Reid's got a lot of toys. K and I go back and forth about age-appropriate toys sometimes because Reid gets a lot of toys that are for older kids than him, and my mind runs in circles attempting to determine exactly how Reid could injure himself because he isn't 3 years old, as the manufacturers recommend he be. This is because I'm insane.

One of my favorite targets in this discussion is always my mom's gifts of choice: strange little dancing dolls. First it was a strange little dog in a trenchcoat with an umbrella who soft-shoed to "Singin' in the Rain." Others followed.

The latest was Chicken Dance Ernie. At first, Reid feared the Ernie, which was fine by me. Secretly, I wanted Ernie to fail, which, I know, practically guaranteed that Reid would grow to love Ernie. This despite the fact that it was clearly out of his age range.

By now, Ernie has become a loved member of the family. About half the time, Reid walks up to Ernie, knocks it down, and laughs. Sometimes, like in the moment captured above, Reid just watches Ernie dance on by and squeals with delight.