Chew on that awhile

Between the funeral this morning and the extensive napping this afternoon, I didn't get to see Zesty very much today. Mr Lemon brought him to wake me from the sleep of the exhausted that I was enjoying, and he was so excited to see me that he pooped his britches.

That would be the baby, not my husband.

Although, he had an exciting moment today as well. In his chatting up the funeral director, he mentioned an old southern gospel song that he'd been looking for, and the funeral director happens to have the sheet music. And also happened to have opened for the group years ago.

And apparently in Kentucky, everyone knows or is related to everyone else. Another gentleman knows Mr Lemon's uncle, and yet another guy went to the same church camp I went to as a kid, and simultaneously went to Jr High with my brotha-from-anotha-motha.

Hello, Disneyworld. It is a small world after all.

So maybe in this small world, someone has some advice about how to stop Zesty from biting our legs/arms/cheeks/clothes to signify that he is hungry.

Seriously! He left a bruise on my arm yesterday. My first inclination is to smack his leg, but I'm not certain that gets the message across. After I screamed in pain, I realized I should not have reacted. It only shows him he can get a reaction out of me.

You betcha he can get a reaction out of me. That little sucker precious sweet thang can bite. He was chewing on his own thumb and left teeth marks.

(You might be interested to know that I almost spelled "teeth marks" as "theethmarks." Or not.)