The week before Christmas always seems to be a hugely productive time at our place. One of us picks up things, and looks at them wistfully running away to plan a new project or twelve and steadfastly failing to complete anything, while the other just plugs away, finishing all sorts of tasks and projects.
Perhaps it was the pressure of other things, or the hour of the night, or maybe at this time of year Santa himself gets a bit testy after posing for all those photographs, but whatever the reason it was initially a very grumpy Santa whose visage appeared on a bag marked "Elliott" this year.
The Big E is not yet too secure with his place in life. As seven week olds go, he is a happy chap although quite prone to wearing a perpetually startled expression which may or may not be due to the fact that his nearest and dearest continue to surprise him by picking him up, or putting him down, or patting him, or not patting him as the case may be.
One can only imagine the horror that could have been wreaked by this image, had the furrowed brows not been surgically restored to a more sympathetic angle before delivery.
Mister Four meanwhile is amazed at just how, despite his lack of maturity, the Big E seems quite confident that the bearded one will deliver all he desires in a few days time.
Baby Wipes, Disposable Nappies, Baby Oil…..
How does he know?
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