"In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf."

Once there was a very hungry Terzo bambino.

He had slept and slept and slept and when he woke up at seven, he was very hungry.
He nursed well, both sides.
Then he burped.
But he was still hungry.

Then he ate a big big bowl of barley cereal.
And then he burped.
But he was still hungry.

Then he ate a container of applesauce, and he was still hungry, so he ate a leftover half container of applesauce, and then he burped.
But he was still hungry.

So then his mama mashed an entire freaking banana for him, which he gobbled all the way up.
And then he burped.
And cried a little bit and grabbed for her oatmeal.
So she gave him a biter biscuit.
And then he burped one final time.

And he was not hungry anymore.

At least, not until lunch!

And someday he will be a beautiful linebacker.

THE END


*****

Poor H has been getting angry emails at work each morning this week – first it was the wailing baby debacle, and now this:

I wonder what has become of my white plastic measuring spoons? I
have my suspicions...as they are ALL gone, apparently into the Bermuda Triangle of kitchen tools...and I can tell you right now that you can either have a wife who happily cooks yummy meals using her full complement of tools which she has carefully assembled over the years (and if that means FOUR ENTIRE sets of measuring spoons, well, the pot who owns SIX guitars can call the cooking kettle black all he wants!), OR you can have children playing with way more measuring spoons than they could possibly need and losing them all over the house.
You cannot have both.
I am just saying.
I had to reclaim my plastic measuring cups this morning.
I DO NOT want them using MY kitchen utensils, I don't know how much more clear I can make this point to our babysitter R, the boys Primo or Segundo, or anyone else concerned. And yet I am constantly finding things gone missing from my kitchen stuff.
And it makes me VERY grumpy.

*************

I stopped at the coffee shop yesterday very quickly for a double-shot latte, because I NEEDED the caffeine, and started talking to a woman who is looking for a bridge fourth. She has a group of friends who get together to play occasionally. They do pinochle too. She gave me her email, because I thought H would be interested. She's a Cornell alum, which I discovered because I asked where she went to college since, you know, us *non*-Ivy types just played quarters in college.