Sunday, Sweaty Sunday

Clad only in a diaper and sleeping in his air-conditioned room with the fan on, Harry woke up inexplicably damp and sticky from his morning nap.

Also? He's learning how to climb. Shit.





Unaccustomed to leaving the cool confines of the ivory tower, the rhetoric cohort decided to venture out into a local park today for a picnic to say goodbye to 3 students who are leaving to finish their degrees while earning real money. The only problem? It was 96 degrees (in the shade) and humid, making the idea of charred animal flesh less refreshing than usual. Becuase we are all good Wisconsinites, though, there were plenty of brats and lots of beer that got disturbingly warm immediately after it was plucked from a cooler. And we had an abundance of coolers because it's a state statute that all residents be ready to tailgate at a moment's notice. Harry got very red cheeked and moist, but he had an excellent time.

He played with the big kids.




He toddled around with this bike helmet over his eyes.


He clapped.


He tried on my sunglasses.


And he tried for the ninety-millionth time to grab my camera.


Clearly, all of these things were very, very taxing.


Yikes! Have you ever seen cheeks that red?


His coloring totally returned to normal after dinner (grilled chicken, organic low sodium mac and cheese, banana, and apple, in case you were wondering), a wagon ride, and a bubble bath. When I put him in his crib, he said "Night Night," rolled onto his side, and grabbed his stuffed rat. Ahhhhhhh.