"That's Not Food!"

This Thanksgiving, we had one more little thing to be thankful for. "Was this an accident?" my blunt little sister asked me ten minutes after I had taken the pregnancy test and called her on the phone.  I called her first because we had just been talking; she had been asking me about stage two and stage three foods for her little peanut while I had been staring at the tests in the drugstore and contemplating just skipping the whole thing in favor of going to the dollar store the next day and buying one there.  Eight dollars for a pregnancy test?  Fifteen dollars for two?  Why would I pay this much when I can already feel the results in the pit of my stomach and the side of my boob?  Sure, the dollar store tests are a little more labor intensive- you have to find a cup to pee in and a little pipette to dispense the urine onto the test strip portion of the flimsy device- but the extra work is definitely worth the seven dollar savings.  Ah, screw it. ...

This morning, I had parent teacher conferences at ye olde preschool.  Alex was first, and a couple of words immediately caught my eye when I sat down and glanced at her written summary.  "Excessive drool?"  I thought quizzically.  "Is that really a standard measurement of preschool intelligence?" This is an excessively wet, sloppy kiss. The excessive drooling (I suppose all the slobber CAN be a bit much at times) is apparently indicative of his still maturing mouth and tongue muscles.  The teacher thinks that Alex may need to be evaluated for his speech, although I have to say I disagree with this assessment.  The kid has come a long way in these past four months, and his constant running commentary has exceeded adorable and gone straight to uncharted levels of annoyance.  He points out everything he sees, brings up topics from days and weeks past, and has started introducing his questions with "Can I ask you a question?" He is ridiculously frien...

If Alex were a pull toy and had a catch phrase, it would definitely be "Stop it."  The kid is always telling me to "Stop it," sometimes when I do something so simple as just to look over at him and smile.  There are a couple things he especially hates, though, number one being when we call him "Big Round Blond Head."  I can barely remember how that one started, although I vaguely recall some early morning in which Andy had climbed into my bed and then Alex had also come in and started bobbing around the room.  There was something perfectly cartoonish about his tow-headed skull bouncing in the early morning sunlight, and I said to Andy, "Look at that big, round blond head go."  Andy thought it was hilarious and started calling Alex Big Round Blond Head pretty much nonstop.  As did I, since the novelty of being directly related to someone with such light hair still hasn't worn off. And so we call Alex "Big Round Blond Head" occasi...