They'll Explain It All To You At The Betty

It has begun. College football season is upon us, and I'm finding myself full of dark fantasies involving total destruction of Phil's blackberry. I thought constant access to work e-mail was bad, but constant access to Gamecock Central is an evil I know not how to battle. Except maybe with a hammer.

I have wanted to shield my son from this freak obsession, dreaming of the day I'd hear him say, "No thanks, Dad. You can fill me in on the game later. Right now I'm really engrossed in this classic novel, then I think I'll practice my violin." Yesterday we were playing in the living room, and The Precious looks up at the dark television, then looks at me and says, "Football?" Sigh.

Side note: Andrew's doing lots of eye-closing when I ask him to smile for pictures these days. Hilarious.

He still has lots of love for the pets, often wanting to give them kisses. Sofie actually let him give her one the other day. So sweet.



All day long now, I hear a little voice asking, "Do it self?" and "Help Me?" (which means he wants to help me), and he collapses into a puddle if it's something he can't do (or if I don't have 20 minutes to wait for him to do all the buckles on his car seat without assistance). He opens and closes the garage door, helps move laundry from the washer to the dryer and turns it on, drags his little stool around to reach lights to turn off and beds on which to crash, and he is fascinated with anything going on in the kitchen. Here he is helping daddy make Labor Day waffles.


We got to spend another weekend with Uncle Bradley, by far the best crash player ever. His best friend from high-school met him here, so he spent most of his time gallivanting with Gordon, but he did take time out to read Andrew's new favorite book "That Pesky Rat" before nap time. I'm so glad we've gotten to see Bradley so much these last few weeks - he deploys again in October and I don't think we'll get to see him again 'til he's Stateside again. Boo.


Current Nighttime Routine: After bath in the evenings, I wrap Andrew in his bear towel and the two of us go over to the mirror to admire his cuteness. Then I brush his teeth using the kitty toothpaste and he brushes his teeth using the train toothpaste (his word for toothpaste sounds remarkably like "poopy" which can be disturbing until you get used to it). We get into cozy wambones, then curl up with a cup of milk and Beeden (his blanket) and read. Finally he turns on his white noise CD and turns off the light and I have to sing "ABC," "Tinysingoowee" (what he calls a song that contains the line "tiny nursing babes") and "Deep Deep" (Oh The Deep Deep Love of Jesus). It's quite a procedure, but such a sweet time. It can be tough when I haven't started supper yet and every time I try to get up he pleads "One more Deep Deep?" I can be a bit of a sucker. Also, his nursery chair is super comfortable and sitting there often has more of a draw than chopping raw chicken.


Finally (I know, the mind reels that there could be more), evidence of how much fun there is to be had with a with a chair and a make-shift ball pit.