Apparently, there is also a "Fatherhood brain"

After agreeing to be godparents to his brother-in-law’s new baby (coming soon!), Andrew and I discussed how our godchildren were starting to pile up. “Wait,” Andrew said. “How did you end up with only one when I have two?”

“What are you talking about?” I replied. “We both have two. I have The Charmer, you have his brother The Mischief Maker, and we both have The Youngest Girl.” The Youngest Girl is so young I don’t have a good nickname yet; her baptism was last month.

“Oh, right,” Andrew said. “You were at the baptism too.”

[Insert witty but brilliant segue here.]

In response to your bemused comments regarding my wine glass situation, I offer the following:

Question: How does one organize fifty wine glasses in a pleasing, attractive display? Answer: One does not. One lines them up in rows by type. One also wonders what one was thinking, exactly, when one registered for twelve place settings. One is kind of glad, actually, that one received “only” ten each of the goblets, wine glasses and champagne flutes. One also makes plans to put about half of the crystal into storage as insurance against breakage. One may or may not get around to that sometime this decade.

Question: Just when, exactly, does one ever expect to have 10 guests all drinking champagne?
Answer: One does not care, because the champagne flutes are the prettiest of them all.

Question: Is it a good idea to collect shot glasses from all the places one visits?
Answer: It is a good idea in theory, because shot glasses are cheap, have an actual use, and you can get them at the airport on the way home. In practice, however, one may find that fifteen or so shot glasses lined up in a row gives much more of a “frat house” feel to the décor than one might wish.

Oh, and as for washing the wine glasses, just do it by hand, carefully, with the soft side of the sponge. If your wine glasses have any kind of paint or metallic rim, use cold water. For what its worth, cheap glasses break more easily than fancy ones, in my experience.

And now, because I am afraid I will forget about this if I don’t record it for all posterity, Jack said good bye to Andrew last week thusly: “Bye, sweetie. Bye, sweetie-toot.” Andrew and I can take credit for “sweetie” as a term of endearment, but Jack made up “sweetie-toot” all on his own.