The other day we visited the “Little Studio” at Museum of Children’s Art in Oakland. This after the “Little Farm” earlier in the week. If Baba were strictly looking to meet her own needs, we’d have been to the “Little Bookstore” or the “Little Café.” Followed perhaps by a visit to the “Little Brewpub” and the “Little Art House Movie Theater.”
Not that I should complain. I quite enjoyed myself. In fact, I think it’s best to only go out on outings that one would be 3/4 willing to do even without kids. After all, if Baba’s not happy, nobody’s happy. The only valid complaint I could register on this excursion was that holding kiddle #2 kept me from pushing the little munchkins out of the way and getting busy myself.*
The highlight of the visit (other than watching the lil’ monkey totally absorbed in everything she did): soon after I arrived with both kiddles in tow, a woman there, with her own toddler + infant combo, pronounced that my kids looked exactly like me. “You can just tell,” she said.
Since she said this from across the room, atop the heads of various studio denizens, small and smaller, I elected not to call back her that they do look like me, in just the same way that my dog did.










Dustbunnies, publicity and privacy
Initially I intended to efficiently attend to some administrative blog housekeeping, and note two tweaks to the features and content delivery here at LD. This, after a pause to issue the caveat that, if only I knew more about WordPress wrangling, and if only I had the discretionary time to gain said know-how, I’d have long since instituted a herd of spiffy improvements. Would that I could be noting them, in their plentitude. But I can’t.
(Hell’s bells, I can’t even figure out how not to have the links along the right margin be anything other than alphabetical! Per the WordPress default! So I wiggle around and craftily concoct category titles that begin with the letters of the alphabet that would order them in some kind of sensible sequence!)
But enough of that tale of woe! Let’s us return to the pressing matter of housekeeping.
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