My mom called this afternoon to concede defeat in the Great Mason Lake Bake-Off ’05. I played it cool because the real victory in my mind was not in which pie received the most accolades but in bringing passive-aggressive anti-pie comments to the fore – like, are we gonna have a rumble or not, bitch? Anyway, as my husband said yesterday as my extended family dug into the spoils of our competition: “We’re all winners, because we all get to eat pie.”
Li’l Alabaster Cheeks. Sorry, we forgot her suit. Looks like nudity again.
My daughter continues on with her photography habit, becoming increasingly devious and/or wise-ass in her choice of opportune moments. This is me after staying up until 2:30 AM watching Sin City (excellent fim, by the way).
In a slighly wacky coda to our weekend, this evening we took Sophie along to an amazing dinner at our friends’ house – he a chef, no less – and while we were there our babysitter called with a very calm, collected report that our FUCKING SIXTEEN-MONTH OLD CHILD HAD MANAGED TO GET INTO THE RUBBING ALCOHOL. Of course, if this kind of thing is going to happen it’s probably best to get a calm voice mail about it, indicating a call to poison control (Ralph jokes, “Hey, that’s more than we would have done!”) and a report of no signs of poisoning. Nels is a tuff li’l bastid – tough on himself, his parents, babysitters, and anyone that tries to reel him in.