Girls not allowed

Mommy is back to work now, leaving Daddy and the boys to man the U.S. S. Fussy Britches on the weekends.

In just three weeks of duty, Daddy has managed to keep the ship on course. The boys get fed. Nobody gets hurt. We even sneak in a trip to the park.

Daddy will be the first to admit, he doesn't run as efficient an operation as Mommy, but he does alright, which is about all you can ask.

With Mommy back in the swing of things, that means daycare comes back into the picture. Despite a few hiccups in the process -- which included Keaton going a day at one daycare with almost nothing to eat -- we're back to where we started, taking the boys to the same place Quinn has been going to since we moved to Oregon.

This wasn't an option to us before. Quinn's caregiver didn't watch newborns. But seeing that we were desperate, she gladly took on both boys, and so far it's working perfectly.

We've been trying to find alternative to the TV as an entertainment choice for Quinn. Lately, Mommy decided to turn him into an artist, making pictures out of macaroni glued and painted on paper plates. He's quite a talent. The kid also has some improv skills. He enjoys modifying nursery rhymes. To wit: "Jack and Jill Went up the Hill to fetch a pail of ... sandwiches! ... poop! ... blocks! ... basketballs!"

Keaton is also becoming more animated. If well rested, he enjoys sitting up in his bouncy chair and looking around at the world with his big round eyes. He likes it when Daddy stares back and asks him to talk. It usually elicits an approving coo or gurgle. Come to think of it, that could be gas.

We've grown concerned about the shape of Keaton's head, which is significantly flatter on one side thanks to two months of holding him in the same position.

We're working on evening it out a bit.

But that's what weekends with the boys are all about. A little bit of rough-housing is the perfect cure for an unbalanced head.