Welcome once again to another episode of the life neurotic.

I've not been avoiding you, I'm just not as adept (yet?!) as others are in finding interesting topics of conversation when my life seems fairly -dare I say it- calm of late. Jon has glared at me any number of times -- and quite sternly, I must say -- and it would seem that some polite, and persistant hints have been dropped by certain JC-fans, and I have been reminded that I am failing in my duties and need to get my a-- er, act in gear. Consider this a pop of the clutch. Sorry about the lack of pictures...our computers are not speaking to each other at the moment, and all of the good pics are on the main drive. I'll fix that as soon as possible, I promise.

Coughing as Conversation

I blame Heidi M (I must make the point that there is a Heidi M.,and now a Heidi H.)...and Irene. The good news is that Josh is expanding his baby vocab. The bad is that he's expanded it to include little coughs. I don't know who started it, or when (although I have my suspicions) but now whenever either of Heidi M. or Grandma 'Renie is holding Josh, and decide that they want a cheap thrill, they stare intently into my giggling son's eyes and cough little coughs at him. Josh is a natural mimic, and because of their intent expressions and encouragement, he thinks that coughing is conversation. These little Camille-fests have gone on for fifteen minutes or more. I'm thinking of giving him some white 'kerchiefs and teaching him to bat his eyes fetchingly.

He has also learned to mimic tongue-clicking, and shrieks with delight after he has clucked like an exhuberant, half-crazed chicken at the cats, at a chair, and at navel lint. He also sings and coos with great excitement, but despite the fact that somehow *and I am talking to everyone of you fanclubbers and I am trying to glare sternly at the screen...is it working? Do you feel shame? * SOMEHOW every toy in the known world is falling into his lap, his most favorite playthings are the speaker covers by the television. Ah yes, to be young, and cute, and covered in dustbunnies the size of baby elephants. Gosh darnit, I had just had those things house-broken! All of the dustbunnies in our home are called Bob, just like all of our plants are called "Fred"...If it survives in our house, it gets a name...and dustbunnies that big deserve all the respect you would give a world-class sumo wrestler. One of the Bobs is now officially an ex-Bob. He is no more...he's gone to -- oh, sorry...very nearly infringed on a copyright, there *sniff* I wiped him out of Josh's mouth and hair just the other day. It's Just So Sad! *sniff* BOBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!!!!!!! Come back, BOBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!!!!



His second most favorite plaything is a green frog-shaped faucet protector. Jon brought it home for him, but didn't realize that it was anything other than a toy or a puppet. Josh adores it. He holds the frog over his mouth and croons into the hollow of it. You can always tell when he loves something, because he stretches out his lips like a baby orang, tilts his chin up to it, and then he sings to it.

Yes, you read correctly...Jon brought it home. Jon has actually been actively seeking out toys for Josh, and has quietly been bringing him presents at least once a week (though he still claims that he's just bringing the toys home for himself, but that Josh keeps swiping them before he, Jon, can play with them properly). I know he plays the part of the hard-nosed, uninterested party, but the ground is slowly going out from under his feet on that one...Oh, he'll still grouse and growl...but while he will openly state that Josh really should re-enact Moses' river scene, (as we do, in fact, have a river -- and we never have, in point of fact, put it to good use) -- he now grudgingly conceeds that he will at least give Josh a basket to float around in...maybe even a waterproofed one, at that. I know this may be hard to believe for some of you, but Jon is highly amused with the looks of complete horror given to him by those poor folks who actually take him seriously. Foolish mortals, tricks aren't just for kids.

I don't expect that he will admit this, mind you. He takes great pride in his ability to spread his copious amounts of b-- er, brown stuff. He likes to joke that as a "governmental drone", that's actually a very stringent job requirement, and that he could be forced to turn in his box of official red tape if he is not laying it on thickly. Jon is never anything but utterly committed to his responsibilities...or is it "never anything but utterly committed BECAUSE of his responsibilities"?

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Travelin' Man

Well, my days are numbered. It is official. Josh is no longer putty in my hands, he doesn't have time for that anymore. No, he would rather HURL HIMSELF ACROSS THE ROOM!!! He can go backwards, he can go sideways, he can even do a diagonal that would make Connect Four Fanatics drool in envy. He hasn't figured out forward yet, but when he does, I'm doomed. Doomed, I tell you!!! *dramatic thunder crash* I mentioned clutch-popping earlier...I only drove a clutch one time...Years ago, when Denni (my sister, who is two weeks younger than I am, but happily admits to being twenty-five...this officially makes her younger than my youngest sister, Carrie...) and I learned to drive, we had the joy (if you could call it that) of learning stick. Now, Den got the hang of it very quickly...I did not. To this day, I am still utterly appalled and terrified of stick shifts...I'm sorry, but a car should not, in good conscience, buck like a drug-crazed bull. We learned to drive this beast in the back field, where, in theory, we could play like Hippocrates (and first do no harm --Hah! and Double Hah!! There are rabbits in witness protection because of us...ok, because of me). I remember one day with that evil auto -- my only day of triumph. I had finally figured out how to change from first gear to reverse without killing myself (or anyone else, for that matter), and I was utterly euphoric. I spent the next forty minutes doing reverse figure-eights all over the field...(I did mention the rabbits, didn't I?)...and Josh, as he careens around the room --it's not so much rolling as breaching from the carpet like a red-haired whale-- exudes all of the joy I felt in my vehicular tail-chasing. I'd feel so much better if he would stop cushioning his landings with his head, but as I have it on good authority that there are some rather stubborn folk in his ancestry (certainly not on my side, of course), I feel safe in saying that his head may be the one part of him that I shouldn't have to worry about.