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The King Of The Jungle
Last week Finnegan got treated to a full day at the San Diego Wild Animal Park with Grandma Emely and family friend Trudi. What this meant, of course, was that each time John or I called in to check on his progress throughout the day we were regaled with stories about the delicious frozen treat he was eating, 
had just finished, or was about to injest. He was happier than a pig in shit, as my Mom says. Or, if you prefer, he was living like God in France, as my Dad says. They're from New York, you see; they've got a million of 'em.
Any time Finn's with Grandma--away from home and its inherent competition with his sister for his parents' time and attention--Finn's the center of the world. It's a position he seems to seek out regularly. And who can blame him, really? No little sister to outscream, all the lap time he could ever want, and nobody to make him eat his vegetables. (Don't think we don't know, Mom. We can tell by the smile on his face.)
had just finished, or was about to injest. He was happier than a pig in shit, as my Mom says. Or, if you prefer, he was living like God in France, as my Dad says. They're from New York, you see; they've got a million of 'em.
Any time Finn's with Grandma--away from home and its inherent competition with his sister for his parents' time and attention--Finn's the center of the world. It's a position he seems to seek out regularly. And who can blame him, really? No little sister to outscream, all the lap time he could ever want, and nobody to make him eat his vegetables. (Don't think we don't know, Mom. We can tell by the smile on his face.) 
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