Overdue Update

*My Son the Fashionista*

We've been moving at the speed of...Kovi. Obviously, posting has been put on the back burner- far enough away to now be consider a Coleman stove. Sorry. I promise to make it up to you, posting lots of adorable grandbaby pictures. In the meantime, here are a few anecdotes to passify your chubby widget needs.

This afternoon Kovi was going down for a nap while his sister and I played in her room across the hall. For 20 minutes, Kovi could be heard talking to himself, taking to his babies, playing his gloworm, banging around in the crib- evidences that he was not going to sleep.

I went in to check on him, prepared to lay him down, rub his head and pat his tummy until he agreed to go night-night. Instead, Kovi was standing up, bare-assed and smiling, his wild hair aflame about his little face...and with his diaper on his head. The look on my face must have conveyed confusion because he blurted out, "HAT!" Biting my lip, I tried my best not to bust-out laughing... the thing was, he sported the diaper/hat like it was the most natural, fashion-forward thing to do. Yes, it's a diaper...that I like not peeing in, but, Mom, it is also a fabulous accessory! See?!

As I got closer to the crib he pointed at a wet spot on the sheet and said, "pee-pee," then, "diaper," and finally, "HAT! HAT!" I nodded, understanfing the sequence of events.

After re-diapering and re-clothing and re-sheeting, he layed down, patted his own tummy and said "night, night Mama."

*The Curse of the No-Tailed Dog*

Later in the evening while I was preparing dinner, Kovi and Ever were playing sweetly in the living room. After a few moments, I noticed an unusually wide-eyed Dublin staring at me. Curious, I poked my head around the corner to get the full view of him. And HOLY Stink Finger... there was Kovi with a very chubby digit plugged into Dublin's cornhole. I hollered. Kovi removed his finger and Dublin sorta chugged to life, tucking his butt down and bucking forward, like an old time car springing to life.

Still hollering, I snatched Kovi and ran to the sink, attempting (and dismally failing) to explain to a not-quite-two-year-old why we don't put our fingers in our dog's butts. Sanitized to near boiling, the freshly scrubbed, slightly red-handed chubby little cherub toddled off to less stinky play, while I tried to erase the image of Dublin's bug-eye look from my memory.