Parental Purgatory

I'm going wimp out here, and put up- a few baby pictures. The Smidgen is 2.3 years old.



No, we don't do anything to her hair, except wash and brush.


Ok, it's NOT because of Colin's last post, at all. It's because both Spice and I are in the latter stages of a plain old cold. You know, that day where- you're out of bed; feel like you REALLY should be doing things to catch up; ALMOST feel well enough - but- you can't. Do 3 minutes of work and have to take a 20 minute nap.



The Smidgen did this to us. She caught it somewhere; had it for several days before it got us. Still need to wipe her nose every half hour; but SHE is right back to work. She feels great.

Her "work" of course, consists of bouncing off all walls, and the ceiling, bursting with enough energy to ignite a tritium pellet, and being totally cheerful about everything. I managed to catch these photos while she was temporarily restrained in her highchair for lunch.





Bah. Humbug.

Neither Spice nor I have the energy to cope with our little pink tornado, and it's a definite disadvantage to living out in the woods- grandma is not nearby for a little respite. So we take turns, grumping at everything.

And do I have the energy to write a nice cogent reasonably well reasoned blog entry? Nope.

So this is what ya get, this time around.