Meet Pink

This is Catherine's new baby. She's had her since Christmas and didn't take much interest in her, other than to strip all of her clothes off of her sometime around Dec. 26 and toss her into the play cottage. She has decided now to give her some attention and has named her, simply, Pink. Tina Turner should be thrilled. We'll be hosting our own Grammy ceremony later this month.

She brought Pink to me this morning in the middle of all the chaos that is mealtime around here and asked me to kiss Pink's booboo. It just wasn't a good time. Stuart was hollering because the two big wads of toast in both fists weren't filling him up fast enough, William was tearing through the kitchen as Ben 10 escaping the aliens, psycho dog was shivering and peeing all over herself in anticipation of the approaching storm, and my microwave looked like a Quaker had thrown up in there after the oatmeal exploded. Not a good time at all. But at least she hadn't asked me to move any large appliances.

Last night in the middle of dinner preparation - same scene, different menu - Andy discovered a leak under the refrigerator. He decided to try to fix it then and there, so he hollered at me "Hey Hon, will you tip the fridge back and hold it while I look up under here?" He said it with as much calm as he might have asked "Hey Hon, toss me that dishrag will you?" I must have looked particularly burly and strapping as I stood there mashing that banana for Stuart. So much so that he trusted me to hold the frigidaire while he went under there head first. Brave man.