What a difference a month makes

If you look closely, you are sure to find leg hair. This clearly rules out me as the person holding the goofy-looking kid sporting a bottle-opener and crazy hair. The only hairy-legged creature in the Zoo is ... well, I won't name names, but I think you understand why I make her wear the pants.

Speaking of hairy behinds, there's no way around it - I'm behind with the blog. Big time. At work, we have been experimenting with the concept of 'tacks', probably 'cause some important executive sailor-type needs a third yacht. Doesn't matter - the idea is simple. You take a year-long project and cram it into three-week sprints. Here's mine. And people say I have no tact.

We had Angie's piano delivered on the same day that Lilly had her first sleep over at the Zoo.

Looking at this picture, I have to say that it's a damn good thing Lilly is not allergic to dust. It's good for our boys, too, since I would have either had to leave Angie or put the boys up for adoption a long time ago. Don't get me wrong, Angie does clean; she just understands the whole 'spring cleaning' thing to be a once-a-year ritual that may or may not take place.

The guy that came to tune the piano was not amused, though. He smeared a disapproving finger through the muck as he sat down. When he opened up 'ole Dusty, he almost had a heart attack. I wasn't there, but Angie told me how the guy forced her to come from the other room and pointed at the inside of our new noisemaker.

'Do you see that?!'

'The piano? Yup, there it is.'

'No! There! Right there! Do you see that? Those are MOUSE DROPPINGS!'

I felt bad that the piano dude almost had a coronary over some mouse shit, but I still cracked up. Angie didn't. Instead, she began a cleaning frenzy that ended up with Lilly polishing my shoes. What?

That's right - we showed Lilly the fine art of making shoes shine. She actually quite liked it, so I wanted to see if Lilly wanted to play a game called 'let's build Mama a deck', but Angie was quick to point out that I was a few weeks late on that fun endeavour.

Instead, I gave Lilly the chore of building a colossal piece of Lego with David.

Lego must mean never having to say you're sorry. For those not old enough to get the reference, go and rent 'The Love Story'. Unless you have a penis, it was a great flick; just totally unrealistic. I constantly say 'I'm sorry' to Angie, but she still loves me. Check it out.

Either she's got a weird-ass cheek thing going on or she digs me the most. Either way, I'm not sorry.

Speaking of sorry, look at these poor saps. Peter was either about to karate chop David's nose or he is trying out that trick where you rub your belly and pat your head. Doesn't matter - Dalia was impressed. Yeah. Me, too. Wow.

As Dalia was off being swooned by sunglasses and nifty coordination tricks, Tommy was busting out his moves all over Brian's lawn decorations.

'What? Don't look at me that way. I'm not the only one-year old to have a thing for statues, am I?'

Speaking of weird creatures, Angie recently returned to the land of the working. Here is one of the first 'goodbyes' before Tommy quickly realized that waving bye-bye to Mama equalled Mama actually leaving.


At least he was in good hands. I mean, Ute is no statue, but somehow Tom managed to cope.


Being the third kid is always rough. Peter can already whistle and clap. Tom must have felt a little under-impressed and tried showing off.

Peter was the first to point out that whistling with a device DOES NOT COUNT. This strict adherence to the rules of whistling probably stems from me. I'm guessing I should not have laughed at his inept ability to whistle for the last five years. Damn, that was some funny shit, though.

To fill the void, I thought I would crack up by getting Peter to try and build stuff.

As it turns out, Peter is quite skilled in the fine art of IKEA. I can honestly say that this must come from Opa. I changed a light bulb once years ago, but I don't think that contributed to the genetic pool that Peter swam in for nine months.

So, what was Mama doing as Peter helped me decipher Swedish pict-o-instructions?

Cleaning house, of course. Angie style. Hey, whatever pops your bubble. When it comes to bubbly stuff, Peter, David and Dalia know what tickles the nose the best.

I swear to you, Coca Cola should be paying me BIG BUCKS for such well-placed products. But hey - if they don't want to cash in and target both of my readers, it's their loss.

Peter and David were all about losing when it came to a bucket race against Artin. I'm just glad there was no cash or coke involved.

In their defense, I've never practiced racing around in trashcans. I try to teach them sensible things, like how to blow ginormous bubbles.

So far, Tommy can only blow spit bubbles, but he has obviously picked up a few eating tips from Mama.

We were all a little worried that inhaling chocolate would not be enough to guarantee that Tommy's belly would grow to be big and round like Papa's. Opa came to the rescue with a sure-fire substitue that put everyone at ease. Look, Mom - no hands!

Mama babbled something about liver damage and how incredibly sexy I am, but I was only half-listening. I mean, come on! He's got a freakin' bottle opener in his mouth - let the boy use it! Angie then made a few choice remarks that reminded me to buy her a few dresses for Christmas.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When Davey say Shampoo by the Ladder Talk for Sharpur.
David: When we saw Dalia and Artin and Arman and Shayeste and Shampoo.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When Davey is bugging me all the whole day!
David: When I bonked mine, I goed with one to the other one and then went whoosh-aah-bonk and then I cry.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To find a dinosaur in the garden.
David: When we go in the bath and I splash Peter all in the face 'cause he not like that funny.