A thousand words

Really, now: what is the proper way to observe President's Day? Should I attempt to teach the muppers the Presidential ditty that I learned in the eighth grade? That's the chronological listing of American presidents, set to the tune of Yankee Doodle. This mnemonic device served me well during high-school history quizzes, although I suffered occasional embarrassment when the swiveling heads and shocked expressions of my peers meant that I'd accidentally begun singing it out loud. Again. My bad.

Since S and K are still mastering the ABCs, perhaps we'll hold the music lesson for another year. Instead, I've seized on the holiday as an opportunity to make pancakes, a standing kiddo request. On a typical Monday morning, we're racing 'round the house to the frenzied beat of the Keystone Cops theme song in a far-fetched attempt to get Carter to school on time, so frozen waffles are the breakfast of choice. Fast and easy: nevermind that, on a good day, only a lone waffle edge may be nibbled. I can lead a toddler to a healthy meal, but I have come to learn that I can in no way make him eat.

In this same vein, I've been giving Trey a hard time of late about his contributions to our blog, or lack thereof. (Hello, pot? This is your wife, kettle, informing you that you're a rather dark shade of graphite.) It's not been from lack of interest, he assures me; just a dearth of free time. Unfortunately, he's got no real shot at redemption this week: the poor guy's completely booked through Saturday night. So I'll step in for him and share a slideshow he created last week for his photography class.

His assignment was to tell a story in twenty pictures, and the result is a fair representation of this morning's mess and mayhem. Minus me in these ratty pajamas and my hair wrapped in a towel turban, like some colonial wig. Oh, yes: I'm a vision. But nevermind that; click here, and enjoy.