Ummmmmmmm...

You have read of Olivia's love for Glow, her beloved Gloworm in this post and this post.  Well, since those publications her love has only deepened.  I think these are kisses.  Whatever they are, they are extraordinary and disturbing.

The Many Sounds of Olivia Lee, Part II: This Time It's Personal

You may remember this post of Olivia making silly sounds back when she was just a baby.  Now that she's a worldly and sophisticated young lady, she has added a number of new delights to her repertoire.  Don't believe me?  I can prove it.

Olivia Lee plays piano at aunt Nellie's!



Olivia Lee claps her hands!  Also, she says "Mama!"  (Alert!  One of those is a lie!)



Olivia Lee makes cymbals out of puzzle pieces!



She may not cry much, but that doesn't mean that this is a quiet house.  Thank goodness she's alseep by 7 every night, or else we might be receiving stern warnings from neighbors and cops about our hard-partying ways.

Eat This

Yes, I know that you're all waiting with bated breath for the chronicle of my kick-ass weekend, and I know that you're all jonesing HARD for some cute Livy Lee pics.  As a decidedly un-benevolent dictator of your voyeuristic pleasure, I am denying you both today.  Instead, I am insisting that you make this for dinner, AND SOON.

We have a basil plant.  It needed pinching back (heh heh).  We had a pint of grape tomatoes that were quickly approaching the soggy side of questionable.  Likewise with a couple of garlic cloves that were going to head to Funkytown soon and never return.  And from those humble beginnings, this genius dish was born:

Yeah, I didn't take a picture of dinner tonight.  Instead, enjoy this picture of heaven, which the dish tasted a lot like.  Also, I served it with chicken, which MUST taste something like heavenly seagull.

Me Show Genius Pasta with Grape Tomatoes and Pinched-off (heh heh) Basil

(Quantities, as usual, are approximate).

* 3 tablespoon olive oil

*2 cloves garlic, minced

*1 pint grape tomatoes, halved

*.25 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes

*1 T balsamic vinegar

*1/3 cup chicken stock

*1 teaspoon dried oregano

*.5 teaspoon dried basil

*.25 teaspoon sugar

*.25 cup basil chiffonade

*salt and pepper to taste

*half a package spaghetti, cooked al dente

*Parmesan cheese (NOT from a green can, you taste bud-hating imbecile)

1.  Sautee the minced garlic in olive oil over low heat with the red pepper flakes.  The idea is to cook the garlic gently and to infuse the oil.  When garlic starts to brown, dump in the halved tomatoes and a couple pinches of salt and a few grinds of black pepper.

2.  Turn the heat up to medium-high and cook the tomatoes, squishing them with the back of a spoon as they soften.  You want them to give up all of their juices to form the substance of your tomato sauce.  Add the dried oregano and dried basil and cook until the tomato juices are bubbling.

3.  Add the balsamic vinegar, 1/3 cup chicken stock, and sugar.  Stir into tomato mixture and cover the pan.  Reduce heat to low.  Cook, covered, until it starts to look like a chunky, "rustica" tomato sauce.

4.  Remove lid.  If the sauce is too thick, add the remaining .25 cup stock.  If it is too thin, let it cook for a minute or two with the lid off.  Stir in fresh basil and taste for seasoning.

5.  Stir in pasta and a little of the pasta cooking liquid so that the starch can bind the sauce to the pasta.

6.  Add as much Parmesan as you like.

7.  Snarf with abandon.

Weekend gloating and Livy Lee exploiting soon, I promise.  Until then, chow down, chowhounds.

Yes, You Are

PDA in PDX

Check out this weekend lineup:

Today -
*Drop Livy off at Oma and Opa's for the weekend.
*Drive to Portland to rendezvous with my favorite person whom I neither gave birth to nor married.
*Shop for a few hours.
*Go to the spa for a luxurious evening of strangers pummelling us.
*Eat something delicious.
*Sleep uninterrupted for an entire night.

