Lamb Grover

When I was a lad, I dragged around a filthy, soggy, beaten up Grover doll wherever I went. It had a string, that when pulled, would make Grover say something hilarious. After the first couple months of overuse it broke and the only sound that would come out was a frightening shriek. The Grover doll got puked on, peed on, Scarlet Fever-ed on. But I loved that filthy rag. Hold on a minute. Our dog is named Grover. Coincidence?

If you dug through our boxes in the basement, you’d find him waiting to be reunited with his true owner. The truth is Diana won’t allow his bacteria laden body within a country mile of our living space.

You know what? Grover shouldn’t be stuck in a box, waiting to get moldy. I’m gonna go dig him out and hide him in my bedside table. Let’s just hope Diana doesn’t read this blog.

Wow, this entry is taking a long time to get to Eli.

Well, it seems like Elijah has bonded with this little stuffed lamb we put in his crib. I don’t know if it has a name. Let’s say it’s “Carlos.” Well, Elijah loves Carlos. Most mornings before Eli shrieks to be changed and fed, he’ll lie in his crib, talking to Carlos. It’s terribly cute. And when he’s asleep, Eli will put a vice grip on Carlos so hard I can’t pry him loose. I can’t wait until the day Carlos is a filthy, Scarlet Fever-ed rag.

Grover (the dog, not my secret friend), who loves nothing better than tearing up stuffed things and eating their innards, constantly looks at Carlos and licks his lips. Which reminds me, I have to find a lock for my bedside table.