Raising Baby

Chapt 1
Elad, wake up. It's time!

That was the first thing I heard that night! It was the night of my first born's birth. I remember waking from the haze and thinking 'Time for what?'. It took a couple of minutes for the cobwebs to clear, but after they did, all manner of panic and excitement ensued. I can remember rushing around getting all of the bags together that were already prepared. I can remember that even with all of the preparation, nothing was prepared. I was in a state of panic and nothing could prepare you for the reality of a child birth. Here was Elad, the most irresponsible man in the world about to enter parenthood. I mean what qualifications did I have? Shouldn't references be required for this line of work? How about a ten year back-ground check? I hadn't held a job for longer than two years up to that point, and here I was about to be a dad. Like most of the people in my time, I had been on drugs for years before that. All manner of drugs, and I can remember wondering if my children would have multiple heads at the time. No, this is not a push for drugs. I quit them fairly quickly about that time. Call it parenthood.

The next thing I remember, is getting in the car and driving like a mad man down Interstate 20 in the dark of night. For some reason, my wife, Barbie found it necessary to choose a hospital 30 miles away, when there were four other ones closer. As a matter of fact, we had to pass one to get to the one I was racing like a NASCAR Driver to get to. Women! If there is ever a man born that truly understands them, he will be called "Messiah" and worshipped by all mankind.

About that time my wife asked me: "Why are you driving so fast?"

I can remember thinking 'What a dumb question.' Never mind that the paint was peeling from the car at such speeds, I was going to get her there on time. At that time, I thought childbirth had a rhythm to it. You drive, get out, deliver the child and go home. Easy huh? Well, trust me, it doesn't work that way. Child birth is a series of well thought out blunders and all manner of obstacles thrown in for good measure. I'll bet God planned it that way. I can hear him now: "Oh, skippin' Church, huh. Take that! Not helpin' your fellow man, huh. Take that! Child birth is entertainment for The Gods. It's probably their favorite time of the day or night and they fight over who gets to toss a wrench in the engine.

"Elad, pull over! You're scaring me. Elad! PULL OVER!" My wife said.

Lesson one! Never argue with a pregnant women. I looked over at her to see her head was doing 360s, spinning in opposite directions and the veins in her eyes were popping out. I screeched to halt and she took over the driving. Let me tell you one thing, I'm the boss around my house! We drove at a speed and I can remember thinking how weird it was to see turtles pass us. Everything moved in slow motion, that is until I heard: Oops!

Oops is generally a word reserved for accidents. I looked ahead but saw nothing. Then I looked at her.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Well, my water broke!" she responded.

"Your water broke? What's that mean? You're going to give birth while crawling down the Interstate?" I asked.

"Well, it means I have to hold my legs together and you're going to have to carry me inside." She replied.

A pause from the action: Now here I am with the vision of a baby squirting up under my dash board. I was no expert, but I was fairly certain that was not supposed to happen. What to do, what to do. Of course about that time we entered the emergency room driveway and screeched to a halt. I ran inside and got the Doc, and we wheeled a wheel chair out to the car together. My wife, with her legs squeezed together, slid into the chair and we wheeled her into the...Gadget room.

The gadget room is the room, where doctors apply all of their cool little toys on an expecting mother. They attach wires, tubes, disks and stick things everywhere. They probe you, they feel you and they condescend to one here.

"Yes,...everythings going to be all right Mrs. Watson." The Doctor said in a calm smooth voice as if he were talking to a three year old.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Doc. Look at her." I calmly replied. OK, so maybe it wasn't so calm.

We both looked at her and she was tightening up every muscle in her body. Then we heard the proverbial contraction moan. Arrrrgh! I looked at the doc and it was quite apparent to me that he was as freaked out as I was.

"How many times have you done this, doc?" I asked in a heightened state of panic.

"Over a hundred times easily." He replied.

His stare was not much comfort for the amateur Elad however and I quickly responded "Well, do something. Don't just stand there."

He took out his cold stethoscope, pronounced her living and doing fine and then disappeared into another room. My wife moaned again and I ran into the other room to get the Doc, and here was another woman giving birth. Oops! It's an assembly line. Now this caught me off guard. It turned out there were four other women giving birth that night and there was only one doctor so far. The rest were out at one AM for a late night round of golf, no doubt.

