kickin' around

In the backyard with Jeremy today.

a cure for cranky days

His favorite place, of late. And a cure for the sick-boy blahs.

Peekaboo in the new pantry.

hanging with his grand-folks

Down for a visit on Sunday afternoon. A fever dampened the mood a bit, but he climbed around on GrandPop...

and giggled at Grandma Ewa's antics with the bastketball, even so.

spirit shines through

Lincoln's resilience amazes me. In the face of the umpteenth ear infection of this winter, yet another fever, a raw nose and two painful fangs emerging...

he still manages between shutter clicks to find a joyful (if still drool-y) moment.

finally!

We have been having a healthy, fever-free, happy few days around here. Yay!!

Aunt Deanna visits!

And shows Linc and thing or two.

 And saves him from falling down the stairs.

And pushes two ecstatic cousins around in her double stroller.

While another cousin has a bite to eat, and tries to tolerate the baby takeover.

spring! sniffle, sniffle

Golden crocuses, daylight savings time, 62 degrees. Who cares about the river of snot that's been hangin' around our house for weeks. It is almost here.

raw onions for dinner?

Linc isn't the most ravenous eater in the world these days. He likes to pick and choose, and his choices are creative enough to confound the chef. First of all, if you are trying to get him to eat it, either with an extended spoon or with the aid of some "MMm, MMMm-ing," he won't even look at it. It's going in his mouth by his own hand or it ain't going anywhere.

Pasta? Yuck. Potatoes? Yuck. Yogurt? Yuck. Bread? Yuck. Falafel? Yuck. Meatballs? Sometimes. Blueberries? Not any more. Vegetables? Forget it. Unless you count gnawing like a rat on an uncooked brussel sprout one time. He won't even eat cake.  Cheerios, cheese and veggie booty are always winners though.

As are, for some reason, raw onions. Yes RAW onions.

He swiped a fresh slice from the counter once and that was it.  Don't let that sour chewing face fool you. Once he's done he'll demand another. And another.  And another. It has gotten to the point that if I'm cooking while he's picking through the food on his plate, I chop any onions out of his field of view.  I sort of love the weirdness of such a choice, but in the interest of his stomach lining I try to bring some motherly logic to the fore here.  I do wish he'd form such an attachment to kale or wheat germ or something...