Everyone needs a Brad to love them

Scruffy hair... Gentle smirk... If that ain't Brad Davis, I don't know who the hell it is! My dear Joanne no longer has to walk this earth alone, her husband has been completed. The hair has been a giant pain -- the yellow lion brand I sprung for the either day is pretty kinky, especially when cut into bang-length pieces. I also had a hard time with the face -- his head wasn't knitted on very straight (bad stitch picking up on my part). It kind of looks like he has a big of a facial deformity, but I prefer to think of it as a mischievous smirk. Yeah, that works.

Anyway, it's been another tough weekend in my world -- on Saturday night we were sitting with Ruby at the dinner table when the jar of apricots that she'd eaten about an hour previously came flying out of her mouth. She wasn't acting sick or anything, and seemed as surprised as we did about the whole thing. About an hour later, the pasta she'd had just prior to the apricots came flying onto the carpet (yes, tomato sauce and all). Then some more came out. And some more. And then the dry heaving began. A call to telehealth confirmed that she just had a little tummy bug (what we used to call stomach flu before the influenza shot became all the rage and doctors insisted that "flu" be used as a more technical term). She seems fine now, though I've been paranoid about dehydration and she still isn't eating much more than breast milk and toast. We spent all day yesterday doing laundry (all of our sheets and clothes reeked of baby barf), though I did manage to whip off a batch of almond shortbread and four dozen rum balls. Between you me, by the end of the day, I needed the rum.