FL

We got home today to find the answering machine reading "FL," or full, or, as the Brazilians say, Mais tudo de merde como estas os presidentes dos duas pais da Isabella.

A button later and the magical words:

You ... have two ... new messages ... and twenty-nine ... old messages.

dad had taken a photo of the damned machine when it read "19," thinking then that he'd blog the cute little picture and record for you, Dear Reader, some of Isabella's first messages.

Then he deleted the first two. Change "FL" to "FK" and you get the idea. Yeah. Whoops. It's a sad day when the thought of having additional spawn crosses your mind so you might establish at least one core set of mementos.

Anyway, it's been a crazy couple of months, but today Isabella went to hang out with some of her buddies from the new mom group. Among them were Cousin Tank, who was born a month premature, is less than a week older than Isabella, and seems to live up nicely to his nickname. He's huge, and already tries to stand up. Wow. Not many photos -- the batteries died in the camera, sorry. Guess who's fault that was. Hint: It's a guy. And probably, maybe wasn't boydog.

So, yeah, things've been a bit crazy, and I think we've missed photos from some of the relatives. Uncle John, the first true uncle to visit, made an appearance a couple weekends ago. We could point out Uncle Rodrigo's notable absence; he didn't even try to talk to Lil' Genghis through mom's belly at Christmas because he was too busy playing with his Einstein action figure. Yeah. The little jerk would probably complain he hasn't been on the same continent since Isabella was born. You want to try explaining that to a 11-week-old? You can't. So we just tell her that he doesn't love her.

So, as we were saying, the only true uncle to make an appearance is Uncle John, who got along great with the little lady. That is, he liked her. She kept punching him:


While hanging out with Cousin Tank and company, mom got some quality time with Lil' Genghis today, chilling in a friend's living room:


mom started getting ready for Father's Day by ordering dad something nice. He came home on Friday to a box marked "Perishable." Low and behold, there was authentic southern barbecue ... packed in dry ice.

You know how everyone fears their kid will spend more time playing with the box then the toy? mom -- despite years of marriage -- hadn't quite expected that from her husband. She shoulda known, shoulda known. Anyway, the box wasn't remarkable, but the dry ice got kinda fun.


Then mom started seeing the appeal, stirring a spoon through the whisps of carbon dioxide and cackling like a witch.

Dry ice is definitely a lot of fun, and children from, say, 2 to 80 should all get a chance to play with it at some point. (Be careful with the stupid ones, such as dad because you really don't want to pick it up with your bare hands. Wikipedia says it's about -110 degrees Fahrenheit, or 195 degrees Kelvin for you metric-loving slackers.)

Anyway, it's worth hearing it boil off.


Cool stuff for kids big, small, young and old.