kiwords

Just as I started to type Claire (our beautiful stupid cat) came racing across the floor in hot pursuit of a stray suction cup. Unfortunately she ran headlong into the leg of my chair with a thunk that reverberated impressively. Now she’s alternating between trying to look like she’s not embarrassed and studying a toy helicopter. I suppose for signs of the menace of stray suction cups.
*sigh*
She is beautiful, though.
Raphael has developed a fascination with eggs. His favorite food is “one white egg,” which means a hard-boiled egg. He only likes the white and nibbles around it until the last curve of white falls away from the yolk. At that point he announces that he took off its diaper.
Which I’m sure isn’t an early indication of need for counseling. At all.
But unfortunately, his main attraction is to the other eggs. The real eggs, in the cartons in the fridge. The minute my back is turned he skates into the fridge and does his level best to free an egg. The other day he got an egg out, carried it upstairs to my bedroom, overturned a basket of laundry so he could stand on it, and smashed the egg in MY bathroom sink.
I don’t know why.
Just tonight he liberated an egg and just stood there and squeeeeeezed, until it finally broke in a satisfying (and splattery) crunch. He was mystified that I took his egg and annoyed that I felt the need to wash his hands. And stomach. And legs. And feet.
Ah well.
Ours is not to question why, ours is but to hide the eggs.

I went to the weight class tonight, and while I was there Dad brought Tre and Max to play in the hot tub. They came dancing past the weight room in their swim trunks and poked their heads in to say hi. When I saw them I hopped up in the middle of a set and ran over to hug their warm little bodies. What is it about seeing your kids in an unexpected place that makes them seem that much more precious?

Well, Claire is hunting the wily rubber band now, and I’m calling it a night. Weemies.