Not-that-late-night eating

It's almost midnight, and guess what I'm cooking?

Yeah. You got it: POTATOES!

But hey, I didn't really have any dinner. I bought a large fry from Wendy's on my way to Lexie's house at like 7 (yeah, I know. French fries = potatoes), but when I got to her house, her almost 23 month old son Anthony ate half of them. Little shit. But I can't deny him- he's my little buddy.

He's so freakin' cute. He's starting to get the whole talking thing down. Most of the time he's just jabbering away in some type of baby gibberish. He knows exactly what he's saying, but no one else can make heads or tails of it. But he will blabber on all day long. "Alksff askmfsdfd sakdafnskdf afkd BALL ajsdadjd" or "Idfalkmkdm dokegrg lasldfo DOGGIE UHH UHH!" (That's how he barks, and "doggie" is pronounced "dawjy".)

I would totally steal him, but he has blonde hair and blue eyes, so there's no way he'd match my set!