Score! I located Dad's Diet Dr. Pepper stash. But I think I'm doing something wrong...maybe I'm holding it upside down?
Ah yes, much better. And the commercials don't lie, it does taste like regular Dr. Pepper!
My mailbox was stuffed with Ask Julia questions, to my delight. Here's a question from Grandpa, whom I'll be seeing tomorrow:
Li'l Darlin', maybe you can set your grandfather straight on how you react to seeing, let alone hearing, a vacuum cleaner. Is it that you purr like a kitten, or scream like a banshee?
Neither. I wail as if some has lined up all my possessions in front of me and destroyed them one by one. It's not pretty. At this point, however, everyone can spot my warning signs, so they usually whisk me away from "harm" before I get to that emotional state.
What do you make of this little kid named Oscar that is monopolizing your Dad's time? He can't possibly be as endearing and cute as you.
Don't even get me started! I hate that guy! He's the reason I don't get to enjoy the long holiday weekend with Dad, who has to work for much of it. Of course, I know that since an Oscar is the perfect shape and size for me to munch on, if I was ever close to one all would be forgiven and I'd just start chomping away.
Aunt Paula also checked in with her weekly queries:
Did you get to go sledding? Or do you still have the nasal congestion?
I've been feeling much better—still a bit of a runny nose but otherwise I'm much improved. But sadly, I wasn't well enough to go sledding this week, when there was finally an extended snowfall for the first time in 2008. Most of the snow has melted already, so I'm out of luck.
I understand that your grandparents are coming up this weekend. Do you have something special planned?
Not really—I think we're celebrating Mom and Dad's birthday, but unless something revolves around me I don't pay attention. However, I got my new passport last weekend...maybe I can convince Grandma and Grandpa to take me on a trip?
Finally, my best friend Isabella wrote, concerned about the babyproofing that has sprouted up in my home:
I am sorry to hear about the professional babyproofer—what kind of career choice is that?
While personally I agree that it's a horrible and cruel line of work, my parents can't stop raving about the guy and what a great job he did.
We saw your mom in town the other day, but she said you were asleep in the car.
Hey, just to clarify so no one gets on the phone to child services: Dad was in the car with me while I slept. Mom didn't leave me to fend for myself!
I've missed you. Now that you're mobile, want to come over to play? I'll have my mom call your mom. P.S. Just don't tell my parents about this "professional" babyproofing stuff. They've got gates up everywhere too, but Alec said he'd show me how to get around everything.
I'd love to play! As long as you teach me how to walk (now that I've mastered crawling I need a new challenge) and share Alec's tips for outsmarting the babyproofing. And don't worry, my lips are sealed...or at least, I promise that your parents won't be able to decipher my babbling.
I hope you all enjoy the long weekend (I guess that doesn't apply to you, Dad!). And keep sending me Ask Julia questions! As for my part, I'll make sure Mom and Dad document my speedier crawling this weekend.