Tomorrow-
*Drive home and reunite with SLB.
*Have a lovely meal together.
*Go to Hopscotch and sample various tasty adult beverages.
*Go home and, if I'm lucky, watch TV in my jammies without any interruption from phantom baby crying.

Sunday-
*Have breakfast with Oma and pick up Livy.
*Attempt to make it to our Lamaze class reunion.
*Have lovely portraits taken of us in douchetastic matchy-matchy outfits.

I could swoon just thinking about it.

It's going to be hard to drive with pleasure-induced narcolepsy, but I'll do my best.

So, I'll be busy this weekend.  If you need me... well, try not to need me.

Milk & Cookies

It's been a relatively slow week here at Me Show Central, what with me getting over a cold and all.  There has been one bright, shining moment in the darkness of rhinovirus malaise, and that is that Livy began using sign language yesterday.  I've been signing basic words (milk, eat, mama, dada, help, and more, mostly) to her for a few months now, and yesterday she was able to tell me in tiny hand-words that she wanted milk.  It was near bedtime and I was stuffing her into her pajamas after her bath when her tiny fist made the udder-squeezing motion that indicates a request for milk.  So I skeptically asked, "do you want milk?" and when she opened her mouth like a hungry baby bird while pumping her fist I contorted into ugly tears of love and pride I never thought possible.  We communicated!  My sweet little baby lumpkin talked to me, and I understood her!  It was amazing!  We spent a few minutes celebrating with hugs and kisses before I got her her bottle.  She then made the sign for milk as she drained her bottle and suffered endless kisses from Mama before drifting into sleep without a murmur.

If I react like this because she has mastered such a rudimentary skill, what's going to happen when she's in a school play?  Or when she wins her first chess tournament?  Or when she sweeps the leg at the All Valley Karate Tournament?  I'm going to look like a freshly crowned Miss America every time that child does something even moderately correctly, let alone successfully achieves something noteworthy.  While I know that what she's done is entirely ordinary, at the same time I am convinced that Olivia Lee has just proclaimed her genius to the world with her tiny fist.  And the chest-thumping glory of the latter will always, ALWAYS trump the level-headedness of the former.  You throw that fist, Livy.  Baby pride!

Practicing her victorious move at around 3 months old.

In other news, we have out of sad necessity become connoisseurs of yet another brand of ass cream.  I am pleased to announce that Boudreaux's Butt Paste (available at your local retailers or at http://www.buttpaste.com/) is delightful.  It is, miraculously, nearly the exact color, textue, and scent of unbaked chocolate chip cookie dough, minus the chocolate chips.  The presence of Boudreaux's Butt Paste in my home means, though, that I can never take Ambien.  I am certain that if I ever did SLB would find me in the middle of the night sucking butt paste straight from the tube in a somnolescent and gluttonous stupor, and that is a sight my daughter and the world never need to see.

Airing out the tongue and tushie in anticipation of a pasting.  The tongue was disappointed.

I Hab a Code

Last week Livy had a cold, and this week she shared it with me.  The last time I was sick, she and I were sick together, which made it easier for us to nap together and be lazy bums at the same time.  This time around I desperately want to sleep and hang out all day long, but Livy is high-energy and demanding my attention and time.  Let me just say a big "Ugh" to this situation and end the complaining there.  So far, as long as I change activities with her every 10 - 20 minutes, she's amused.  But would I ever just love a day-long nap right now.

So, if you find yourself in this situation, you should make this during nap time.

Chicken Rice Soup

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1.5 - 2 cartons of organic, free range chicken stock (roughly 48 - 64 ounces)
2 carrots, peeled and sliced thin
2 celery stalks, halved lenghtwise and sliced thin
1 yellow onion, finely chopped
1.5 cups cooked brown rice
.5 cup chopped flat leaf parsley
salt and pepper to taste

*Bring the stock to a low boil.  Dump in the chicken breasts and simmer for 12 minutes or until no trace of pink remains.  Meanwhile chop your carrots, celery, and onions.

