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last night paul cried at target because he wanted a toy. big fat crocodile tears rolled down his little face as he stared at me with gigantic wet eyes.

paul: is it christmas?

interestingly enough, what he claimed he really wanted was a foosball table. i can't even recall the way he said it -- somewhere between "fuzhball" (cam's suggestion) and fuzschball and fuceball -- but cam and i kept mouthing it to each other over paul's crying head while giggling soundlessly. he occasionally made a few requests for football (cam: that's my boy) and soccer, but returned to "fuzball" (short u) by the time we left.

paul: [sobbing] want to play foosball
cam: fuzhball
me: fuzball
cam: [grin]

cam told him that we would make a foosball table out of a box and tinkertoys, but i'm pretty sure he won't care anymore by the time we can get to it.



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