Logan says...."Picka Dider!"

At the Monster House, we have been trained. Bedtime doesn't happen unless there's a rapidly disintegrating stuffed puppy already in Logan's bed waiting for him. Linus had blanket, Logan has Puppy. If we go to the doctor, or have people over to visit other than Grama and Grandad, Puppy better be in attendance. Yes, even for therapy, the first few times, if it's a new provider.

Yes, folks, that IS #6 twirling around with a bobble head headband on, while Logan sits there fidgeting with Puppy last Summer. What can I say? This is an accurate depiction of the twinnie monsterlettes.

Last weekend, the Daddy brought home something new from the grocery store. And Logan was in love. Again. With the same severity. This is bad. Very VERY bad. Wanna know why? Because THIS is his new love/obsession/hafta-have-it-at-all-times-of-the-night-and-day-or-there-will-be-hell-to-pay:

And that, Monster House addicts, is why at 915 this morning my child had a napkin wrapped dill spear in his tiny little hand, dripping brine all down his arm. At about 920, I heard hysterical twinnie laughter. Usually this is not a good thing. Of course, I had to investigate.

Now. Occasionally the twinnies get along. They have "twinnie speak".. a language that the most experienced and well traveled government language expert would not be able to crack. Trust me on this. Back to the story. SO I investigated, quietly, so as to observe a moment before their twinnie radar perked up and sensed an intruder.

What was making them laugh? "Picka Dider!" Point to soggy napkin around the remaining pickle stump leaking down your arm. Laugh hysterically. "Change-a bum!" laugh hysterically again. Translation? "pickle diaper" and "Let's change your bum".