This afternoon, I was wiping down the walls in the stairwell and hall because with four little boy hands around, they get more crud on them than you could possibly imagine. I came across some drawing and while I was hopeful it was in pencil, it was, in fact, pen. Knowing Jack would never do such a thing, I sternly said to Oliver, "do not write on the walls again. This is not OK, especially because you wrote in pen." He replied, with quite the aggrieved tone, "well, I wanted to trace my hand but there wasn't any paper." Y'all, I am not going to lie, I nearly died laughing. If you'd have heard him say this, it'd be even funnier because he has such a priceless accent (the origins are unclear). This kid is really going to give us hell as a teenager, and I'm totally sure he'll be arrested for something remarkably dumb during his later teens. He's the sweetest and most loving soul, but he is mischievous as get-out and quite the BS artist too. About an hour ago, I had an inspo for dinner: a puff pastry tart filled with caramelized onions, fresh figs, blue cheese and bacon and topped with arugula!