Klutziness runs in my family.
My sister is the worst offender. The number of times she spilled her milk at dinner when we were kids defies logic. Her husband calls her Destructo for her tendency to break things and hurt herself, basically all the time.
I'm only slightly better. I have black-and-blues all over my legs from knocking into furniture and walls. When I cook, it's like a C-4 plastic explosive went off in the kitchen. One time when we were leaving a Broadway show, my heel caught the cuff of my jeans and I went unceremoniously down on the pavement, face first, in front of a mass of theater-goers. Need I belabor the point? Suffice it to say, Rayne started calling me Sister of Destructo not long after we got together.
And then, in January 2008, we were joined by Puppy of Sister of Destructo:
|Baby Hudsy, 12 weeks|
True to form, here is some of Hudson's handywork during the first five months he lived with us:
|Loved these Reefs...|
|Tug o' war|
|Another teething post|
|One of many dead toys|
Eventually he (mostly) outgrew the shoes and furniture issue, but every now and then a stray card or piece of paper gets ferociously destroyed while I'm not looking.
Which brings us to today's post.
Hudson is finally starting to make the connection:
Henry + Highchair = Food for Me
I encourage this, because I want Hudsy to love Henry as much as Henry loves him. At the moment, Hudson tolerates Henry's free-range crawling all over the apartment, but I can tell he's thinking Can you just put that back in Jail where it belongs?
When Henry is eating, however, Hudson is sure to snag some sweet potato thrown on the floor, puffs dropped off Henry's sticky palms, a tablespoon or more of fruit puree packets poured down the leg of the highchair. Et cetera.
And then, there's this:
Ladies and Gentlemen, Puppy of Sister of Destructo is back. Let the games begin.