The Perfidy of Marmot Dads

We got invited to go to the pool with Max and his family on Friday. E made snacks for everyone to share--graham crackers and peanut butter, a family favorite. In my haste, however, I left them on the counter as we were rushing out the door. E asked as we were pulling into the parking lot if I had forgotten them.

Me: Oh no! I did! Daddy will probably eat them because he won't know they were our pool snacks. (Marmot Pa was home watching Marmot Babe.)

E: Why would he do that?

Me: (somewhat unfairly) Oh, that's just how he is.

E: Yeah, he's always eating the LAST cookie or the LAST scoop of ice cream or something.

M: (out of the blue) (and with a deeeeeep sigh) He's a hard Daddy to live with.

E: He sure is.

zziiiiiiiippp

That's the sound of me zipping up actual pants on my actual body. Why does that merit a blog post, you ask? Because I spent many many months wearing hideous pull-on pants with big nasty elastic panels on the front. That were still too small and tight. But I have, miraculously, graduated to zip-up pants because the latest and greatest marmot is now on the outside instead of on the inside, bless him. (I still sometimes have a hard time getting undressed because I yank and pull on my pants to try to get them off, forgetting that they zip. It's been a while.) 

Anyway, he's the cutest little marmot you could imagine, and now that he's almost two months old he can make eye contact and make little cute noises and be interactive. Let's find a photo or two of him.

Oh wait, that's where you still can't see him yet.

There he is in all his marmoty glory.


And here he is today in his Sunday best.

And now I have to go because the girl marmots are fighting and the baby marmot is crying and hungry and THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why I never update this blog.

Amen.