The Wormlips Scrapbook

My father had a little game he made up called “Pushy Bruise.” As you might have surmised, it went like this: he’d poke a finger sharply into your injury and gleefully shout, “Pushy-bruise, pushy-BRUISE!” This is Lulu playing it with me:

And here is my latest little matched set of climbing artifacts:

Not to be outdone, my sister sent me her latest masterpiece, achieved by tumbling over a baby gate with dishes in her arms:

I’m writing to ask you to be very, very careful so that you, too, don’t become mottled and discolored. If you do, send me your picture and I’ll put it here.