Our Bodies, Your Selves

Grammers and I were having a cuddle after dinner last night. He was, for the most part, enjoying sitting on my lap and reclining back on my thighs but at one point leaned up and put his hands over my chest and mumbled something like “I-love-zehboobess…” 

Baby Graham, did you just say you love my boobies?


Way to confidence-boost, little man. I’ll remember that when you want a 10-speed or something. 

In other news- both kids are doing great, looking cool, and saying hilarious stuff. I really need to make a point of writing it down because currently the only Virginia-ism that springs to mind is one from the other night… Graham was rolling around on top of a giant punching balloon and crashing into various pieces of furniture, or the floor and then laughing.

I said, “Be careful! Those aren’t meant for that! It’s going to pop and scare you!” 

Virginia replied, “They’re very strong- they have daddy’s breath in them.” 

Such a sweet concept.

If we were religious I’d change “daddy’s” to “HIS” and have it emblazoned on some sunset background web graphic in the worst “free download” script font you’ve ever seen. But we’re not. Sorry, Hobby Lobby!

So, we’re off to the Bahamas on Thursday for some high-intensity tanning and capitalism. Graham’s new thing is shaking people’s hands and saying “NICE TO MEET CHOOO” in a ridiculous voice over and over again, so maybe he’ll do a bit of networking at the swim-up bar. 


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