*When the chicken is finished poaching, remove it from the broth and let it cool.  Toss your carrots, celery, and onions in the broth and simmer for 10 - 12 minutes or until tender.  Meanwhile, chop your chicken into bite-sized chunks and chop your parsley.

*When the vegetables are tender, add your chicken, parsley, rice, salt, and pepper.  Warm though.

*Eat, heal, and enjoy.

Edited to Add:  If you toss a ladleful of the soup into a blender and puree it with a little extra broth or water you'll have a fine, fresh baby meal for the evening.  Presto!  You are a mistress of self-healing and a paragon of motherhood!  Yay you!

Hi, Chair!

Hi, friends!

Tuesday was Olivia's 9 month birthday, and we celebrated exactly as you'd expect us to with a messy, shamelessly gluttonous feast.  Recently I bought some plastic bowls with suction cups on their bottoms (heh heh) so that Livy could practice feeding herself without flinging her entire bowl of food across the room.

Up to good?  No.  No, I'm not.

Do you see that mischievous glint in her coyly downturned eyes?  I missed it at the time, but recognize it for what it was now: a brewing response to a gauntlet thrown by her fling-thwarting suction-cupped bowl.

Go on.  Act surprised.

Well, that didn't take long, did it?  The bowl and spoon were soon overboard and the peaches on her tray became a sweet, sticky finger paint.  If they'd been any thicker I'd have stuck 3/4 of a candle in them and had her blow it out.

Today led to more highchair hijinks as she practiced feeding herself quick-dissovling organic puffs that cost more than a pound of Ghiradelli chocolate chips (Don't ask how I know this off the top of my head.).  Mostly she spent snack time looking adorable and forcing me to coo at her while taking an embarrassing number of pictures of her.  Yeah, I'm that mother.

But look at her!  She's so cute!

Puffs don't go in your ear, silly!

And she's mastering tricks of future cuteness, as well.  That scrinched-up nose face below is one that I'm legendary for making.  Back when I was young, nubile, and foolishly relied on my wiles rather than my bossy steamroller of AUTHORITY, I called this my "face that makes boys do what I want them to."  It works beest when accompanied by a slightly-too-loud girlish giggle, a casual touch on the arm, and the casual repetition of "You're SO funny!"  I can't decide if I'm terrified or bursting with pride at her precocious mastery of this useful skill.

"You're so funny!  Now would mind changing my tire/picking me up at the airport/introducing me to your cute brother?"

Olivia is also mastering all kinds of toothy grins now that her tooth nubbins have advanced into being full-fledged chompers.  She still has only two, so she makes them count.

I've got teeth!  Yes, I do!

I've got teeth!  How 'bout you?

She also created prosthetic buck teeth with a puff to supplement her real teeth.  The effect rendered her rather like an insane bunny.

You talkin' to me?

I didn't think so.

And then, true to a new habit, she became uncontrollably sleepy while eating and couldn't bear the weight of her own head any longer.

Jiminy, this thing's heavy.

So off to bath, bottle, and bed she went.

And, yes, I know it's obnoxious to document one meal in my child's life with a handful of pictures and that it's even more obnoxious to post them to these here interwebs.  But I've never claimed to be anything but obnoxious, so at least I'm consistent.  And [HILARIOUS] consistency is the hobgoblin of [AWESOME!] minds, right?  Right.

Wash After Reading

Here's a little Me Show public service announcement for all of my devoted readers.

Today, as Livy and I were enjoying the lovely weather at the lake we saw a man riding a bicycle in front of us with a paperback book shoved deep into the back of his pants.  There was no evidence of underwear (wasitband on the book, etc.), and I think it is safe to assume that the only thing between him and his Calvins was his paperback.  Just imagining the friction between the glossy paper cover and his sweaty cheeks as he pumped the pedals gives me shivers.  And, friends, on that paperback was a large sticker indicating that it is part of the current collection of the Seattle Public Library.

