Daddy-Do Due

Begged out of another invitational family jaunt to take care of things in the house that I've been meaning to get to for months. Felt bad leaving Ainsley alone with two crabby kids (Ryan has finally found his "no"), but I crammed more into those five hours than I've been able to accomplish in a year. And left a handful of things still on the table.

Late back home, so late naps, but perfect for Super Bowl night, with Dad's help throwing nachos and lima beans into our respective soy- and cheese-eating and soy- and cheese-averse children. Erin started out the evening a wreck, just crying hysterically whenever she was in the same room with Ainsley and not being held by her, or even hearing her talk from a different floor in the house. But the lima beans did the trick, and she got excited with open-mouthed-smiling screams when the action during the game called for it. And she was nice enough to stay asleep through a very exciting second half before the Steelers squeaked out a victory. Ryan, on the other hand, seems to be turning into a night owl like his ol' block.
This won't win me any points with the missus, son.

But as ornery as he is becoming, with two new phrases in his vernacular competing for orneriest (1: accompanied by a stop-in-the-name-of-love fully extended palm, "Don't Worry About Me"; and 2: a sharp-eyebrowed "Don't Tell Me No."), coupled with other displays of "tude" at the dinner table (whoever taught him how to roll his eyes? A dead man.), we still feel lucky that he's not a holy terror, and relish the good in him, if I can get all Jedi on you.
This evening, overheard on his bedroom monitor, while he was all alone:

*burp*
"Excuse me."