Needless to say, I was a proud Papa when I saw Little Sis embrace my “camping-is-by-definition-dirty” theory with two-year-old enthusiasm and run away with it. Luckily, Lady-Friend snapped this pic as we found Little Sis “dirtying it up”… and I’m pretty much unequivocally in love with it.

As the Swallows built the nest, we were told to bust the thing down as it would become a 24/7 crap-factory… but our bleeding hearts got the better of us and we left it up. After months of sweeping and a “spotty” porch, the Swallow family hatched their babies and were off. Or so we thought.

Lady-Friend says:

Poor little birdies got the wrath of my mood today– that and I was sick of a poop-filled porch!  Sorry little guys, didn’t realize birds were like bunnies…didn’t you just have babies?

Yeah, so apparently Swallows just keep repopulating ad infintum and were going for Mr. and Mrs. Swallow “Generation III”. Now we’re beating ourselves up as murderers and will probably go cry ourselves into two equal pints of liquor (and by liquor I probably mean milkshakes) over destroying the circle of life cutely playing out on our front porch.

Of course, Little Dude was sad but figured since they’re going to die anyway, why not throw the eggs so he’s grinning at the prospect. Little Sis, of course, decided to give them a send-off smooch– illustrated in black and white down there for somber and dramatic effect.

Nature…. Man! Why you gotta do us so wrong?

So once Lady-Friend recovered from her warm-up Half-Marathon, we struck out to see the local sights… which is pretty much red rocked desert. And while that sounds a little “Meh”, it’s ridiculously invigorating and awe-inspiring country with so much to see from horizon to toe-tip your eye can hardly take it all in.

When we arrived to our first hike in Arches National Park, Little Sis had totally passed out like she’d been on an all-night milk and cookies bender, which is almost partially true. With parental foresight unequaled by any but God Himself, we’d packed a hiking backpack just for this kind of this-family-won’t-be-held-back-by-anyone’s-need-for-sleep-edness. We carefully pulled the rag-doll formerly known as Little Sis from her car seat and placed her into the pack.

Two minutes later she was awake and delighted to be there.

Twenty seconds later, not so much.

Apparently, Little Sis is totally getting a head start on that action.

When I saw this pic snapped off by Lady-Friend the other day, I broke into an anxiety-driven, cold sweat flash forward to a hormone-laden 2024; the year my Little Sis is officially allowed to “like” (but not “LIKE-like”) boys. Which, incidentally, will also be the year my 2008 AR-15 purchase really pays off.

Of course, by then we’ll be communicating via telepathy and/or underground bunkers thanks to 2012 Mayan prophecies and stuff so I guess I have nothing to worry about.

Here’s a couple snaps Lady-Friend caught during some playtime this afternoon. Sis is looking old.

But Little Sis… Little Sis knows EVERYTHING about it.

And, unfortunately, we now know EVERYTHING about trying to take it away…

…Yaaaaaay Nutella!

But I’m not judging. When I come home at the end of the day and Lady-Friend tells me she’s sorry she’s a “grease ball”, I’m cool with that as long as I get a high five and a “Man, you’re hot, charming and there’s a million more ego-inflating reasons why I married you”, we’re totally good. Besides- the whole no-showering thing? As a dude who slides through life living on the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” shower policy, I can assure you it’s the 36 hour mark before things start becoming olfactorily shady.

Still, Lady-Friend wanted to prove why her occasional non-showering was landing on the “must miss” list. As exhibit A., Lady-Friend jumped in the shower and snapped off a detail– from her perspective–  she could use in any potential “Why didn’t you take a luxuriating shower today” case defense.

As it turns out, if Little Dude is the Bed Ninja, Little Sis is his shower-time equivalent. A shower time equivalent who, with a thwarted, drippy-teared look of , “Why won’t you invest in my future and read to me, Woman? WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME!?” can not be denied.

And yes, we promptly cleaned the shower door.

She kinda dug it.

When you’re trying to punch in for a full 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep, living with a bed ninja can be tough. Between Little Dude, Little Sis and all their arm-flailing, face-smacking barrel-rolling, we finally upgraded to a king mattress. It worked. The whole crew can now pile into bed and sleep without fear of being kicked in the baby-maker, becoming a sandwich or having an eye gouged out. Our new Stearns & Foster was our samurai to Little Dude’s ninjitsu.

For a week.

I’m not sure what time Little Dude hijacked us this morning, but I woke up on the edge of the bed with my face being cheese-grated by the plastic-soled feet of his zip-up footy pajamas, while Lady-Friend enjoyed repeated (and apparently unnoticed) headbutts on the other side. The bed geography may sound vague, but the pic above pretty much does the scene justice: At 6:55 AM this morning, our bed was a mussy-haired and sleep deprived recreation of Stonehenge.