbage can

But peeing is fine, I guess. I went into the bathroom to take care of Carmelita's diaper, and lo, what do I find? A garbage can full of urine, obviously. My mind harkened back to a more innocent time earlier this morning when I heard Superman motoring around the house saying to himself, "We don't poop in the garbage can." I told him that was right and went about my business. I blame the Hulk for this, and those of you who have heard of his closet escapades will no doubt concur.

my child the budding circus freak

We got new windows last week, and we occasionally find little shards of glass around the house. This morning I found one downstairs in the toy room while I was talking to our plumber, and I stupidly asked Superman to go throw it away. It did not go well.

Here is Superman's empty mouth.

Here is what I fished out of Superman's mouth. The original piece of glass was about three times this size.

The Jehovah's Witnesses came by yesterday and left us some literature to read in conjunction with our bible study. I was pleased that they didn't try the hard sell. I hate when people are pushy and annoying and I have to be rude to make them go away. They asked if they could come back and talk to me about the magazines, but I politely declined and they left it at that. They also complimented Ableskiver on his handsome hugeness, which shows discernment and good taste.

A coworker of The Dad's has given us hope for our children, because he is a super nice guy with great kids--at least that's how they behave when we've seen them--and the other day he was telling The Dad that his kids are all "a bunch of lying liars." And we could do a lot worse than to have kids like his. I keep hoping that they'll just stop lying so we can trust them again, but no luck.

I enjoy watching them play together, punctuated as it is by (well-founded) accusations of cheating.

I think Pinga is growing. If I hold her just so, I can make her cheeks look like they have flesh on them!

out of the hands of babes

I've taught a few signs to all my babies, because it made it so much easier for them to communicate with us and us with them. Carmelita isn't quite ready yet, but probably will soon be able to start saying "please." "More" is a little more difficult, but they have an incentive to learn that one. Emily has taught us some cool signs, too, and introduced us to "Signing Time with Alex and Leah" which airs on PBS. It's a fun show, except for the lady needs to settle on down with the singing. I like singing as much as the next guy, but there's just so much of it! It's not about you, lady! Here is a cool website where you can look up many words you might want to teach your ankle-biters.

st. valentine's day

Pinga sitting on my lap while I'm wearing my rad train conductor overalls.

Pinga loves her toes.

Skiver loves the vacuum hose.

We decorated cookies today. Since they're for Valentine's Day, obviously they were blue and green flowers, ducks and gingerbread men.

Please sir, may I have another?

This was before Superman stuck his face in a plateful of nonpareils.

You can see that he is already working on the finer points of his face-in-nonpareils plan.

Pinga is being fed by her dad Smoove B in his best free shirt, suitable for events both Christmas and Valentine in nature.

What a handsome little urchin peddling his sugary wares.

The paltry fruits of our labors--there were casualties along the way.

One of the best things about Valentine's Day is that now we're that much closer to Cadbury Egg season.

just a regular ol' Sunday morning

shirtless Superman earning his woof badge

as with our other children, Pinga is turning orange, nose first

hair styled by Squiggy

let's see . . . food goes in here . . . no, that's not right . . .

in which I cave

The Dad has suggested that perhaps there may be those who are more interested in the goings and comings and goings of our family than in our farming, remodeling and lecturing. So here is where we will put the stuff that is not specifically related to chucking it. The title can be loosely translated to mean ''very loud," which will strike anyone who has met us as singularly apt.