when you hear hooves...

I was sitting here tonight feeling rather lackluster; a long, rain-filled day left me with no energy and even fewer photos. Bored, I picked up my camera and took a picture of my hand. That's me : crooked pinky finger lady. I get that from my dad's side of the family, and I've passed it on to half my brood. If you look online there are lots of theories. Seems like those similarly blessed associate it with being geniuses. Others suppose it's passed down from a certain Native American line. Personally I like the genius theory.

Okay, so I don't know if anyone has ever actually said crooked pinkies = big brains. But I had you there for a minute!

While I was snapping away, Hobie moseyed into the room, fussing. That's his typical M.O. He walks around and screams like most of us walk around and breathe. Which is not to say that we let him cry much, but that there are a few minutes in a twenty-four hour period that aren't 100% dedicated to Hobie.

He spends a lot of time in my lap.

Tonight he found a toy to amuse himself, and moseyed back out into the living room with his conquest. Walking around with things in your hands is a big deal when you're thirteen months old. Makes you feel manly.

Then I was looking at my camera display at photos of Hobie, and caught sight of our new rug.

It was seven dollars. I think we got the raw end of the deal.