It's official. He prefers grass and top dressing to my lovingly constructed and cunningly disguised meals. Ho hum. My eight month old sat on a picnic blanket this afternoon while we were gardening and raked up handfuls of grass once he discovered he could pull the blanket toward himself. It was a blackened gummy smile with grit between the teeth.
Jessica has hit the twos. I actually thought they were a myth, but the rumours are true. With lots of "NO" and some whining (Jessica, please use your big girl voice) and the inability to go to bed and stay there without at least 3 smacks (this after shortening her afternoon naps), we are kind of reeling. Some quiet consultation with friends seems to indicate that this is a widespread phenomenon.
However, the cute kisses hello and goodbyeyyyyyyyyyyyes, the vocab increase daily, a thrill in identifying the colours of cars all more than make up for it.
Oops, meant to be working. Better get back to my very dull document (zzzzzz). Have a great week!
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