For the record, our friends often have the same horrified expression when visiting our home.
I was just downloading some videos to our computer, when I came across this one. If I recall, I had whipped out the video camera last winter to get a clip of James sitting at the island eating with the big guys...he was so proud to be up there like a big boy, not sitting in a high chair like a baby, as his brother loves to tell him.
What started off as cute and sweet, veered (quite rapidly) into bush wolf territory, as Dances with Wolves morphed into Dancing with Butter Knifes. I leave you with the clip.
Disclaimer: Many apologies for the sound you're about to hear. For some reason, I decide to randomly sing throughout the entire video, and it's magnificently awful. In hindsight, right around the 1:48 minute mark, when Jack says "Ready for my knife show?" I likely should have asked him what the hell he was talking about. We don't make a habit out of allowing our little wolves to play with knifes. I simply wasn't paying attention. After watching his performance, though, I wonder who's to blame (or credit) for his wicked dance moves. Those may land him in some serious trouble one day. We dance a lot in this house, but I'd still be on bed-rest if I tried pulling off what he did.
More importantly, how in the actual fuck can I have heard the song Rasputin approximately 1,247 times in my life now, and still not know the words? Again, I think the answer lies with vodka.
Oh, those Russians.
