Relatives are visiting (ain't we got fun?). Larry's sister Kate is here, which means all the little ones are sitting around wielding crochet hooks and other implements of destruction. She brought Grandma with her. Grandma is prefacing everything she says with "I may be repeating myself, but..." Yes. Indeed, yes. Most emphatically, yes.
Anna's Halloween costume (a damsel dress) is progressing well, thanks to Auntie. If she hadn't showed up to help, Anna would have been stuck with wrapping herself in old newspapers and going trick-or-treating as the Goddess of Recycling. Or perhaps as an order of fish-and-chips. Or the floor of a bird cage, even. The possibilities are endless, if you simply use your imagination.
I have officially given up - I do not know how to potty-train a child. I am open to any and all suggestions that may help Rachel to kick her diaper habit. (And, no, the suggestions may not involve the use of duct tape.) I just read an article in The New York Times (see - I can still read) claiming that the fashion now is to toilet-train one's infant, before it develops that nasty and expensive dependency on diapers. One mother is quoted as saying that she has a much better relationship with her 10-week-old now that she has learned to read his cues which signal his need to poop or pee. May I humbly suggest that there is one woman with way too much time on her hands? Anyway, it's too late for Rachel, who apparently (at this late age) needs some sort of 12-Step program in order to graduate to undies.
Rachel has commandeered a camping lantern for her bed (battery-operated, don't worry). "See, Brian," she showed her brother. "This is my lighttern." "No, Rachel," he sagely corrected her. "That is a lamptern." Despite their differing opinions on most things linguistic, theirs is a mostly harmonious relationship. Oh, Rachel does swat Brian on the head with her little purse from time to time; but he's taking Tae Kwan Do 3 times a week now, so he should be able to defend himself pretty soon.
Until next time...