Subdivided We Stand Meets Marathon Man

Where Is Your God Now?

Things the boy has said recently:

• "Sugarbutt."  (His new nickname for his mother.  I swear that he did not pick that up from me -- he came up with it on his own.)
• (Pointing to a drawing of a goat in the Dr. Seuss classic, "Fox in Socks")...
  Adam:  "Daddy, where do baby goats come from?"
  Me:  "From their mommy and daddy."
  Adam:  "Can I watch you and mommy make a baby?"
  Me:  "No, son."
• "You're not my fr....you're not my fr....YOU'RE NOT MY GOD!"  (As I'm struggling to pull a shirt over his head.  He was originally going for "you're not my friend," which is a frequent comment whenever he doesn't get his way.  Where the "God" thing came from I have no idea...)

Annnnd....Drink?

Looks like someone's aiming for a position on Mayor Luke's payroll:

Close but no cigar, Vera.  It's "move forward."  FORWARD!  Jeez, no wonder your brother threw your ass to the curb.

Nice boob-sweat stains, though.

The First Cut is the Deepest

Kate had a little run-in with a kitchen cabinet on Saturday night, and unfortunately the cabinet won -- to the tune of five stitches:

I'm happy to report, however, that the girl is pretty badass -- she cried for about 10 seconds after receiving a laceration that went through to the bone, then laughed and sang on our drive to the emergency room.

The doctors predicted that she'd probably go nuts when they swaddled her down, and again when they inserted the needles, but they were wrong.  Our tough little soldier just lay there and made a teeny little frowny face.  The picture above is from this morning, and it looks as though two of the stitches have already fallen out on their own.

And since the boy refused to let Kate have her picture taken without one of him, here's Adam making a face, much as he has for every picture we've taken of him for the last year.