That's right.  It's now a butt book.

Unfortunately, it's not this kind of butt book.  (Also, Non-Cellulite is not an adjective.)

So, as a loyal user of the Seattle Public Library, I am now resolving to wash my hands after reading shared material, and I think you should, too.  Because the last thing you need along with your community-supported collective knowledge is E-coli.

Totally Righteous > Morally Righteous

What kind of mother would leave her sick child at home so that she could dress up and go dancing, drinking, and trouble-making with her girlfriends?

I can dance.  I can jive.

The AWESOME kind, clearly.  Saturday night was the first ever Mom Prom, a fundraiser for the Postpartum Support International of Washington.  A ticket bought me admission, two tickets for wine and one for champagne, access to two VERY generous tables of candy and baked goods, real prom pictures, and four hours of well-DJ'd dancing.

Great taste bought me an outfit fit for a disco queen.  It's not flattering, but it is FABULOUS.

I'm a size 10.  I don't know where the widening properties of this ensemble come from, but MAN are they powerful.

It looks like your standard polyester halter maxidress, but it's not!  Instead, it is the more rare, and therefore more precious, polyester halter maxiJUMPSUIT.  It is amazing, even in spite of the fact that it smells a bit like a chain-smoking old dog regardless of two thorough washings.  Sometimes you must sacrifice the olfactory for the visual.  It's more than a fair trade here.

Highlights of the evening:

*Attempting and mastering a disco smoky eye.  I didn't get a decent picture of my handiwork, but, believe me, behind those green glasses was flawless eye makeup.

It was so much better in real life.

*Dancing wildly with my rowdy ladyfriends.  (No photos available.  EVER.)

*Realizing that the awkward dancer in the boxy pantsuit was once nasty to a friend of mine and God was punishing her by making her look like a total nerd on the dancefloor.  God only lets nice people dance well.  He is just that way.

*Finding that an old friend and coworker was at prom, too.  Hooray!  Reunion!

Lowlights of the evening:

*NONE of our crew winning a raffle prize even after valiant efforts to do so.

*Going home.  I could have danced all night and then have begged for more!

My feet may still hurt today, but my heart is full of song.  ABBA song.....

Every time I try to look sexy I just look insane.  I won't be IGNORED, Dan!

Because When You're Wrong You Should Admit It

When my mom bought Livy her Gloworm, who we've creatively named "Glow," I was skeptical of how much Livy would like her.  See, back in the day I thought naively that Liv would prefer the artisinal, hand-crafted, wooden, organic, local, indie, educational toys that SLB and I find impressive when other kids play with them.  Silly, silly Me Show!  Now I know that Olivia will prefer whatever she damn well likes and that I can buy her all the self-righteous toys I want to, but it won't make a difference at all in what she plays with most.

So, not only did Livy find God when Mom gave her Glow, but now she also turns to Glow for comfort when she's sleepy before bedtime.

I'm getting so sleepy, Glow!  Hold me!

What's that, Glow?  You want to sing me a lullaby?  So kind!

Don't worry, friend.  We'll be asleep soon.  Bedtime is only a bath and a bottle away.

Buy Me Some Peanuts, Crackerjacks, and EVERYTHING ELSE!

Soon, we'll take you out to the ballgame, biscuit.  Soon.

I hate shopping at Babies [backwards] R Us.  It's too big, expensive, poorly organized, and offers miserable customer service and dirty bathrooms.  I try to only buy things there that I can only easily get there, like a new organic mattress pad (ironically packaged in non-recyclable, heavy plastic that offgasses more than I do on chili night) because I ruined Livy's last one in the dryer.  And that's when I saw this hat.

Damn you, Babies [backwards] R Us!  Livy tips her hat, and I tip my king to you.  Check and mate.

