Hot dogs and bananas.

My eleven month old sits in his chair eating just that as I sit on the couch multi tasking. Right now, I am not only writing this blog, I am also wondering about the nutritious value of a hot dog and debating whether or not I'm ready to set up the tree. The hot dog issue is a rather mute point seeing as he's already eaten it...and after worrying over him and his lack luster capacity for gaining weight the first four months of his life I'm at the point where if what he's eating makes him fat, I'm happy. And he's happy. So hot dogs; hip hip hooray! As for the tree, the real issue is how to keep the lil' monster the heck away from it. Because I too admire the shiny lights and glowing bulbs...but that doesn't mean I have to pull them all down and roll them across the floor, try to eat them, break them, or lose them along with the myriad of cheerios, match box cars, and toddler sized socks that hide collecting dust beneath the couch. He will get a kick out of all that. I will, too. I'll get a swift kick off my lazy arse several times in a five minute period. After not too many of these five minute periods, I'll feel like giving him a swift kick, too. But now that I think of it...all of that sounds like fun. In a twisted sort of "I'm a new mom who loves watching my sweet angel (a.k.a. Tasmanian devil) discover all things new in the world. So I'll be brave, set up his first tree, and revel in all the hellish chaos that results. They're only young once.