Jam
OK, if you have a weak stomach or are easily grossed out, you might want to skip this blog entry.
You see, my son has a new obsession. Every night, while we're trying to read a book to Aiden before bed, he suddenly has this urge to check between every one of his toes for "jam." He grabs his foot and meticulously pulls apart his toes, inspecting them for the smallest bits of sock fuzz. If somehow he forgets this ritual before we turn the lights out for bed, Brad and I have to put up with a grand-scale whine fest while he squirms and leans forward and attempts to see, in the dim light from his nightlight, the fuzz between his toes. I'm not sure what sparked this sudden obsession with his feet--it's not like he's suddenly become a neat freak (if it were up to him, he'd never need a bath). And even if he's just had a bath and his feet are squeaky clean, he still has to obsessively check while we read his book to him. But for the time being, Brad and I are patiently putting up with the nightly "jam" obsession.
You see, my son has a new obsession. Every night, while we're trying to read a book to Aiden before bed, he suddenly has this urge to check between every one of his toes for "jam." He grabs his foot and meticulously pulls apart his toes, inspecting them for the smallest bits of sock fuzz. If somehow he forgets this ritual before we turn the lights out for bed, Brad and I have to put up with a grand-scale whine fest while he squirms and leans forward and attempts to see, in the dim light from his nightlight, the fuzz between his toes. I'm not sure what sparked this sudden obsession with his feet--it's not like he's suddenly become a neat freak (if it were up to him, he'd never need a bath). And even if he's just had a bath and his feet are squeaky clean, he still has to obsessively check while we read his book to him. But for the time being, Brad and I are patiently putting up with the nightly "jam" obsession.
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