Don't Know Whatchoo Got 'Til it's Gone

Katie and I left the boy behind this weekend. Quite the experience, really. We left 28 pages of detailed instructions with his babysitters and got on our plane to Shy-Town for Auntie Leah's gradu-ma-tation party. It's only 24 hours, it's only 24 hours, it's only 24 hours, we chanted as the plane took off. Later that day, at the party, when we realized that we were both sitting and eating, instead of one of us eating and the other chasing Max, we began to plot ways to make this work: have the kid, but not have the kid.

However, when we got home, Max saw us, ran into the porch, hopped on one of the wicker rocking chairs and got this ma-ma-ma-mega cute look on his face. We both dropped to our knees, crying and begged Max to forgive us. We explained plantively, as Max calmly eyed us, rocking in his chair, that we were sorry, we would never leave again, he was the cutest baby, that all we did while we were away was talk about him and babies in general (true) and he deserved better. At which point, Max hopped out of the chair, and gestured angrily, "That's right bitches!" He walked over to the CD rack, pulled every one of them onto the floor, "Now fill my sippy cup!" Powerless in the face of such cuteness, we had but to comply.