"Where's our Doctor at? We need a doctor in here." I screamed.

"Calm down Mr. Watson. Your doctor's on the way. He should be here shortly." The nurse said.

Now I was upset at my wife. Only she could start a child birth without a Doctor.

"Can't you hold it?" I asked.

"No!" she responded in one of those many voices women have during childbirth. The voice would have made Satan proud. It freaked me out.

About that time all of the stragglers began arriving. These are the people that show up for child birth. Relatives, friends and people wanting your insurance information. My wife's best friend, Sha arrived. This was great for me as she had already had two children and I could use some help. Her vast network of experience immediately came into play. She calmly walked into the gadget room, looked at my wife's expression and ran screaming from the room and it was one of those blood curdling screams. I should have known then what was at stake. After a few minutes she returned. She walked up to Barb and held her hand. On the table next to us, was a machine spitting out graph paper. I don't know why, but they have to graph paper everything. It gives you heart rate, blood pressure and they also have one that tells you how hard the woman is contracting. I later found out that that little gadget was for dads. You see, if you're holding her hand, or in my case she was squeezing my wrist, you let go when the needle pegs off the paper. Why? Because the first time that happened, she squeezed my wrist so hard, her nails punctured the main artery there and a nice little blood stream squirted out all over the wall.

"Oh my God, Elad. You're bleeding." Screamed Sha.

I looked down counting the beats of my heart as pulse after pulse squirted into the air. Sometimes it made three feet from my wrist. A nurse saw that and I had to get bandaged while Sha held a trash can under the flow. When I returned, she was sitting there calming my wife. We watched the paper graphs together and the next time a contraction left the lines on the graph paper Sha replied: "Wow! That was a good one."

Then we both looked at Barb. Her head was spinning in 360s again. I think perhaps Satan invades a woman's body during birth and fights for the soul of the child. She grabbed my wrist and said in a Satan-like voice: "See what you did, you son... of... a... bitch!"

I cowered back just a bit but she apologized and I resumed holding her hand. Women think being the man at this time is easy. Maybe we don't have to deliver the baby but I assure you nothing is easy. God has compensated for a woman's pain by making us endure all manner of insult and injury.

About that time, they wheeled her into another room. Now I didn't go to this room because you have to have special breathing lessons to go there so I sat outside and worried a lot. Mostly what I thought about, was what those drug abuse films always tell you.

"If you do drugs, it alters you're DNA and your children will be mutants." This was heavy on my mind, so I worried a lot thinking to myself: Please be normal and I promise to quit all of the drugs, God.

Now there are a few things the doctors don't bother to tell you: One is, often they have to grab the baby and pull on them. I think this is important for reasons I will soon make known.

About an hour later, they wheeled my daughter out in one of those portable incubators. Everyone heard "Watson" and we ran to the incubator. I looked down expecting to see a beautiful baby girl. I was not prepared to see a baby with a long pointed head.

"Arrgh! I've ruined my baby. I'm a killer. It's a mutant." I screamed.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Watson? Your baby is perfect." Responded the nurse

"Look at its massive head and how pointed it is. It's the LSD, I tell you." I replied in a panic.

Everyone burst out laughing, being I was the only ignorant one there.

"Mr. Watson! That's from the tongs they use to help the baby along. The cone shape will disappear in a few days to a few weeks." She informed me.

I was glad to hear that, even though she could have let me know that before I made a fool out of myself. I guess that's just Dad's position: To play the fool. I mean in reality, when its your first, we are all ignorant!

When the dust had settled, I was the proud father of an 8 pound 12 ounce baby girl. She was perfect and having both of my children will always be considered one of my crowning achievements.

Raising children is an experience, I highly recommend and besides: Why should I have all of this fun by myself?

Chapt 2

I have decided not to discuss my second daughters birth just yet and stick to the time line. Therefore since they were three years apart, I'll go into the formative years of my first born for three years and then add the second. It is not hashing out old territory as adding a second child changes everything: Trust me!

After returning home from the hospital, there's always the excitement and the letdown. It is here when the work begins and that was no different for me. Mothers are busy doing mother things and Dad's are busy doing the real work.

