Banshee.

I don't actually know what a screaming banshee is, but if I had to guess what it looks like, I'd guess this:


















Which is why I now own these:





























Anyone have a pair of earplugs I can borrow? I've got some reading
to do.

Yes.

Because I can only say no so many times in one day.



I'd like to point out that the dog bowl was completely full when he started, and that I had already cleaned up the other full bowl of water he stepped in, dumped all over the floor, and crawled through.

And, yes, that is duct tape on my custom maple cabinets. Baby proofing at its finest.

Walk this way.

House and home.

At nine months old, Calvin is already eating us out of both.

Last night he had a piece of lasagna, cottage cheese, a container of peas, and a handful of banana slices. I'm taking bets on how many gallons of milk we'll go through each week once he's a teenager. Three? Four?

Better start saving now.

Eight month adventures.

Now that Calvin is on the move, life has become a series of adventures. Adventures in...

Crawling.













Standing.

















Playing. (Yup, that's Mattie's.)

















And even sleeping.

















I'm not sure there are enough antibacterial wipes in the world to get us through this stage.

This and that and this and that.

So there's that, plus now there's this:



But luckily that usually ends in this: