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They brought the puppy with them to Easter dinner. She is truly adorable (and she took to Yeats immediately, I have several incriminating photos of her draped across his lap, licking his face, begging for bellyrubs, etc.), but they brought the 3-month-old puppy with them to Easter dinner.

Yeats was (again) stuck in the kitchen cooking. My mother-in-law was also in the kitchen, since the kids refuse to eat steak, crab cakes, baked potatoes and roast asparagus, and will only eat chicken fingers, corn, mashed potatoes, and fruit. Bro was yelling at the Orioles on TV. Kel was on her third glass of moscato. And I was stuck holding the puppy's leash so she didn't try and scamper headlong into the set table, admiring Liz's coloring, and making sure that Rob and J's remote-control-cars didn't zoom into the kitchen and kill someone.

Yeats is not their hired chef. I am damn well not unpaid child- and dogcare. And I don't care if they are faaaaamily, they need to bring something to these occasions other than their selves.

Reading Log: The Tangled Lands by Paolo Bacigalupi and Tobias Buckell; Penric's Fox by Lois McMaster Bujold; A Conspiracy of Stars by Olivia Cole; Ice bu Anna Kavan; Tricks for Free by Seanan McGuire; Diary of an Accidental Wallflower by Jennifer McQuiston; Oath of Fealty by Elizabeth Moon; Mapping the Bones by Jane Yolen

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