Father's Day #2

Not that today wasn't wonderful -- many wonderful things happened today. World Cup games were actually exciting -- particularly when viewed with actual World Cup Afficiando Señor Pájaro (who, living up to this moniker, brought guacamole to the festivities of the Brazil-Australia game). The air conditioner made its way downstairs. Friends M&M came over to help us continue the weekend project of finally replacing our evil bathroom ceiling. (Natually, that is becoming more of a hassle than originally expected, but let's move on...) Angela decided to braid my hair; yes, there are pictures. (Yes, point taken: the hair will be chopped soon.) And, in an indelible memory, Xan expertly crawled out of our kiddie pool (filled with just enough water to cool off) and ambled across the lawn in search of ripe blackberries, stark naked.

All this wonder was, I believe, meant to counteract the present that Xan decided to give me earlier this morning.

(note: if eating, please wait until after you finish before continuing. consider yourself warned.)

After breakfast, Ange felt a little tired and asked to go back to sleep for a bit. I agreed and played with Xan for a bit. Coming into his I-want-to-play-by-myself-just-stay-here-with-me mode, I crawled onto the sofa and turned on Univisión to catch part of the (boooooring) Korea-Croatia game. I started to doze off when Xan wandered over and I smelled that familiar smell that indicates a diaper change. No problem, I picked him up, all ready to change him.

As I started to clean him off, however, I realized that there was poo on his leg. I turned him around, got enough wipe -- and found some on the front of his leg. And then on his foot. And his other foot. And back on the first back part of the leg. I thought, "What the hell?!"

To make a long story short: shockingly for the first time, we suffered a combination poo explosion-wardrobe malfunction. Resulting in poo everywhere: all over him, on me, on the floor (all over -- he tracked, then Angela came out and tracked...), on toys, the high chair, everything. Somehow, Vega was spared. To say that this was vile is putting it mildly. The good thing that came out of this: our hardwood floors are now spotless.

Naturally, Xan was entirely unperturbed. In his own way, perhaps this is the beginning of I-can-make-my-own-gifts-for-Dad stage, a step before macaroni sculpture.