Our day care is operating under the false presumption that Abby is in fact an 82 year old man.

How else can you explain our getting our daughter back like this?

Here she is, properly attired:

Ahhh.

So very much in life is left up to simple, cruel chance. Aye, fate is a shrewish mistress. Let's take this morning's affairs as witness.

Jen and I were both set to leave right at 7:30, so we got ready a bit early, and went in to fetch the kids when their plaintive cries went out from their room. I offered Jen the option of taking Abby or Lily. Abby or Lily? Lily or Abby? Now here is the fun part of twin-rearing; it's a bit like gambling.

Jen chose Abby, likely because she is the lighter kid (by 82 pounds), and Jen's back has been acting up again. Allow me to spoil the ending by saying now: Jen chose poorly.

Downstairs we went, sat on the couch, and fed a tasty morning bottle to our respective offspring. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then Abby opened her mouth and made what would have been a nice smile, if not for the fact that her entire bottle suddenly spewed out of it. Sploosh! This ended up mostly on Abs, but a good part on Jen as well. She mopped up quickly what she could, then laid Abby down for a fast change, then back upstairs for a new outfit for herself.

Back on my lap, Lily and I watched this hubbub with sleepy interest. After a bit, she turned back to me and gave me a few kisses.

Harsh, cruel fate. For Jen.

Day forty four.

Lily putting more miles on the hardwoods.

I liked this one of Olly. I think he's melting into the carpet.