Better alternatives if you're in the Seattle, specifically Ballard/Greenwood/Phinney area:

Me 'N Moms - Consignment shops with everything available under the sun

Childish Things - Consignment shop with great clothing and baby slings

Rising Stars - Consignment shop with some new, swanky, local, organic-type thingies.  It's small and looks like selection is low, but I always find something wonderful when we're there.

Top Ten Toys - My favorite toy store ever.  This store specializes in high-quality educational and creative play toys.  Merchandise tie-ins, aggressive advertising, and the stench of cheap, molded plastic is pleasantly, wonderfully absent.  It's everything that the [backwards] R Us stores could never be.

Clover Toys - This shop is a little more expensive than I generally prefer, but it's so beautifully curated that it's worth the trip.  I find that their baby selection is a little skimpy, but when Livy's older we're destined to drop some serious coin here on big-kid toys.

Secret Garden Bookshop - A delightful store whose offerings are geared mostly toward kids, but we almost always end up buying grown-up books there, too.  It's both charming and well-stocked with interesting and unusual titles.

With these plus the Goodwill on 65th and 8th and the Value Village on Holman Road, I'm ashamed of having bought Livy's cap at B[b]RU.  But, in the end, we're all glad I bought it somewhere.

Special Guest Star: Auntie Spotter!

Hi, friends!

The bombshell and the baby

This week's special guest star is my good friend and former coworker Sarah Potter, known for years around these parts as Spotter since I once saw her writing "S. Potter" on a bottle of salad dressing at work.  The name began as a cute play on her name, but upon reflection I've concluded that it's the most apt silly nickname that I've ever foisted upon someone.  Sarah has caught me when I've fallen so many times that she'd easily qualify as an ESPN-league cheerleading base at this point.  This may be why she has back problems.

Look out, Spotter, here I come, and I've been eating A LOT of cake!

I first knew that Spotter and I would be great friends my first year teaching at the school where she still works as the office manager/master of all she surveys.  She was delivering a file to my office and instead of walking it in she danced it in and left with a kicky little spin move.  It was like I had entered a musical or a fairy tale, and I knew in the way that only girls know when they make new friends that I was in love.  "This chick's awesomely crazy!," I thought, and it remains true.

So awesomely crazy that Livy's wiggles rendered her unphotographable

Auntie Spotter Fun Facts:

*Sarah Potter is the single most glamorous woman I've ever met in my life.  Every day, EVERY DAY, she is absolutely lovely and put together.  And this doesn't necessarily mean hair, makeup, accessories, and outfits, although these are certainly well-mastered weapons in her arsenal.  Spotter even looks wicked hot at 4:30 in the morning at the gym.  It is both infuriating and fascinating.  I remember getting ready at the gym vanity together before work and just wanting to sneak peaks at the exotic goodies in her makeup bag to see what real girls know that I never learned.  Livy is lucky to have her as an auntie.  I can't imagine a better person to teach her the wonders of eyeliner, nail polish, and jeans that fit well.

*She is going to hate me for posting this.

*Sarah is a wonderful singing partner.  At 3:45 on good days we would choose a song to sing with our friend and coworker, Zach, and then belt it at the front desk.  Some days it would be "Beat It," some days it would be "Sarah" (obviously), and some days it would be Christmas songs.  This song time was like tea time, but far more energizing and far less tooth-staining.

*While I will  never admit that anyone can burp louder or more powerfully than I can, I will say that Sarah has me tied for both offensiveness and shamelessness.  Once, to celebrate the recent graduation of one of our favorite students, we brought her into my office, shut the door, and took turns blowing the student away with roaring monster belches.  Now, THAT'S my kind of lady.

