The boy has taken a decidedly obstinate turn, and we're playing the heavies. As a symptom of his daycare experience, he know think everything of interest can be grabbed and clutched. Getting a valuable item back from him is like yanking it from a lion's jaw, and he melts down when it's taken away. We try to distract him by pointing out the half-dozen geegaws he can play with, but the shrieking continues. This is pouting, and I'll only tolerate the silent version. Shrieking is verboten. Your Sister administered her first spanking last night when he stood up in the tub. I think I spanked him some months back to shock him out of a crying fit.
I missed the bath smack as I was watching Transformers 3, a film that exists for one technically astounding siege of Chicago that lasts one hour. Unfortunately, you have to sit through almost 90 minutes of inexcusable mugging and mindless plots to get there. The kid liked it, and I might have a movie date for Captain America. There's a cool revision of the Apollo moon missions involving talking robots, and I wondered what the Apollo astronauts might think of this. About an hour later, onto the screen walks Buzz Aldrin, the second moon walker. Good for him for getting a movie paycheck and a shout-out from Optimus Prime. That may have done more for NASA's cool factor than the last three shuttle launches.
Your Sis took the sidekick back to the doctor to confirm the hallelujah rash is just that. And he did. This means she can go back to daycare. Also, he isn't going to keel over at any moment, which is also good.
My eyes feel better, not so tender at the periphery. My stomach is a ruin after two consecutive nights of event food.
Picture of the Day
We're Facebook famous in a unidentified, regional, sport-specific manner. I mentioned derby to the movie buddy, and he said he was dying to go. I want to encourage his interest, but I don't want to expand our partnership much farther. I can be his friend, but I can't be his best friend.