So, what's the deal? A guy doesn't post to his blog for five or six months and suddenly his wife takes the pictures HE wanted to write witty comments on (skeleton sweats! oh, skeleton sweats!) and beats him to it!
I think I have an idea of what went down...
R: Okay, I'll do it. No one wearing oversized lemon yellow diapers could look suspicious.
Mama: You're right!
Oh well...I can only plead conspiratorially orchestrated technical duncery in my own defense. I'm looking at the blogger interface now and I don't have any button icons visible. I only have an empty grid rudely demarcated by dotted vertical lines spread out irregularly. I'm also writing an essay about Ezra Pound, so my prose is suffering latinate vocabulary and nominalizations endemic to universityfication and crumbities.
Here's R charmingly misunderstanding the idea of the "bowl."
His potato masher is his "true Penelope" and bff. Today we were eating bits of spinach and shredded wheat, and R was studiously placing the squares between the serpentine sine-waves of the stainless steel potato masher, staring intently, and then popping them in his mouth, seemingly satisfied at the results of his inquiry.