*SLB probably has mixed feelings on this, but Spotter was officially the first person besides me who knew that I was pregnant.  I had peed on three pregnancy tests one day after work and all tests came back inconclusive.  They were the kind where one window shows a control line and the other window shows a line if you're pregnant.  Well, the line in the pregnant window was so faint and indistinct all three times that SLB and I argued and made a bet as to whether or not I was knocked up.  When I told this story to Spotter the next morning before school and drew her pictures of the windows she disgustedly forced me to race to the drug store before my first student to get pregnancy tests that use words (I had no idea they existed!).  So, in the minutes before I was set to teach, I peed on a stick and won my $1.00 bet with SLB.  On my way to my office I flashed the stick at Spotter, we hugged and danced (I think at the same time), and then I went and taught some English.  It was silly and exciting and wonderful, and I'm happy I got to share it with my silly and exciting and wonderful friend.

*Sarah is an amazing photographer and was the genius behind Livy's first real photo shoot.  For those of you lucky enough to get a birth announcement, Sarah took the picture you saw.  If anyone reading this is interested in asking about her services or rates, let me know and I'll put you in touch with her.

Spotter made my baby purty.

*She doesn't even mind that Olivia licked and drooled all over her yoga ball.

Going in for her first kiss, always so exciting.

We love you, Auntie Spotter!

She was the first person Livy smiled at, and she hasn't stopped since.

Histamine

Sunday:
"Hey, I think Livy has a little rash!  Even though it's Easter, let's forgo the fancy dress and let her air out."

A strategically placed salad spinner preserves modesty.

Nakey is her favorite state of being.

Wednesday Morning:

Cue Mama's heart attack.

"The doctor says we can give her some Benadryl for her hives and see what happens.  He says it will make her sleepy."

Thursday Morning:

Dreaming of perfect skin.

"This wake-up is going to be a HARD one."

She's still hived up, but not as badly.  If she still has them next week we'll see about taking her to an allergist or a dermatologist.  She doesn't itch or feel badly, but she sure looks scary.  You know, in a cute way.

OH FOR THE LOVE!

Some days you wake up and your baby is covered head to toe in hives from some unknown allergy or virus.

Other days you wake up to find that your car, not the one that was broken into 3 months ago, was broken into last night.

And some days?  Well, on some days both happen.

I had planned on writing a big, juicy post today to appease my legions of eager fans, but instead I'm going to get big and juiced myself.

I'm sure even the most longing of grandmas couldn't fault me there.

Celebration!

This is both my 100th post and Easter, so to celebrate I give you this dialogue from only moments ago.

The setting:  sitting in the dining room.  SLB is feeding Olivia her second of three servings of fruit for breakfast (yes, there will be a diaper consequence, but it's Easter and she can't have candy yet so we spoil her with fruit) and I am researching recipes for a festive Easter dessert later today.

Me:  What's the difference between normal baking baking powder and double acting baking powder.
SLB:  It rises twice.  He is risen!  He is risen!

Thank you very much, we'll be here all week!

Happy Easter.  May your lord and your cakes rise with grace and ease.

Every Saturday Should Be Like This

I woke up late, having finally been able to push through insomnia toward a nearly full night's sleep.  Then I had breakfast and caught up with SLB, read a stack of neglected magazines, played with Olivia until she was rubbing her eyes in surrender, and steamed myself wrinkly in a leisurely shower during her nap.

Then we headed off to a delicious lunch, beer, and belly laughs with friends before coming home to put Livy down for a nap. 

Partners in crime, if being adorable were illegal.

Then, as the rain started pouring outside, I took a bath with Molly Wizenberg, a chunk of fine chocolate, and a cup of green tea.  Livy joined me in all her naked glory toward the end of my bath.  That tub was full to bursting with rosy, jovial chub.  The brief space not occupied by our voluminous bellies was crammed with our luscious thighs.  It was wonderful, snuggly, and very, very splashy.

I don't know what the rest of the evening holds, but it doesn't really  matter.  After a day this relaxing and joyful nothing could really bring it down.  It's 5:45, and I'm lounging in my jammies while we listen to music and SLB dances our giggling daughter around the living room.

