"Sugar, We're Going Down"

Ah, Easter. The time of year where we celebrate the birth of the Easter Bunny (thanks, Tony). In keeping with such a noble tradition, this weekend was a marathon gorge-fest spent hop-skip-and-jumping back and forth between our families in order to accomodate everyone that needed some quality twenty-on-one time with Connor.

Though Stacey and I do get tired from the back-and-forth of having two families in such close proximity to each other (especially during holidays, special occasions, and basically any other time we visit), by Saturday night, we'd paced ourselves well enough so that we weren't dragging, and, most important to everyone's sanity, Connor was still in remarkably good spirits despite having activities scheduled during every waking moment. Ever a credit to his impeccable breeding (a trivia nugget for you: this means that he's got awesome parents who are perfect in every way), he was a saint through it all.

By Sunday evening, though, the kid was a wobbly, drooling shell of his former self with a newly-acquired habit of throwing himself on the floor while demanding instant attention and things that we couldn't possibly give him.

"I want 30 autographed pictures of Bea Arthur!!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaa!!!"

I think we can safely trace this horrendous crash to the sickening amount of chocolates, cakes, candies and sundry other vessels for refined sugar that he ingested yesterday afternoon at the pinnacle of Easter's decadence.

The horror...the horror.