The 411 on 911

We took our little fireman to the local firestation today for some 411 on 911. As you can see, Osten dressed the part, and he loved getting to sit in the firetruck.

Marci had a good time, too, and she wandered all over the garage checking out the various ambulances and firetrucks.

All of the excitement was exhausting!

Well, I guess some kids wear out quicker than others (especially those who still take a morning nap on the weekends!)

Five-o'clock Shadow

Uncle Fran and Teaunee gave Osten a shaving kit for Christmas, and shaving cream has become the new favorite at bathtime. Daddy usually dispenses the shaving cream into Osten's firehat . . .

and Osten applies it as he deems appropriate . . .

while his shadow keeps track of his razor and brush.

No more five-o'clock stubble!

Diggin' in the Dirt

Here's Marci busy digging in the dirt. With an active older brother, I guess it won't be long before she's chasing snips and snails and puppydog tails, too.

Speaking of the older brother, here he is with a bird's-eye view of his sister's pursuits. Check out his stylin' bed-head 'do courtesy of a late afternoon nap!

Speaking of stylin' and bird's-eye views, here's Hamilton in a great tree in his backyard that he says is going to be the location of a soon-to-be treehouse . . . Not sure if his parents are aware of these plans!

And here's Marci again, proudly showing off her dirt discoveries.

She Bangs the Drums

Hamilton gave us a demo on his drum set on New Year's Day after we watched Georgia beat Michigan State in the Capitol One Bowl.

Osten and even Marci (see below) took a turn on the drums.

"Have you seen her? Have you heard? The way she plays, there are no words . . . She bangs the drums!"

Trail Blazers

On our walk yesterday, Marci and I were pulling up the rear, which gave me the chance to get a couple of shots of our trail blazers.

Forward, ho!

Butta

That's what happens to my heart when Marci gives me this look. It melts.  Just like butta. 

Paci Patrol: Step One

As best I know, step one of any type of behavior-modification program is admitting that you have a problem. We took the kids on a walk this morning, and Marci confessed in the driveway before we even got the stroller rolling.

"Hi. My name is Marci, and I have a paci problem."

It was a pitiful and tearful sight, and the rest of us felt her pain. Osten was the first to cave and put in the call for relief on his walkie-talkie (that he just happened to have nearby!) "This is BOS-man to Paci Patrol. Do you copy? We've got a serious screamer in the driveway, and I'm the lucky guy who gets to share a stroller with the shrieker. We're going to need an emergency pity paci, and make it quick. Over."

Roger that.  I mean, who are Daddy and I to deny the call for a pity paci? (But for the record, I will note that this time it was Daddy who made the mad dash for the paci.)  It's awfully hard to be the paci police when we have yet even to make any New Year's resolutions for ourselves.  I guess we need to get cracking on that . . .