Oliver is so mouth-wateringly finger-licking delicious right now he is in danger of being eaten up. He has cheeks like ripe peaches and smells like… yum. Seriously. Last week a dog-ee (you know the type, older single female who either had no kids or all have flown the coop so she has replaced her child(ren) with a dog who is her entire life so she doesn’t even look at you or ask you your name when she meets you, only your dog’s) stalked me as I hiked through an unofficial dogpark on the edge of the woods near our house and asked, “Oooohhh, a new baby! Can I smell him?”
Psycho lady leans over Ergo-carrier and smells Oliver’s head pensively. “MMMMMMM.” As I slowly back away from the baby-eater.
But watch out, homies. Milo’s pie-throwing days are far from over, and he’ll “Doo-da” (or “ba-too”) you if you so much as touch his baby brother. “He’s MINE!” I was told today when I picked Oliver up off the couch after taking 82,523,625,372 pictures of the two of them.
Fine, you can have him, then. But don’t come cryin’ to me when he poops in 5 minutes.
Anyway, Milo has his own loot to look after:
These are the contents of his new plastic pumpkin pail designated for candy-retrieval for Mommy and Daddy on Halloween. His treasures include a penny, two stones, and a once-sticky, now-fuzzy/hairy/crumby fake eyeball found on the floor of Target this morning which he insisted on carrying with him all over the playground, stuffing in his pocket, and holding while eating both snack and lunch… and dinner. Can you get swine flu from a fake eyeball? I drew the line on taking fuzzy eyeball to bed during nap, but not because of germies. It literally conjured up an image of Milo, blue and (already) rigor-mortis from choking on a toy eyeball. So scary and so, so weird.
But worth stifling laughter as I closed his door after putting him down for nap and later, bed, as I heard a muffled, “NOOOOOO! My eyebaaaallllll! DOO-da!” (insert sound of Milo’s small mit hitting his crib in anger here). Mommy is so mean. Enjoy the bajillion pictures!
P.s.- I’m considering changing Oliver’s name to Timmy, just for kicks. And because Andrew won’t let me nickname him Ollie.
Only time will tell if Oliver can do that cool tongue roll thing. I can’t, Milo and Andrew can. Jerks.
My torso is made of a wooden block…
What of it?
Stroke face x2
No more pictures, Mom
I swear I didn’t set this pose up… but my inner stage mom is secretly happy. Oh, come on. We all have one.
Tryin’ out a new face. Very Zoolander.
I call this one the “seven o’clock face.”
What I get to see if I am lucky enough to take a nap with Timmy.
What, you thought I was kidding about the Timmy thing?