Migrations

Over time, all of the ceramic mugs in the house end up in our cabinets and all of the wine glasses end up downstairs in Meek's kitchen.

This seems fraught with significance.


Fuss is still under the weather and my morning was spent talking him down from the ledge of hysterics while making breakfast and then trying to get him to eat something, because part of the reason he was freaking out was that he hadn't eaten, but he was freaking out to hard to eat, but he was freaking out because he hadn't eaten. Many things about childrearing call to mind the Möbius strip.


I eventually got him calmed down enough to sit on my lap while I hand-fed him toast and eggs.
Then he demanded Simpsons Halloween. I might just pick up that compilation so I don't have to keep digging through the season box sets...