"Oh, we need this and we need that." Dad figures out how to afford it and does exactly as mother asks. He goes out and gets it. Many an expectant father has been driven to Bank Robbery during this time of life. But baby needs a lot of things and it's our job to supply it. Today's family lines are blurred more. Both parents tend to work and often the mother returns to work shortly after giving birth. Mine was no exception. She was back working within three months in each of my daughters cases. I have to applaud her for that. Its hard for me to return to work after only being constipated a day much less giving birth to an 8 pound 12 ounce baby.

After the adjusting to this period which usually lasts six months you enter the formative years. This is when mother sits you down in front of baby and has you read things to them and teach them the ropes. This period lasts until about the age of six.

I can remember teaching mine. She so much enjoyed my reading of Einstein's theory of relativity to her. What's that you say? Oh, the children's tales. Yes, well Fathers are learning too. Besides at this age, children have a specific method of learning. Yeah, I've read all of the books about how reading to them at that age makes them grow up smart. It's bullshit. Kids before 3 learn through one method. Its called Flat Worm Learning. If you want them to learn about it, feed it to them. They place it in their mouths, gum it at first, then bite it later, swallow it and digest it and that's how they learn. The same way flatworms learn things. Everything goes into their mouths. Mine learned about the nastiness of smoking as soon as they were crawling up to coffee tables, grabbing ash trays and gumming the butts I had left there unguarded in a fit of stupidity. Even today, neither smokes. There's something to be said about flat worm learning.

Feeding is a breeze at first for dads. The Ex breast fed. Breast Feeding is the greatest invention since sliced bread. I'll bet my dad wished they had that back in his time. It means dads don't have to get up in the middle of the night to feed the little tikes. I wont go into breast pumps here. It crushed my spirit when my Ex found out about those. She'd sit around all day filling up bottles just so I'd have to stay up all night feeding my daughter the same milk she just wasted 3 hours getting. I can remember her snickering off in the bedroom while I was up with baby. Women! Don't you just love them and their toys?

There is of course the behavior that all men hate. It is an art form that all children have perfected. Its called "Pooping." Pooping is how baby gets rid of all that bad information you have been teaching him or her. They have built-in censor devices and if they don't like it, it comes out three ways.

Way 1- They spit it at you or burp it up at you. This is the preferred way but it means baby isn't learning so you have to get it back in somehow. Wipe the face and worry about your new set of cotton dockers later.

Way 2-Pee it at you. Diapers catch most of this, but if you have a boy, watch out during those diaper changes as you can lose an eye. I have seen them hit the ceiling if they are excited.

Way 3-Poop it, otherwise known as babies masterpiece or babies revenge. It is the scourge of diaper world. Clothes pins work nicely for the smell, but nothing can quite prepare you for the sight. There are three types of poopers too. The preferred one is a nice hard one. This is less messy and if you are a guy, always volunteer to do this one. Feel the diaper while its still on the baby. If it feels lumpy, knock the wife down to change this one. They fall out really easy and there's very little involved in cleaning baby up. Just a nice tuschie wipe. The second variety involves mixed. Its lumpy and a bit messy but still, all in all preferred to the last type of poop. The third type is a really runny mixture. Let me say this plainly and I can't state it clearly enough: NEVER do this one unless your wife has you in a head lock or is pointing a pistol at the family jewels. I had to do this a few times and it made me gag, puke and gasp all at once. Always have an excuse readily available as if you were on your way out the door.

"Uhhhh, baby, I'll be right back. I just remembered I have to polish those new mags on your car for you." And always compliment her on the way out. A great compliment can throw her off guard while you make your escape. "Oh by the way baby, you are looking really hot today." Before her swollen head has returned to earth, you can be on your way out the door and polishing those new mag wheels leaving her with the dubious task at hand.

Baby's pretty much live this back and forth life of eating and pooping data for the first couple of years. By the end of two years you too can be quite proficient at it with a little luck. About that time, its time for potty training. That starts between 1 and two years depending on which expert you listen too. If you break them in on potty training too soon, the experts say they become serial killers. Too late and the taking away of their masterpieces make them misers. I will go into that in chapter 3.

Elad draws the curtain: Now go practice on those diapers. :)

Chapter 3

Speech Patterns

As soon as Baby's are born, they immediately set about communicating. That is to say, they cry lots. They have an adverse effect of regression on the adult human being too. When babies begin to cry, adults begin to Goo Goo. Is it some kind of sudden memory recall? I don't remember saying Goo Goo when I was a baby, but personally I don't remember being a baby. Maybe that's because all baby's think about is FOOD!

I remember telling my baby's Goo Goo but that was years ago. They never did answer me back. Could it be that Goo Goo has stumped their little minds?

"What's with this 'Goo Goo' thing. All I want is some smashed yellow gruel and he gives me Goo Goo. Could it be I was dropped on my head and can't remember what Goo Goo is? Now Poo Poo, I can dig that. If he said Poo Poo, I can do that on command. Maybe that's what Dad means. Maybe Dad is spastic and means Poo Poo. (Rip) There's one for you Dad. I did one of those Poo Poo things you love so much, that you take it from me as fast as you can. Those adults must really love Poo Poo. They covet it. Yeah, that's right Dad. Take that Poo Poo. Ah...nothing like the feel of a fresh warm diaper. (Rip) There's another one Dad. You'll never run out of a supply of Poo Poo while I'm around. Just keep feeding me those smashed yellow thing's." Baby says.

Anyway, I don't think Goo Goo's help us communicate much. I think the first words baby hears is important. And in most cases, the first word baby hears is "No."

"No, baby. Daddy doesn't want baby to poop on daddy's shift. Save that for mommie."

There is a lot of competition between Mom and dad while teaching baby to talk. Its about that first word: Mama or dada. In actuality this can traumatize most children and we should pick a neutral word. I can remember hearing my parents go back and forth with the mama dada things. And I remember thinking:

"Wow! What pressure. If I say Mama first, I am going to hurt the hairy faced being's feelings and if I say dada, I'll hurt the other ones feelings. Being a baby is tougher than I thought. Maybe I should say that Goo Goo thing first. Nah! I'm not sinking to their level. I'll say MaDa and that way I wont have to pick sides." Baby thinks to himself.

"MaDa!" says baby.

"Oh how sweet dear. She's trying to say Dada. Did you hear him?" asks Dad.

"No baby, I think she's trying to say Mama," replies Mom.

This goes back and forth until baby is forced to choose a side and seek therapy later on in life.

After that first word though, they begin to say everything you do. Its like once they say One word, they won't shut up. And you have to be very careful around them with what you say. My wife learned that quickly. She's one of those drivers that curses every time someone changes lanes in front of her. She liked blowing her horn and saying 'Watch out Bitch!'

One day we were going to a garage sale with her religious mother. I was in the back seat with baby who was safely strapped in her baby seat facing the rear. Someone apparently cut off my wife and she blew the horn at them but on this particul time she of course did not say anything. I was looking at my two year old who quickly said 'Watch out Bitch!' and quite loudly too. I wasn't sure if anyone heard it so I decided to play ignorant. My wife did the same thing. About two minutes after the fact my mother in law asked us the following:

"Did you hear what Christy said back there?"

We of course denied hearing it but she said it as plain as the nose on your face. So remember.....watch what you say around baby. They learn quickly once they start.

The best way to teach your children to talk is by reading to them. They will sit there for hours listening to whatever you read gnawing on the pages. I liked to read Einstein to them. My wife read fairy tales. I think that two pronged approach worked quite well. My daughters even as teens still have dreams of Albert Pan flying around the room at night in his green tights and wild white hair. This approach offers them imagination and knowledge. And both are important to a child's well being, don't you think?

At about age 1-2 it is time for potty training. Reading to them here can be quite helpful. All you have to do is switch from Einstein to Freud. This way you learn a bit about potty training as does baby. I'll go into potty training in a later chapter. But when raising a child many learning techniques overlap. I just thought I'd throw this in briefly. So until next time, Remember: Elad says: Raising baby can be quite rewarding. Cherish those years. Mine are now late teen agers and it saddens me that one day they will be gone. They grow up so fast. It seems they have gone from Dada to Car Keys overnight.

Raising Baby Chapter 4

The Sitters Revenge

Having raised two daughters, I find it compelling to inform the general public of this. I love my kids but like with all great things, there are pitfalls to look for. Many of my stories have endeavored to warn people of this dilemma.

One of these is about baby-sitting. It seems, that I am the only person on earth that knows how to raise children. What's that you say? No! It's true. Well, maybe its just that we overlook the faults of our own children because simply put, if we considered what they were doing a fault, we'd probably smack them with a rolled up newspaper. The Sunday edition works best for that, I'd say.

