Snookums, the curly-haired baby currently running this house, has added an event to Mower's phone:

On Sundays, there will now be MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

I wonder what we're having, or what she thinks is just so good as to save it for every week. Perhaps it's for all of us, like when she picks her nose and then grabs at our clothing so it smears across our chests or right on our butt. I have been stuck to chairs more than once because of this baby's boogers. Maybe it's when she grabs at her privates as we are trying to keep her from twisting onto her back with ten pounds of poop flinging everywhere and our screams of "NO!" are taken as the funniest thing ever so she must then giggle hysterically and grin at us while doing gymnastics off the couch. Or it could be the time of the day where she lets the dog lick her fingers through the wire crate and then transfers the cereal bar from the clean hand to the now canine slobber-infused hand.

I wait with Advil in one hand and the camera in the other.