You don't want to see the picture that would have accompanied this post.

Kevin went to Chicago for the Pitchfork Festival.

Actually, Jamie, Matt, Ed, Dave, and Tom went for the Pitchfork Festival. Kevin went for the baseball.

I stayed home with Miss Scarlett and Alice, which would have been fine, except they both decided to go on a poop strike. Which sounds like something you shouldn't talk about in polite society, and it is, until you have a child and a dog. And it disappears on the same day. Then it's ALL you can talk about.

So Crabby Baby, Bloated Puppy. Maybe Ang Lee will direct.

As I said to my sister, the baby has developed a personality, and that personality is pissed.

I'm desperately hoping that this latest development will resolve with a whole lot of fruit, and a change in schedule.

As for the dog, all it took was the threat of having her temperature taken.