“Get the sandwich off your brother” I said, as Picasso put pillows, sandwiching daddy’s shoe, on his brother’s back. ¬†Cassatt is wearing a white sock on his head, his “mitten”, and the boys are taking turns walking in daddy’s size 13 shoes. Picasso randomly starts running up and down the hall screaming a soprano scream. Is it bedtime yet?

Just another evening in our house.



What’s on my menu?

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