The first bit of news is that I think Connor is left handed.

The second bit is that this is why:

As of lunchtime yesterday, Connor refuses to let either Shannon or I feed him. Up until dinnertime Sunday night, it was the only way he ate. I’ve never seen him take this much initiative eating himself. I’ve held his hand around the spoon a few times, but all of a sudden, with no warning, he stopped letting us spoon-feed him and insisted that he feed himself, out of nowhere. I kind of wonder how long he’s been doing this at daycare (I’ll ask tomorrow), but this is really impressive.

I’m reminded over and over again lately that he’s not really a baby anymore. He’s more and more a fully-functioning little kid. He’s not really talking yet (just a lot of ‘yeahs’ and ‘nos’ in response to nothing in particular) but man, he’s getting big.

We’ve all been some kind of sick for weeks, but finally this evening we decided to try and get a picture taken for our Christmas cards.  It was a bit of an ordeal.

I forgot to turn off my invisibility field. Nobody’s particularly happy about that.

I’m trying to get Connor to look at the camera. And making an idiot out of myself in the process.

I’m snapping. It isn’t working.

This one actually may be my favorite. It’s certainly the one where we all look the happiest. But both Shannon and I have our eyes closed.

This is another good one, but we needed 4×6 wide for the cards. I had to crop it pretty severly to get it like this anyway (the full picture is *way* off-center; two-thirds of the frame is to the left of Shannon).

Again with the eyes closed. Shannon does this a lot. Also it’s not particularly flattering to anybody involved.

If you want to see the final photo, you’ll have to wait for the card. (Or, if you must spoil the surprise, you can follow this link).

Sounds like they Meyers have had their fill of bugs and whatnot, but it doesn’t take triplets to have a sick house, oh no.  Shannon and  I have been fighting various colds, stomach bugs, and energy-sapping whatevers for the past few weeks, but Connor’s gotten away more or less unscathed, with nothing worse than some moderate stuffiness.  Until today.

Two words: projectile vomit.  Of yogurt.  I’m not sure he’ll ever touch the stuff again.  For that matter, me neither.  Really, really, really gross.  I just hope he’s feeling better tomorrow.  He was able to keep down some milk at bedtime, and his energy was better this evening than it was this afternoon, so I think he’s on the mend.  Still, though.  Ewwww.