Violet has a new little nickname around here. That nickname is “Slimey,” and we’ve taken to calling her that as a result of her new favorite pastime: sucking on her hands and rubbing the spit all over her face. She sucks on her hands so much that I fear she may eventually dissolve the hands altogether and wind up with wrist-stubs in their place. For now, the main effects of this obsession are (1) her hands are always wet and cold, and when I’m nursing her, she likes to run them all over my warm belly and chest while she enjoys a hearty meal and giggles at my misfortune, and (2) absolutely everything fabric within two feet of her mouth is soaked at all times.

I can’t hear the name “Slimey” without thinking about the Sesame Street character by that name. From his meaningful relationship with Oscar the Grouch, to his extreme adventures with his fire-fighter girlfriend, to his six-week journey into space in season 29, Slimey is a likeable friend and heroic role model.

And no, I didn’t just “know” those random facts about Slimey. I found them here: The rocket was launched using Snuffleupagus’ trunk

In other news, we just enjoyed a four-day visit from some Georgians in the Edgar family. Vibble met her Great-grandmother, my Nana, who made the trip escorted by my sweet-hearted cousin Chelsea. The trip was an 80th birthday gift for Nana from Chelsea and her sister, Sarah-Nicole, and it was wonderful to see Violet and her great-grandmother meet. One highlight of the trip, for me, was hearing some of my Nana’s stories about her life, including what it was like to grow up as a first-generation American, her parents and sister having sailed from Czechoslovakia before she was born, and what it was like dating and marrying in the 1940s. Her husband died of cancer in the 1960s, and she raised their five children by herself. “I never felt sorry for myself,” she said, “I felt sorry for Bill [her husband], because there were so many more good things than bad that followed, and he missed them. He was cheated.” Of course, we heard all about when her five children were babies and what it was like in those days to care for an infant. Uncle Don apparently liked to throw his baby bottle out of his bed, so there was often BROKEN GLASS to be cleaned up off of the floor.

I also got a kick out of spending time with Chelsea. I remember meeting her when she was around two weeks old. We called her “Lady Poo” because of her smelly diapers. (Sorry, Chels, but you knew I’d have to find a way to get that out to the Internet!) Now she is a sophomore at Georgia State with a HOT Navy boyfriend and a level head on her shoulders. She’s studying accounting, but before you go imagining her at a desk, she has no intentions of working in an office. She thinks she maybe wants to do investigative accounting work and TRAVEL as much as possible. She’s a sweet, generous, generally happy girl. A bright light to be around.

In other-OTHER news, I woke up a week ago Friday to find THIS BOX OF AMAZINGNESS outside our front door.

Pause and think about it a minute. There was a CHEESECAKE on DRY ICE at my FRONT DOOR. I had to blink a few times to make sure I was awake, because THIS IS WHAT I DREAM ABOUT AT NIGHT! It was a thank-you gift from Sarah-Architect’s brother and sister-in-law for our having helped her with her surgery complication nightmares. Of course, there was no need to thank us—Sarah’s been there for us many times, too, and that’s what friends are for. No need … but plenty of enjoyment of this cheesecake! Meanwhile, my dad has sent us some Chicago deep-dish pizzas, just as a treat. They are so delicious and sweet, and the crust is so flakey, Stevel calls them “Pizza Cake.” As a result of these deliveries, I have reached two conclusions:

(1) Anyone can send food to my door anytime they want, and
(2) Dry ice is the shit.

And now I urge you to make sure your bomb shelters are well stocked with canned goods and drinking water, because Violet LaVietes has not pooped for three days! When it happens, it’s going to be explosive enough to level Los Angeles.