Thank you, The Management

At the Knitz household, things are getting wild. The baby wakes up, rubs her eyes, puts her index finger in the air and says, "Doggy!" Uncle Murphy wakes up more slowly, but pretty soon she's kissing his face and he's licking her belly. They chase the Oscar together. The cat teases them both by staying just out of reach. Norah is the only sensible creature. She stays close to me.

Baby is on the move, and it has reinvigorated the middle-aged dog. He previously spent most of his time lying on a dog bed and snoring, which was just about the perfect speed for me. Now, during dinner, he walks around the dinner table on his back legs and runs his nose along the edge of the table in hopes of finding a tidbit to swipe. He knows that this is not approved behavior and he does most of it on the opposite side of the table from me where I cannot see him. A friend told me this is called "table surfing." I call it "vexing." Baby thinks it is charming. Visitors cannot hide their amusement. Finally, I carry him off to his crate. We are both disgraced.

The problem is that I am The Man. This would be so much funnier if I weren't responsible for safety, cleanliness, and appropriate behavior. Instead I say "Uh-uh" to the dog and "No-no" to the baby and place them in situations where they can behave constructively. Being the protocol droid is a drag.

I really enjoy the times when all of us, dog, cats, and baby are sprawled on the floor in the living. We read, snooze, stack blocks, and snuggle. Knitting is out of the question. Any of the beloved culprits would steal the yarn if I show a moment of weakness, so we hang out and learn the intricacies of shape sorters and listen to Public Radio.

And before anyone gets a bright idea, please don't lick my food.

Thank you,

The Management