Raccoon and the miner, part deux

The long-awaited sequel.

Quick poll: am I the only one who can understand what he's saying? I feel like he has a whole story to tell, and sometimes I understand him completely, and sometimes, eh, not so much. This one, I think I got most of it.

And of course, what better way to end a saga than by eating some unidentified piece of lint off of your pants. I hear that's how all the greats did it. Tennyson, Faulkner, Shakespeare. Gotta distract the audience from the fact that there's no real end to your tale....

The Castle

Who let the viking in?

Storytelling

Here's the story of the miner and the raccoon. And you'll never know the end, cause the batteries ran out on the camera.... :)

Walkable hood

We go on a lot of walks around the neighborhood, largely because we don't have a car, so how else are we supposed to get to the drugstore? Here's one walk from about a week ago, when it was still warm enough for short sleeves...

All in a day's work

He looks like such an angel. Because somehow artists of yore always depicted angels as blond two-and-a-half-year-olds with chubby cheeks. Had they never actually met any?

A sampling from yesterday:

1) At lunch, he started banging his spoon on his highchair, making a ton of noise. His dad said "Please stop making that noise, it's really annoying." And he responded, calm as could be, "That's why I'm DOING it, Daddy."

2) After spreading a paste of water and dissolved starch-based packing peanuts all over the kitchen floor (aha, you didn't know the starch-based ones dissolved in water, did you?), I came in and yelled at him about not making messes, not getting stuff all over the floor and keeping water in the sink, where it belongs. To which he said "Mama, that mess is there for a REASON."

And in a less contrarian but nonetheless kind of creepy vein:

3) He was playing with his pieces of squash at lunch, having one piece talk to the other. He had one piece of squash ask the other "You want a platinum mastercard?"

Apparently someone's been reading the junkmail out loud when there are two-year-olds present...