The boy who communes with the undersides of our living-room furniture and is just discovering the amusement of peek-a-boo hit the exacta this weekend when his parents brought home a new ottoman with a concealed storage cavity.
Hope he likes metal bars, too; the child gates also went up yesterday. If we really want to tease him, maybe we can plant him across the barrier from the dinner fork he's always trying to knick from the edge of my dinner plate. The tines could perhaps be stuck into an alluring tumbleweed of knotted electrical wires.
Nothing says "come hither" to the six-month-old imagination like 120 volts of alternating current running through a thin sheath of plastic that fits perfectly in the mouth.
Halloween is upon us. Sadly, the chicken suit sold out. On the plus side, at least this way Noah will get to retain his dignity. A giant rooster's comb made out of floppy red felt may not be the last word in childhood humiliation (the last word in childhood humiliation, of course, is two words: "knee socks"), but it's got to be pretty darn close to the period.
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