Have a restful weekend, friends.  I hope you are pleasantly beseiged by the bounteous yield of a generous egg-laying bunny.  Personally, we're not celebrating Easter in a big way tomorrow.  Because, really, how could any basket hold anything better than a golden day with friends and family?

Special Guest Star: Bubby!

Hey, everyone, this is Bubby!  Bubby, this is everyone.  Shake hands.

Baby + Burp Cloth + Tiny Toy Piano = One Happy Bubby

Bubby married my mom in 1998, back when his name was just plain Bruce.  We saw to it that that pedestrian moniker hit the bricks ASAP.  One day while engaging in one of his usual tantrums in response to bad driving my mom asked him "What's all the hubbub, Bub?," which my stepbrother then seconded with "Yeah, what's the hubbub, Bubby?"  And then, friends, a star was born!  Later my mom became Bubbiss, I became Bonus (because he married my mom, and I was a gift with purchase), and my stepbrother became Bud.  Yeah, we're nerds like that.

Bubbiss, Livy Bean, and Bubby

But Bubby is our nerd king.  He's a TOTAL dad, and, in the best way imaginable, I can't imagine him ever being young or cool.  He says doofy dad stuff ALL. THE. TIME.  He's not a catholic, he's a catlicker.  Someone is not a smart feller, he is a fart smeller.  And you?  If you ever, EVER cut him off on the freeway I can promise you with absolute surety and certainty that he will call you a cheese dick.

Bubby is also old-fashioned beyond being amusing in his vernacular.  He's all about integrity, that Bubby.  Even though he doesn't attend church regularly enough to be recognized when he does, when we go to mass on Christmas Eve he's always asked to man a collection plate.  Maybe those catlickers can sniff out a former altar boy without him having to identify himself explicitly, or maybe they just know a good man when they see one.  And when I was struggling with figuring out how to negotiate my various graduate school offers back in the day, specifically whether I was going to camp out on waitlists while also accepting a firm offer in the hopes of wrangling more money out of schools, he was supremely helpful.  Although people do this in spite of all rules and ethics being against it, Bubby summed up the position I was struggling so hard to articulate:  Do the right thing.  We are a family that will call someone a cheese dick, but beyond that we will do the right thing.

Fun Facts About Bubby:

*He will not eat cheese or similarly flavored or textured substances (mayonnaise, butter, salad dressing, etc.) because he had to deliver huge, moldy wheels of the stuff when he was a kid.  I've seen him wipe his tongue with a napkin when he's accidentally taken a bite of a butter cookie.  It was simultaneously sad and hilarious to see.

*The worst thing I've ever done to a human being I did to Bubby when we were in Atlantic City.  He wanted to buy a big box of saltwater taffy, and I made fun of him because saltwater taffy is a tourist universal that he can get at home.  So, he didn't get the big box and instead was shamed into getting a little box.  Now, as perpetual penance, I buy him saltwater taffy from every coastal tourist trap I visit.

*Bubby loves horrible science fiction movies, and I mean horrible.  Nonsensical, low-budget, horribly acted crap on the Syfy (It just killed me to write that) Channel?  BRING IT ON!  The nuanced, complex socio-political criticism of District 9?  Bubby declared it "different" and "interesting" before changing the subject.

*Bubby tried really hard to stick around the hospital until Olivia Lee was born.  He was in my birthing suite when I was trapped in the jacuzzi during a misguided attempt at enduring a natural childbirth.  Although he couldn't see me, he could sense my pain and fled the room when hiding in the curtains couldn't get him far enough away from the scene.  It was fine, though.  He held down the fort in the waiting room while mom and SLB were in the proverbial trenches and was happy to meet the little lady the next day.

REALLY happy to meet the little lady

*Ever the induldgent grandparent, Bubby lets Olivia lick his watch as much as she wants to.  Frighteningly, she wants to A LOT...

No other watch tastes as good as Bubby's.

... and that's why he gets such good snuggles after she's licked the flavor off of his watch.

"I love you, Grandpa!"  "I love you, watchbreath."