twotothree

There are hundred-page online debates about whether a person loves their children or their spouse "more."  I think those people are missing the point.  It seems that it's not about whom you love more, but rather the type of love afforded to each person.  A child you love unconditionally, whereas your love for your spouse has definitive parameters.  I bring this up because since Gloria has had this head-cold, my bed sheets have become a swamp of baby nasal juice and phlegm.  I was wondering the other day about how I can be ok with this, because if Mike were to blow his nose all over my bed, we would probably divorce.

G-dog and I have moved away from Sesame Street, to a show on Netflix called Early Bloomers.  She only really has eyes for Elmo, so I was trying to find a show that better captured her attention and got her mind off of her miserableness.  And I do not understand how the makers of this show are walking free.  They're clearly the leaders of a North American LSD ring.  An example of a typical segment is a rainbow horse running around the screen making "chisha-chisha" noises while using its tail to paint raincoats and umbrellas.  Rabbits with donkey heads jumping up and down yelling, "mystery box!" repeatedly as a rainbow cube floats around the screen.  Two blobs with bubble-wands on their heads producing soapy renditions of pizza.

It's the end of April and we had a snow storm  yesterday.  (Today is "Segue-Free Tuesday.")  It made me really excited for Christmas.  I can't wait to buy myself toys under the guise of buying gifts for Gloria.  I'm pretty sure she wants a wooden castle block set and pirate Legos. 

I fluctuate between being excited for her to be old enough to play with "real" toys, and dreading having to share my (her) toys with her.  Right now the most complex play she can manage is slamming Sophie the Giraffe's head against the floor.  Sophie the Giraffe is a ridiculously-priced rubber toy that's really trendy right now.  I don't know what about her is so special because she seems pretty plain and the box is in French.  I suspect it's an "Emperor's New Clothes" type of situation and no one wants to admit that they have no idea what the big deal is because they don't want to seem like a sub-par parent.

I'm going to manufacture a toy that has a striking resemblance to a Tupperware container.  This toy will be $37.99.  I have photographic proof that this toy will be even more successful than Sophie.

A $22 rubber giraffe abandoned in favor of an empty formula container.

This photo was taken at night.  Isn't the lighting fantastic?  It's because my parents bought me a gorgeous new external speedflash for my camera.  This is the same photo taken without the flash:

Grainy, with a yellow shift and motion blur.  I love my new flash SO MUCH.  I CAN'T STOP TAKING PHOTOS OF EVERYTHING.  

Crib banana.  Evidence for how badly my house needs cleaning.

Mike and I need a debate settled.  A man finishes shaving and accidentally dries his face off with a towel that a baby has peed on.  Is it the wife's fault for leaving the baby-pee towel on the nursery floor, or is the man's fault for wandering around and using any old crumpled towel to dry his face on?