Joe’s great grandfather used to send us losing Arkansas lottery tickets that we’d enter into second chance drawings. We never won, but we accumulated enough points to order swag from the lottery’s online shop. There’s not much good there, but they have Omaha Steaks. Fourteen steaks, eight hamburgers and eight hot dogs arrived today – thanks to Grandy.

Long story short (too late), they were packed in dry ice. Add a little dramatic lighting and a powerful child model and you get this …

It was supposed to rain today, so Joe and I went to the Virginia Museum of Fine Art, which is normally a great way to spend a super hot Sunday.

But it didn’t rain, and I thought Joe was going to get us kicked out. Whenever I’d stop to take a photo or read something he’d start to sing. Sometimes when he sings he sounds like a tiny sasquatch scatting, then rolls into a drunken Britney (no autotune). He really is like a tiny, drunk, pop-star bigfoot. Clomping around, grunting, making ridiculous demands and soaking up the attention.

He’s also convinced that my taking his photo should be as difficult as possible. He throws his hands up, squirms, laughs and runs after me.

Back off Kanye, and I’m just doing my job.

Artists looove the sex and violence.

About to flip … I SAID NO PICS NEAR THE CAMEL!

So far this summer …

The cousins came to town for the weekend. We hit the arcade last night, and today it was the pool followed by a Richmond Flying Squirrels game. Joe sometimes bounces around in his bed for awhile before falling asleep. Some nights he rolls over and makes clicking noises for a few minutes. Tonight he just closed his eyes and was out.

Our man Joe.

Joe expertly blocks an otherwise mediocre shot of his cousin.

Dixon putting some mojo on the ball.

My wonderful sister-in-law singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” as Joe laughs at the barbershop quartet behind us.

Abigail is shocked … Dixon’s mojo has worked! The Squirrels win!

Goodnight ballpark.

Here’s a quick look at what we the lucky parents see each day.