Earlier today I was doing the dishes and I felt something hit my leg. I looked over to see Sawyer had pushed a chair up against the counter and was climbing up, dish towel in hand. He stood up proudly on the chair and announced 'My Help!' and started drying the pots and pans in the sink.
Most days I find myself wondering where I went wrong, but I guess I must be doing something right :P
I was concerned that people wouldn't believe my previous claims that my son's left hand is possessed so I went and dug up this picture from a family photo shoot we did when he was about 6 weeks old.
Turns out he's just a bad egg.
I just got excited because this afternoon's episode of 'Go Diego Go' was a crossover episode with his cousin's show 'Dora the Explorer'.
How did I let it come to this?
I have found my arch nemesis in my son Sean's left hand.
The thing has a mind of it's own.
It hits and punches (hard), it pinches, and it pulls hair.
His right hand does none of this.
The absolute worst thing it does though is to wait until the rest of Sean's body is just giving in to a sound sleep, and reach up and rip his suckie out of his mouth, sending him into hysterics. I have no idea what to do but I am POSITIVE that this left hand issue is going to get him in all kinds of trouble growing up. Fortunately since I am right handed and my husband is not, I'm sure that it will all be blamed on him as opposed to my parenting.
On a side note I had big intentions to come on here and compare my son's possessed left hand to the movie 'Idle Hands'. Since I have never actually seen the movie and since I take this blogging stuff VERY seriously I decided to do a little research. Of course by 'do a little research' I mean I wikipedia'd it. After reading the movie's synopsis I decided not to make the comparison as that movie is messed up.
One of my favourite past times, and by favourite I mean I would give it up in a nano second given half a chance, is driving around town at 4 in the morning. Sean and I get all bundled up and hit up the fanciest neighbourhoods in the city with the intent to induce dreaming in both of us. After three hours of trying to rock my apparently nocturnal son to sleep, I decided that last night (well this morning) was the perfect time for a drive. I was wrong. Car seat in hand I headed toward my car only to be met at the door by what I can only assume was a werewolf (it was very dark), that had somehow gotten the lid off our garbage bins (and by lid of course I mean the piece of plywood we lay across the top of the bins because we forgot to get lids when we purchased the bins and are too embarrassed to go back to home depot and admit it). The 100lb beast had knocked it over and was having a feast of chicken wing bones and pizza crusts, because in addition to hating housework I am also not huge on cooking (you can see why my hubby snatched me up, I'm a catch). Instantly my motherly instincts kicked in and I backed up and put the carseat on the table leaving the door wide open. Fortunately my plan to act irrationally and somehow have things turn in my favour, worked like a charm, and the wolf took off down the driveway instead of into my kitchen.
Despite the favourable outcome we did not go for that drive last night and will most likely never leave the house again.
So, long story short, you can expect an increase of posts in the days ahead.
Both my boys are in bed fast asleep and there's a mountain of laundry in my bedroom calling my name, so I ran straight over to hide behind my computer until it shuts the heck up.
Instead I'm going to write about a very real problem I'm dealing with.
Over the weekend I went and got myself an MP3 player.
That's not my problem.
I came straight home and loaded it up with the limited number of songs I have downloaded to my computer.
That's not my problem either.
My problem came when I was out with some friends and they asked to see it. I felt like I had been asked to strip off all my clothes and prance around the room in the buff. As their eyes passed over my song list I could feel the judgement oozing out of them. I silently prayed that they would notice all the classic rock I had on there (I hear that's very hip right now) and was already trying to come up with excuses for how that Miley song had wound up on there. When they handed it back without any smart comments I felt relief wash over me.
But I know that I can't take back what they saw and I know that our relationship will never be the same because of it.
Oh and if we could just keep that Miley thing between you and me that be awesome. Thanks.
Well I don't know what you did this weekend, but I found the cause of childhood obesity. After the news of this discovery breaks I'm betting that this blog is going to become very popular so go ahead and give yourself a pat on the back for being with me before I hit the big time. Anyways, back to my find. It hit me like a ton of bricks today while listening to my mother in law talk my son out of the apple he had asked for and into a handful of gummy bears. Ever since he's been able to digest high fructose corn syrup, she's made a point to run out to the store before every visit and stock up on everything she wouldn't allow her own children to eat growing up. So that's it, the indisputable cause of childhood obesity. So please stop depriving your children of such valuable entertainment tools as the television, computer and most importantly video games. There's nothing wrong with them. It's all a conspiracy set in place by all the 'sweet', little old grannies and grandpas out there, to fatten up our children. It's all just so Hanzel and Gretel.
Guess all that's left to do now is sit back and wait for the big, fat gov't appreciation cheques to roll in. I'll keep you posted.
Tonight my family and I spent the evening with some great friends, one of which we haven't seen in quite some time. So long in fact that we had not met his girlfriend of two years and he hadn't met our two boys. The best part of the evening though was that we just found out that our friend and his girlfriend are expecting their first child this march. My oldest son congratulated them by screaming through dinner, insulting the hostess' cooking and running around the livingroom naked. My youngest son, by throwing up all over daddy-to-be. When the idea of a playdate was brought up, poor mommy-to-be giggled politely and quickly changed the subject.
Needless to say they called it a night early, a little paler then when the night started.
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