VivaCity

Thursday? Thursday already?? How can that be? The time is flying, dear reader, and I am counting down the paychecks 'til The Big Day. Spencer, on the other hand, prefers to count down the hours 'til Christmas, and can hardly bear the thought of wasting any of them sleeping. The dilemma comes in knowing that Santa will be highly displeased to hear of him not listening to Momma and going to bed in a timely fashion. To slip peacefully off to sleep after a hard day of play, or to torture Momma with whiny excuses? Such are the moral struggles of a 3-yr-old. At the end of the day, of course, the Santa card trumps all, but you knew this.

Julian, on the other hand, hasn't a clue what is looming on the horizon and knows only his immediate pain. Frustration, thy name is SHOES! We had allowed our sweet baby to run with the wind between his toes thus far, but decided with falling temperatures and increased walking ability, shoes were in order. I had forgotten how putting the damn things on can throw all previous walking feats out the window and set us back, oh, to about 2-wk-old status. Poor Julian crawls around army-style these days, dragging the offending sneakers as if he were a war hero crawling home, useless legs behind him. What a drama queen. He gets that from his father.

Julian has also discovered his tongue, which adds boundless emphasis to his encrypted vocabulary. It's all so Sylvester, phbltt-uffering phbltt-uccotash.

Consider yourself updated, dear reader, a virtual peeping Tom in the bushes of my life, and fret not! I swear on a stack of patents, more postcards from the edge (isn't that a movie? Is that phrase trademarked? I should know, huh?) tomorrow!