off with (the dirt on) his head!

Jaime says: "d was up at 6:30 this morning. as punishment i washed his hair. maybe next time he will listen when I say go back to bed."

worms, roxanne, i'm afraid of worms!

So, David is eating his dinner last night with an unusual level of cooperation--eggs with pees and corn, raisins, and chili-power-covered pistachios. A few minutes in, he declares that he doesn't like worms.

"Great" I say, "I'll leave them off of the grocery list."

A few minutes later, he announces that there are worms in his raisins. Ha ha, what a tremendous imagination. I assume the funny voice, "there are not worms in your raisins, sillyhead. Now, eat your eggs"

A few minutes more and he points at the raisins, "see, worms right there."

I'm a good sport, so I look. Holy leaping larvae, there ARE worms in his raisins! There are two or three tiny white wormy things the look a lot like inch worms would look if they were quarter-inch worms.

"I don't like them," he says.

This final statement begs a question: Does he know he doesn't like them because he has tried them, or is he just assuming he doesn't like them because daddy served them and he is an obstinate two-year-old? Because you know that, the next time I try to feed him, all he is going to want is the raisin worms.

later, worm fans.

big music

Hi, I just have moment, but the guilt of no blogging is becoming overwhelming. We could all be dead, for all you know. Actually, if we were dead, you would know. I'd be sure to post about something so monumental. That would really increase my traffic--blogging from the grave.

"Monumental" is the problem--nothin' much is going on. David is still two and reminds us about that every couple of days. Jaime is still prego and reminds me about that even more frequently. Let me put it this way--I don't see the title of this blog getting all that much longer in the future.

David has crossed another language line. At this point he is talking primarily in sentences and putting together and rearranging words with increasing skill. Now he moving to the point--which he'll perfect by age four--of being able to form complete sentences that make no sense. A couple of times lately, he has uttered a perfectly articulated sentence and Jaime and I have looked at each other and said, "what the heck does that mean?" He is also getting frustrated if he still has simply not learned the word to express a thought. Often, in the car he will want to listen to music. But when I turn the radio to a music station, he complains, "no, big music." Big Music? What does that mean. Louder? No. I'm not sure. I think it might be classical music. He seemed satisfied once when I turned the dial to opera.

I am writing from a hotel in Amarillo, TX. I'm heading down to El Paso to get a look at this border situation first-hand. I'll submit my conclusions in shreadible memo form.

later, big music fans.