Weekend Update with Mommymatic

I know I'm due for a real post and not just a "post some cute pictures with captions and be done with it" post, but I'm burning prime sleeping hours, so I'll give you the short version of what's been going on around here other than trying to mentally gear up for the whole logistics-of-a-2000-mile-move thing:

For one, this weekend was a gustatorial triumph: Daddymatic and I had barbecue TWICE (being from NC, we are snobs about The Art That Is Barbecue, so it was a rare treat to have totally yummy 'cue more than once over a weekend), Red Red Rine and I drove 40 minutes for the pleasure of being able to visit a Legitimate Multi-Retail-Outlet Establishment (read: a mall that doesn't totally SUCK) and found ourselves at the mercy of several adorable Brownies (the little girl kind, not the gooey chocolate kind) and were summarily talked into relieving them of several boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. We also discovered possibly the only eating establishment in Central PA that serves real Sweet Tea (also known by its official title The House Wine of the South), and we managed to squeeze in a Dunkin Drive-by to complete the Girls' Day Out, so of course the trip was a success.

The weekend was a sleeping triumph as well: Daddymatic, the hero of this story, saw that I was tired, tired, tired and offered to tend to the night wakings so that I could sleep uninterrupted, and oh, it was a beautiful thing. No sweeter, more seductive words were ever, I think, uttered than, "I've got him tonight, sweetie. You sleep now." Under Reasons Daddymatic is The Man, this is Exhibit A.

The weekend--this morning, anyway--was a gustatorial triumph for the Younger Member of the Household as well: whilst mommy was diligently reading blogs working, she noticed that Someone had become very quiet, which is not usually a Good Thing. It seems that yes, in fact, his arms are exactly 1 inch longer than I had calculated, and he had managed to pull his half-full (I'm an optimist, see) container of yogurt down on himself and was enthusiastically smearing as much of it as possible on every bodily surface, clothed or not. He was pretty much basted in it by the time I figured out what was going on: it had pooled on his socks, for pete's sake. So file that one under Why Mommy Should Only Visit Bloglines Under Strict Supervision. But just so you don't miss a minute of the burying-the-thrill-meter action around here, I snapped a few pics of the Yogurt Debacle:






What? Do you really think I'm going to smear this stuff everywhere? Am I so transparent to you?










Yeah, you're right. I am.

But the look can't be beat: it's like Jackson Pollock meets Andy Warhol at Old Navy, right?