I had to go to the grocery store tonight to pick up some baby Zantac. (Not because I think she needs it, but because she MIGHT need it and if Zantac is what she's been needing all along I'm going to feel REALLY BAD. So this was really just an Assuage My Guilt kind of pharmacy trip. Anyway.) I am telling you this because my grocery store has two levels. I usually park at the top level and ride the elevator down with a cart, but you look kind of stupid taking the elevator if you don't have a cart. Which is unfortunate because MY LEGS ARE NOT WORKING. I am so incredibly sore. I walked down those stairs like I was either 1) nine months pregnant or 2) senile, decrepit and about to die tomorrow. I was very careful hauling my babies around today, and every time I had to sit down I kind of stuck my butt out and tipped myself backwards until I fell onto the couch. PA. THETIC.
I am loving this local blog. Cupcake installation art!
Jack was a royal twerp today. ROYAL. Most of the time he's his regular almost-two-year-old self, but other days I want to lock him under the stairs Harry Potter-style. It was one of those days where every time I tell him not to do something, he keeps doing it. Like, "Jack, don't touch the fireplace." And instead of moving away from the fireplace or simply dropping his hand to his side, he just stands there looking at me. Touching the fireplace. Waiting for me to do something about it. And I DO do something about it. I can be a very not nice Mommy when I want to be. But other times I am feeding Molly and therefore COMPLETELY IMPOTENT. All I can do is yell, right? I yelled. I shouted. I snarled. Jack was affected by it, sure. His face turned red and his gaze dropped and he knew he was in trouble. BUT HE WAS STILL TOUCHING THE FIREPLACE. I swear, his need to keep doing whatever I tell him not to do is PATHOLOGICAL. Every inch of him knows he's grounded, but it's like his finger is superglued to the glass screen. I was going out my mind. Even Phillip put him in the corner today and of the two of us, Phillip is the patient easy going one. GAH! (Of course, putting him in the corner seems to have no effect. It just makes us feel better, which: good enough for me.)
We are getting our house refinanced by the Chinese Mafia. (WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW.) That means an appraiser is coming over Saturday morning to... appraise. I'm not really sure what he is going to do, but he said he needs an hour. Do I need to clean? I mean, I'll put away the toys and vacuum up all the hair I'm losing, but REALLY clean? And do I want him to appraise for more or less? That may factor in to the amount of cleaning.
We haven't watched Lost yet. It's there, waiting on TiFaux (which is still sort of broken, boo hiss), but we're just not up for it. We were all, "Should we watch Lost?" and then we were all, "Two hours? Too much of a commitment" and now Phillip is iPhoning and I am Seven Quicks Takesing. I know I've probably asked you this before, but DO YOU WANNA BE FRIENDS? We are SUPER FUN. Anyway. All that to say: DON'T TELL ME ABOUT LOST.
In a week or two I would like to start attending something for which I will need a babysitter. So I emailed some friends and asked for recommendations and a few of them wrote back saying THEY would watch my kid. Which I totally didn't expect. And then felt sort of stupid, like, did they think I was passive aggressively asking them to babysit? I wasn't! But then I was sort of excited because this could totally solve my 1) babysitter problem and 2) total neuroticness about leaving my kid with some high school kid I haven't met before. And I guess you could boil this one down to say: my friends are awesome.
Guess who is still awake.
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