I had a dream last night that I was fleeing the city with a midget, who had to jump start our escape van, and a really courteous downs syndrome man. I asked them to stop at my apartment so I could get Cheechee, my lion. Then I spent way too much time, while they were waiting in the van all ready to flee, trying to find the right pair of jeans, because my favorite ones smelled of mildew. This last part is true in real life.
Today Max wears a bright orange sleeper. He looks amazingly handsome in it, considering its the color of a bleached road cone. He looks handsome in most things in fact, though I refuse to let him know this, lest it go to his little big head. I know he is already vain, because he changes his outfits at least five times a day. Or rather, he has me change his outfits by "accidantly" peeing on them. Or throwing up on them. He chews on his hands non-stop now, and its just one step further to gag himself. I catch him at it all the time. He has another new skill as well, rolling from back to belly. His does this with an earnest compulsion that suggests he can't not roll, even if he wanted to.
Anna has called, and Max and I are off to coffee with her. Max has been clamoring for a hot chocolate all morning, the little hedonist.