|Chillin' with Daddy and Dominic, playing with a light.|
|Apparently, Miles is growing out of his baby bed. I probably|
ought to move him to a dresser drawer . . .*
|Dragging his sled around as the last snow was melting.|
This was apparently preferable to dragging it on the snow.
|Using his toes as teethers. Because apparently|
the nine zillion teething toys he owns are insufficient,
*For the love of all that is holy, I am joking.**
**Gods of the Internet, please create a humor font. And while you're at it, could you create a sarcasm font? And maybe a weapon that allows me to slap people through the computer? And, and, and, and, and . . . .