Inconspicuous Jesus

Okay, don't get mad. That title comes from a morning spent googling infant diseases and constantly coming up with references to a condition involving boy-parts. I'm not blaspheming, it's just running through my incredibly pious head. Hey, look, a picture of baby Jesus with, like, 16-pack abs! It frightened me at a Catholic church gig last month so I knew I had to show it to you immediately.

We're up against another non-negotiable problem with the church we thought we finally liked. The worship dude had a full sleeve and often pronounced things like that guy from the Decemberists, which tells me he's got to have at least some redeeming qualities. So that wasn't the problem. It was a boring theological thingamaBLEH that the pastor said in the middle of his sermon. J and I exchanged glances, zipped up our matching christian-fish-eating-darwin bible covers and backed out while hissing and speaking in tongues. Not really. We haven't sprung for the covers yet.

So I guess instead of finding a church we'll just have to start our own sect. To belong, you must like 79.4% of the following:

Mexican food (margaritas required)
Lawyers
24 or CSI
Violas above all those inferior instruments (that's a gimme- how could you not, you heathen? Also, if you say, "Isn't that kinda like a violin?" we will betray you for 30 pieces of silver.)
This American Life
Irony and/or Sarcasm

I feel like I'm forgetting something...

We're busy lately.

Mostly we are coated in play-doh, ketchup, finger paint or receipts from the pediatrician. It's a look.






Here we have Toby channeling Robert Smith. He's gifted, I tell you.

Nipper

Isaac fell asleep on my chest on the couch yesterday. Neither of my kids has ever done that so far. Actually, except in the first few weeks I've never even seen either of them drift off since they do that in the privacy of their wee little beds.

I guess this was one of those new mom moments I somehow missed over the last three years. It's kinda nice to be able to say, without a doubt, that this is no parenting hormone gush. The sweet treebark smell of his hair, the warmth and weight of his chest, the light quick snore and smushy cheek undo me.

I hope he does it again soon.

Potty Tower*

Toby still shows no interest in toilet training. He's 37 months (3 human years) old.

Today I could tell he was in process and offered to take him to the toilet. Mom and dad were visiting so he declined on the grounds that he "Wanna play." I pressed a bit, telling him all sorts of people like Grandpa and Daddy do that on the toilet so they don't have to lay down in the middle of everything and have a diaper change.

He looked at me with this one very piercing look he has, not angry but startlingly focused and quietly but firmly said, "I know that they do," in a tone that informed me in no uncertain terms that our conversation was over.

If he's going to sound like an older man it would be nice if he picked up just one or two of their habits.

*He calls the Potty Power video we got from the library "Potty Tower".