Miles Loves Hisself Some Toot Humor

I "joke" a fair amount about making sure these boys grow up to prosperous and healthy members of society, i.e: not like their ne'er-do-well, sell-out of a Father. Oh, and these people.

To combat the artistic tendencies with which they've been undoubtedly saddled, I've been leaving HVAC and Plumbing textbooks around in place of all the Eric Carle and Mo Willems books. They're not as colorful or funny, but they're much more edifying.

HowEVER, if turning them away from intellectual, aesthetic pursuits means I've got to sit through a real-life version of Idiocracy, I'm bringing the Art Theory books back out.

On a slightly related note, while Max, like his blogged about brethren, is not so much into all things Fourth of July-ish. It was an opportunity to teach Max how to say "blooow my miiiind!" very dramatically. As in: "These fireworks are going to blooow my miiiind" Then, after about the third explosion, Max's mind was, in fact, blown and I walked back to the car with a totally traumatized kid clinging to me. It took about 15 minutes to weave our way back through a minor throng of sparkler-wielding kids and parents while the big show kept going above us. Poor Max probably wasn't too impressed by my rescue skills. SWAT-Dad I am not.