Two weeks after Christmas, Ruby still talks incessantly about presents. Bringing home and unpacking groceries is opening presents. Sorting letters and bills is opening presents.

Shepard's not as obsessed, but then his grasp on Santa and the Christmas concept is more tenuous than his sister's. For him it's about shredding up paper, plain and simple. If underneath all that he finds a toy, even better.

He had a bad day yesterday. You know you're in for it when Shep wants to wash his hands. Repeatedly. He pushes a chair toward the kitchen until it collides with the safety gate we keep there to prevent unwanted brainings caused by falling crockery. Then comes the moaned request: waassh... hands. Parental inaction lasting longer than two seconds immediately jacks up the urgency by a factor of 10. "Wash! Hands!" You open the gate and he scrapes his chair up to the sink and climbs on top, turns on the faucet and holds his arms out. His sleeves are immediately soaked through but he's happy and you've got a ten minute extension on your peace of mind. Half an hour later, after eating four bites of prunes with cheese for dinner, he's at it again. Wash! Hands! Nearing bedtime, you resist the demand this time, at which moment his world falls apart and the wailing begins.

Next up: Beacon update!