10 babies on a log, Lookin' over the bogAnd then it repeats, à al "99 Bottles of Beer," subtracting one baby each time until we're down to "No more babies on a log ..." Usually, I'm laying on my back with my legs crossed and Quinn is sitting on the leg that's parallel to the ground. Sometimes she looks worried; other times she's giggly about it.
In comes the fog, up comes a 'gator
Uh-oh baby, see you later!
The attempt to chronicle the life of an editor who needs to write more for himself and hopefully thereby find new directions in life.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
The Damage We Do ...
Hopefully there won't be any lasting damage, but I have a new rhyme/song for Quinn that seems to amuse her:
Technorati tags: baby rhyme
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