Tonight, Isaiah and I spent most of the evening home alone. Ruth was at a marketing party (one os those deals where on woman has a party to sell some kind of craft of home-product thing to all her friends) and it was just us guys at home, well except for the dog and cat, but they just slept, anyway.

I was fooling around with the computer while the presidential address was on TV and Isaiah was playing in the background. He is quite an independent little fellow and was pleased to do his own thing for about 45 minutes when he needed more juice.

I had my attention on the TV when he came up to me and said "Need juice, Daddo" (he calls me daddo). As I took his sippy-cup from him, my nose told me that he needed diaper attention also. I told him to wait just a minute so I could not only refill his cup, but also get together all the equipment necessary to change his diaper in the floor in front of the TV since at that point I was listening to some point or other.

I handed him his now full cup, spread his changing mat out on the floor, and listening to the TV with my eyes on the job at hand, proceded to remedy his untoward situation.

I was about half way done when Isaiah began crying.
"Isaiah, What's wrong, Son?"
"Waaaa!"
"Why are you crying, Boy?"
"No like the show, Daddo"

Who could blame him?