Yes, we're still alive. No, a long explanation is not forthcoming, as it's late and I'm dead tired, an all-too-frequent combination around here when I finally make it to the computer. But here are a couple placeholder notes about the kiddos:

Thomas...
1. Is a biter. Spends much of his day with his mouth WIDE open, either making "ha-AAAAA" growls or babbling or shrieking (see 2) or gnawing on something (see 3). When that mouth closes, you'd better not be near it. I have some impressive indentations in my right forearm this evening.

2. Is a shrieker. He has finally caught on to the fact that his previous laid-back, everything's-cool shtick wasn't getting him enough attention. Rattling the windows and his mother's teeth does.

3. Is teething. The poor child is desperate for relief. He will walk up to a flat surface, like, say, the couch, do a perfect face plant, and chew.

4. Is enjoying his new-found skill of opening and closing doors. He often closes himself in a back bedroom and yells until rescued, when he beams and promptly closes himself in again. He has also discovered how to open the living room cabinets. 'Nuff said.

John...
1. Is already showing signs of the male knight-in-shining-armor tendency. For a while I'd been giving him a tiny dustpan and brush and encouraging him to clean up under the table after meals and snacks. It worked for a while, until he decided he was no longer afraid of the Dustbuster, and wanted to use that instead. Montessori might not approve, but hey, he was still cleaning up, so I let him have his way. Then he decided he had better things to do. I reminded him it was his job. He rebelled. I pushed. He pushed back. Mealtimes were getting ugly. Then, on one of those weird where-did-this-idea-come-from-anyway moments, I stood in the kitchen, clasped my hands together a la Sarah Bernhart, and said in as dramatically helpless a voice as I could muster: "Oh, help me, Mr. Dustbuster Man! My floor is so dirty! What shall I do? Help me, Mr. Dustbuster Man!"

And do you know, that little boy who had been so donkey-like determined not to budge, looked at me -- and shouted "I'll help you, Mommy! I make your foor keen!" He ran down the hall, came back triumphantly waving the Dustbuster, and got to work, sucking up every last crumb he could find -- both on the floor and in both highchairs, without being asked -- until the thing ran out of juice. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Dustbuster Man! My floor is so clean now!" I gushed. "You wewcome, Mommy," he said proudly, and trotted off to put the Dustbuster away.

2. There was going to be a 2, but Joe just came downstairs and turned off all the lights. I can take a hint.