I’m thinking, with this look The Boy has going on here, he could pass for a Beyonce/Jay-Z offspring, complete with all the bling. But if he ever comes home and tells me his big dream is to become a rapper, I think I might slit my throat with a rusty butter knife. In case you were wondering, The Boy is wearing a pimp-daddy-inspired jacket that actually belonged to me when I was around two years old. My mother, who saves everything, including birthday cards that were sent to her 10 birthdays ago, thought the pimp jacket would look nice on The Babster, so she brought it down when she came to visit this week. She left this morning, so the kids and I will dig a hole and have a small funeral service for it.

But you know how cats like to play with the birds they kill at their leisure, so did we: