Then Stella threw a bunch of "cotton" on him, the kind that drifts down from cottonwood trees, and the result is that he looks like someone tarred and feathered him. However, I can rest assured that he is well shielded from the sun now, since there is no way harmful rays can penetrate the layer of protective matter stuck to his skin. I'm not even sure I can tell which end of the baby is up.
|I think I saw one of these|
on my laundry.
I ride Stella over to preschool on a tagalong bicycle, which is the kind where a little kid can ride on a bicycle that is attached to the adult's bicycle. I also have a seat for Baby W on my bicycle, so we're quite a parade when we go anywhere. Three people on one bicycle is a lot, and it's somewhat precarious, but it works pretty good as long as I don't have to perform any complicated biking maneuvers. Like turning. Or stopping.
|You'd need one of these to get|
up my mountain of laundry,
unless you're one of the goats.
I'm actually quite impressed with myself that I'm holding down a challenging job and managing a household all while getting woken up every 90 minutes by Mr. Cutiepants. And no, that's not what I call David. (I call him Sir Cutiepants.)
Life goes on, and we are enjoying the summer. We've been visiting the beach a lot, where Walter improves his hand-eye coordination by shoving fistfulls of sand into his mouth as fast as he can. (He's still got a ways to go in the hand-brain coordination, if you know what I mean.) We've been riding our bikes around, running in the sprinkler, and having a great time. The only thing missing is clean underwear.