Sam’s not taking a bath here; he’s just hanging out.

Whenever there’s activity at the sink, he busily pulls his little chair over, stands on his toes, and looks over the edge like Kilroy. He did this last night, and I jokingly told him, “Get in the sink, Sam-Sam!”

Up went one chubby hock. He got his foot up to the drawer-front, then it stopped, and slowly slid back down to the chair as he peered over with raised brow.

“Get in the sink, Sam!” I said again, laughing.

He marked time in his chair for a few steps, then up went the foot again.

I laughed some more.

At this point, I think Jill felt a little bit sorry for him, so she cometized the sink, removed Sam’s [clean] diaper, and plopped him in there like a thawed turkey.

Then, I took a lot of pictures.

Okay, so Nate’s eye (see below) isn’t so funny. This post was originally called both “Sunday, bloody son day”, and “I scream Sunday”. While those titles more accurately captured the gist of Nate’s eye, they didn’t really work with the other two pictures. Not pictured is me rescuing Sam from the mudslide of his diaper, him peeing in a dazzling arc from the changing table to the floor, or the look on Jill’s face as he yacked all over himself, and then down into her cleavage. Good ones, Sam.

(Click here to view in higher resolution)

Judging by the amount of powder on Nate’s face and upper torso, I’d say that Liam was the man weilding the baby powder. By the time it settled, there was a heavy to light dusting of powder extending from the bathroom pictured, out into the hallway, down the back staircase, and well into the downstairs hall. Nate looked down after his picture was taken, and powder actually fell from his eyebrow onto the floor. It looked like something that would sift down from the rafters during an earthquake in a mineshaft.

After the cleanup, they ate breakfast, laughed, and then ate powdered donuts, which oddly brought their faces around full circle.

Later, Nate had yet another encounter with the edge of a table. And once again, he emerged scathed and unvictorious.

He heard Liam ask for some ice in his grape juice, and he lost his mind. He excitedly picked up Liam’s cup, and even as Liam began to squeal in protest, Nate was already setting it back down, and his feet were starting to head for the smaller table where his own juice was.

"Eye-iiiiiiiiccccccceeeeee!" he yelled as he pelted feet into the kitchen, tripped, and went forehead first into the table. Ironically, he hit just inches away from where his grape juice sat, and it was his head that ended up needing the ice, which never did make it into his cup.

He did, however, get to watch ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’ from my lap. He also got the coveted ‘Boo-Boo Buddy’ from the fridge, although he insisted on holding it directly between his eyes as he leaned against my chest and forlornly watched Thomas from beneath his swelling goose egg.

Here are the after-effects of dinner, unevenly distributed across the Outer Sam. Although it looks like he was eating a pumpkin, I believe this was either apricots, a Baby Mum-Mum biscuit, or both (Jill was feeding him, and I could hear her laughing from the next room).

To me, he looks like the Heat Miser, or someone who just smoked an exploding cartoon cigar. This made necessary a bath, which he promptly ruined shortly after exiting it with the aforementioned yacking.

All in all, a fairly typical Sunday.

ever type something one-handed and hold a grunting 7-mont h old as a 3.5 year repeatys incessantly “Hhide Liam hide liam hide liam!” and simultaneousy throws his blankets over your keyboard, whi?ch is ?baslanced on a pillow on your lap while a two year old yells “dada. stand. UP!” and pulls your feet?

I have.

B: “Hey, don’t eat this pistachio nut, it looks just like Daffy Duck’s mouth. Check it out.”

J: “Ha. It does.”

B: “I’m putting it up here on the shelf, next to Sam’s belly button.”

J: “I’d forgotten Sam’s belly button was up there.”

J: “Yep, there it is.”

…questionable odors, and immature situations. Parental guidance is suggested.