Small daughters grow up to become teen daughters. Try as you might, you can't stop it and they almost inevitably need money. My wallet has learned to make sucking noises as it gasps for air from the money escaping its shallow pockets. They should make a special wallet for Dad's, one that has revolving pockets on its interior. That way, the money would just fly out constantly.

I can remember once, my youngest daughter wanting a toy. She innocently said "Daddy, Can you buy me a 'Chatty Cathy Pee In her Pants Burping Doll with Nike Shoes And Surfboard'? And then she calmly gasped for air. Wow!

"Well baby, Daddy's broke just now. I'll try and get you one later this month." I replied.

"Well, can't you just get some money from that machine you go to all the time. It makes money." She responded.

My twelve year old didn't understand that Daddy had to work his butt off to put all of that money in those machines just yet. She just thought those were there for everyone to get money out anytime they needed it. I thought that was a great idea but the bank disagreed with me and promptly raised my fees shortly after that for suggesting it.

A few years later, she had a great idea. She came to me one day when she was about 13 or 14 and heres what the conversation contained.

"Hey Daddy! I need some money but don't worry. I am going to earn it myself if you'll let me." She proudly stated.

I thought that was cute. What a novel idea: a child that works! And besides, it teaches responsibility!

"How are you going to do that Shirley," I asked?

"By baby-sitting" she spouted off. "I have already put up flyers all around the apartment complex." She then turned and walked into her bedroom.

Now I had gears turning in my head. Wow! She can buy her own things and I can afford that fishing trip every now and then. This could be great.

Suddenly my phone rang. My daughter answered it and I could tell she had received her first job. Then it rang again and she had received her second job, followed by another call, her third job until I suddenly realized that my kingdom was about to be over ran with children. AWWWWK! The horror set in. I rushed her door bolting through so fast, the doorknob made a neat little round hole in the wall behind it.

"Uhhh, now Shirl, we cant have more than two children here at a time, so you'll have to call the other 34 back and get them to make other arrangements. OK?"

"But Daddy! At $5 an hour I can make hundreds of dollars a day this way.

I mean if you've never raised a child this sounds like a great plan but trust me. There's the shrink bills, food, first aid.....you end up losing money with that many children in the house not to mention the liability insurance. I toned her down to one child per day: A manageable figure I deduced.

The next day the doorbell rang and in walks Leslie. She was about six then and looked like the angel she wasn't. I talked to her Mom and she left a lot of instructions which I attentively wrote down in front of her and calmly disposed of after she left the house. My daughter and Leslie went into Shirl's bedroom and began playing. In those days my wife worked nights and I worked days so I had to watch the kids in the evening. I was cooking dinner when Leslie came in to watch.

I was preparing Spaghetti which I make perfectly. I sliced the garlic into thin slices so it would dissolve in the pan perfectly. I then diced onions and green peppers. I turned the meat and then dumped the onions into the pan. While I was stirring up the concoction Leslie said "I don't like onions!"

I took a deep breath in the form of a sigh and said "But those weren't onions. Those were fairy wings I used".

Then I dumped the garlic in.

"I don't like those!" Leslie spouted off.

I was beginning to see a pattern here. "Shirl!!!!!! Come get your friend." Shirley took her into the other room to play. She spent most of the dinner hour flicking onions at me across the table. I tried to ignore it but its hard to ignore an onion chip when it hits you in the eye. I left the table crying and as soon as I got the onion out of my eye I heard three sounds. One sounded like quickly disturbed air, followed by a meow and the other was a crying child. As I entered the room, I could see that my cat Snapper, aptly named, had cornered Leslie on the top bunk. The sound of the rushing air was the swipe of his paw scratching her. I picked up Snapper and took him into the kitchen with me while doing dishes.

The next day, the same thing happened. I ordered from McDonalds bringing home onionless cheeseburgers. I placed everything on the table on plates and called the entire crowd for dinner. Leslie lifted up her bun and promptly said "I don't like anything on my hamburger."

I took the burger and wiped it across the edge of the table removing all of the dressings and then placed it back on her meat. She looked at me kinda weird and said "It will still taste like mustard." I told her "No it won't. This table is especially designed to rid mustard from anything."

