he is an agent who seeks answers hidden in dark places with the desire to solve outrageous mysteries

he has to be in top physical shape to get in and out of the dangerous places he’s drawn to

he is always aware of his surroundings, noticing tiny details that even the best, most intelligent operatives might overlook, spotting things of great importance

he plucks precious treasures from their hiding places, with a clear understanding of what must be done

and turns them over only to she whom he most trusts, knowing that his mission is completed by this hand-off

then he slips away to the next daring adventure, leaving his leading lady with a smile on her face.

For a very long time, this is a rule that Braden has respected. Hey, if Mommy says fingers in the nose is a “no-no” and there’s even a book backing her up, it must be true.

But now we have reached the Age of Contrary. We see evidence of this with classic conversations like, “Here’s your peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” “NO. Dat’s not peanut butter jelly sandwich, DAT’S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY.”

And who could not see the genius in “Sit down at the table now.” “NO, I HAVE TO SIT IN DIS CHAIR NOW.” (The chair at the table.)

And if it’s fun to say “NO” to things just so you can restate them in a different way, well, then it must also be delightful to do things that have been forbidden. It’s all just part of the same circle of fun, right? Of course it is!

Life without testing the boundaries is boring, my friends. And the boundary between fingers and boogers is just SCREAMING TO BE BROKEN.

I mean, just look at how much fun this little dingaling is clearly having!

did he really have to be wearing the shit eating grin?

And so it goes, the boy realized that perhaps even if the book and The Mommy say fingers in the nose is not so groovy a thing to do, it can, in theory, still be done. And so he tested this idea, and found that yes, it can be done, and in fact, he quite enjoys sticking his fingers in his nose.

Over and over again.

it kills me that he can make even booger picking cute

Though it is clearly quite a bother to request a tissue before nostril exploration has begun, apparently it is no problem at all to do the same thing once one’s finger has been befouled. He walks over to me with his finger stuck out in front of him, a fine specimen riding the peak of his pointer, and says, “Put my booger in a tissue.”

Such gifts he presents to me, and lo, they take my breath away. It is an honor, such an honor.

And hey, I guess I have some idea of where he gets the appreciation for sticking things in his nostrils.

i.am.dead.sexy.

At least he’s not sticking other things in his nose.

Yet.

February 28th – March 6th
These shots taken with my: Canon Powershot G9

Oh yeah, baby. PB&J on Pancakes.

He just made bubbles in his milk. Tee hee.

So good, I cried.

By the blue glow, I live and die.

Nobody here but us overexposed, self-portrait taking types.

You, Me… Staring Contest.

To view all my photos, visit my Flickr Photostream

Weekly Winners Information
All My Past WW Posts

There is so much going on right now, a flurry of to dos and plans and please let this work outs, that I can’t even begin to tell you about it all.  I want to tell you.  Of course, I will.  In just a little while.  My thoughts are racing along so far and so fast, ahead of me on that straight-shot road, being drawn to the place where my heart lies in wait.  When it all snaps together just right, I’ll calm down, take a deep breath, and let my fingers do the work of spilling the proverbial beans here.

For now, my feet are getting tangled under me as I dart this way and that in nervous anticipation and fervent getting readiness.  It’s quite a dervish of a whirlwind that’s whipping me around currently.

Luckily, in the breaks between spinning and racing and running around with far too much to think about and much, too much, to do, Braden and I have private dance parties to the music of The Beatles in our living room.  There is generally an abundance of giggling.  (You can dance really stupidly when there’s no one but a 3 year old watching, and it doesn’t matter.)  Often, there is falling down on the floor silliness to be had, as well.  And sharing a moment or two of just being.

Life, contrary to what you may have heard, is good.

Then I read it to him at bedtime.

It screamed “COCK!” at us.

No, seriously. Look:

And really, I can’t read this to him a single freaking time without picturing a giant wang all up in Jack’s house.

And yes, I know that a “cock” is a rooster. I also know that “gay” means happy and a “fag” is a cigarette. And yet, I wouldn’t say that a happy farmer smoking a cigarette next to his rooster is a gay dude tokin’ a fag by his cock.

And you probably have a lovely mental image that illustrates exactly why.

So. Thanks for this book selection, Dolly.

(Who, incidentally, I can never think of without picturing… you know damn well what.)