because a walrus likes an

because a walrus likes an iceberg

This, I think, why M. was laughing himself nearly to barfing in his crib tonight. I can't explain it. It seemed to have something to do with Tigger and hippos and icebergs.

Today: did I write a paper? No. Birdwatched. Stupidly twisted ankle. Ate lunch. Read in a carefree manner. Took M. to new skate park and gossiped with s.'s mom and ate ice cream sandwiches. Ogled 14 year old goth chicks wearing horns, glitter in hair, black lipstick, hundred jelly bracelets, and bondage belts from Hot Topic. Ogled 16 year old skater boys. Admired their perfect nonchalance. Continued walking around park on increasingly painful ankle. Flew foam airplanes and helicopter thingie. Played in sand. Home to paint, without skill or talent, a watercolor cartoon giraffe, and sigh with envy as L. painted another luminous perfect dead leaf in swirly water. Played role-playing game newly plotted soap-opera style by J. Am now loafing about, reading and writing blogs with ankle wrapped, ibuprofened, and elevated.