As is the norm these days, we had a busy, stressful week (writing introductions is hard) and a busy, relaxing weekend. New words emerged--"clock" and "bib"--along with a third lower tooth. At least we made time to bathe our offspring.
|Get thee to a water park|
|Duckie enacts his dual functions as a temperature gauge and a veil of modesty|
Tor's frequently found zipping around the downstairs on his Pewi "bike" from Oma and Opa:
|Once both feet can touch down fully, we're in for it|
Last Sunday was so nice out that we accompanied our friends Lindsay, Dave, and Baby Owen on a long walk after lunch at their house. The frozen lake needed some walking on, but we let the menfolk handle that while Tor ran around on the dead winter grass.
|Dave, Lars, Lindsay, and our yuppie strollers containing our smug children|
|Rocket bib? Check. Rattle? Check. Let's start this revolution|
|Huge miscalculation in yogurt removal timing|
|The sun is the only piece he can actually put in. Yes, because it's round.|
Finally, the boy is clearly developing a sense of self-privilege. (Spoiler alert: he's human!)
|Sharing his swing with the monkey, but desire is kindling in his breast|
|"Perhaps you'd be happier over here"|
|"Eat my bib, simian!"|