I spent the rest of the dinner hour ducking little pieces of hamburger buns. After dinner I went to brush my teeth and noticed how much it looked like I had suffered several cuts from shaving. You know when you have to put tiny pieces of toilet paper there to absorb the blood? Only my cuts were covered with bun pieces.

I then went into the living room to watch the local news. A few minutes later I heard those same three sounds. Air being disturbed, followed by a meow and the scream of a child. As I entered the room, there was Leslie on the top bunk with Snapper meowing from the floor. I don't think I have to tell anyone but for the first time in my life, I was beginning to like this cat. I took him into the kitchen, fed him steak and a bowl of milk. I petted him and told him what a valuable resource he was to the family and about how important his job was in maintaining security and my peace of mind for me. He purred incessantly.

The next day Leslie came over again. I immediately went into the bedroom and when I returned I was wearing one of those baby packs. You know, the things you use to strap baby on your back while going to the mall? Only I had snapper in it. For the next four hours I walked everywhere with Snapper on my back. I even ate dinner with him there. I had to lean forward to eat but it was a small price to pay for peace and quiet. I loved hearing him meow occasionally too. It gave me comfort. You could sort of think of Snapper as my Crucifix, a guard against evil. As for Leslie? She left the room every time I entered it. It was working great. No questions, no complaints, no little pieces of buns stuck to my face and no onions in my eyes. All was right in the world.

Now some of you might complain that this was abuse, but you can look at it two ways. One was that I was mean and rotten. I prefer the other point of view. I was protecting Leslie from the ravages of the malicious Snapper. In any case, the doorbell rang early that day. It was Leslie's mother and upon seeing the cat, she responded by what a great place for a cat. I wasn't sure she knew about Snapper at all. In hind sight I must have been wrong. Why? No, she didn't sue me or anything like that. As a matter of fact, the very next day, she dropped off Leslie and guess what. Yep....that's right. She was wearing her very own cat in a back pack.

Children are easy to raise, I'm telling you.

Chapter 5

The Participants: Elad, His Wife, A small Child(Elad's daughter:Christy) and a ash tray!
The Events:

I like to think of Man as a confused lost soul cast adrift in a Sea of Women that are either placed there to antagonize him or teach him something. In the peak of my life, I have come to realize that all beings are perfect except for man and that god has placed beings around us such as women or children to teach us things about ourselves. The male children are born perfect but somewhere through older male teaching they lose their innocence, and fall from grace. It is by design that females, children or otherwise, are incapable of imperfection and guide us along our mundane existences towards perfection by whipping us into submission. I learned this at an early age. That is not to say violence is the answer, but a well placed "Whomp" at the precise time, has done wonders in damage control in my life. With this in mind, I shall endeavour to explain the events leading up to just such a lesson learned.

I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I was doing my usual Man-Type work, which is to say, avoiding my wifes Honey Do list by drinking beer, watching the afternoon football game and smoking. Ah the simple pleasures in life are the best. I, however was actually earning my keep because while my wife was busy in the kitchen doing REAL work, I was watching Baby! She was under 2 still and by now, the champion of the Scoot process. To the layman of child rearing this is to say that she could not walk yet, but was quite adept at scooting along any piece of furniture in the room or if all else fails, crawl at the speed of light. And you thought those sonic booms were wayward jets, I bet! Baby's have a way of scampering down the sides of furniture and making noises as they go akin to grunts and groans, sighs and ahhs as they proceed. They have a language all to themselves. When two or more are togther, I have no doubts they Totally understand each other and go out of their way to deceive and conquer adults. Alexander was only 14 I believe and had started well on his way to conquering the world. Do not be deceived, the human baby knows all it needs to know and is quite artistic in the ways it applies knowledge and quite often out smarting the unsuspecting man.

On the day in question, I was watching the Dallas Cowboys play at their best which means they were only losing by 20 points that year on average and today they were only down by 12. The game was exciting and my daughter was crawling around on the floor before me. I looked over during commercials to observe her off and on admiring her skill with building blocks. During a Dallas game my attention is like tunnel vision: Its focused on the game. My dog once built a message with old bones on the floor which read: "Plese open the door. I need to pee!" I wasn't impressed. If the dog wanted my attention, let him get a job and make money. That would get my attention. Anyway, she had sculpted from the little ABC blocks the Leaning Tower of Pizza, sorta. For a child of under two, that amazed me (until the game resumed)!

To Be Continued......