You're A Pal And A Confidant

NJ had a play date late last week with the lovely Olivia, who's one month older than NJ and apparently grew about six inches longer since I saw her last, just a couple of weeks before. Once Olivia stopped crying at the sight of the big, bearded doofus -- I think NJ put in a good word for me -- they had a grand time. Here they are smiling big for Olivia's mother, who has a knack for getting babies to really ramp up the cute.

International news reports indicated that yes, indeed, the whole world was smiling with them at the exact moment this photograph was taken.

Olivia's mom is a 5-foot-2 spitfire who was cool enough to bring scones and cookies from Seattle's best bakery, and she knows lots of things about many subjects (sadly, music is not one of them). She recently plugged Mrs. Mustard's Baby Faces, and The Wife immediately bought it. (I make a suggestion and The Wife might -- might -- get around to considering it several weeks later. This, she did right away: "Whatever you say, Olivia's mom!") I'm sure it's a delightful little tool for honing kids' emotional intelligence, but truth be told I find it to be a little creepy. What with the disembodied baby heads and all. If you ate a giant plate of dodgy Chinese food and then read several issues of some sort of Spy magazine for infants, your dreams that night would look something like this:

Yes, we're happy. Happy because we're plotting to kill you in your sleep.