Or why you should just use dental floss

The other night, I was scarfing down my dinner in a big hurry because I was running late. As I rushed out the door, I did a quick "do I have anything in my teeth?" grimace into the mirror. Let's just say it's a good thing I did. I had a big honkin piece of something stuck right between my two front teeth. If I didn't bite all my nails off after watching 7 DVR'd episodes of a 'Ghost Hunters' marathon, I might have been able to get it out. By the way, I am addicted to that show now. If you've never seen it, it's basically a bunch of Roto Rooter guys (yes, they're plumbers - I suppose they are used to seeing a lot of creepy shit. HA! Did you see what I did there? You love it.) who go to places that people think are haunted with all their scientific equipment and try to catch evidence of paranormal activity. I love this show. Stop laughing.

Lennie is especially thrilled when he's trying to read The Wall Street Journal or The Economist or one of his finance textbooks, and I'm watching Ghost Hunters and I keep pausing and rewinding to see the ghost they caught on video, and shouting, "LENNIE, you HAVE to watch this!" And, he'll peer over the top of his newspaper in the Dick Cheneyist way possible, and say "Mmmmhmm." And, I'm all like "Did you see the ghost? Here, watch it again." But the key to any good marriage is balance: I now know more about finance reports, valuation and devaluation, opportunity potential, asset management, etc than I ever really wanted to, and most of my "lessons" come while I'm cooking dinner and balancing a cranky baby on my hip, or reading a book, or trying to watch Ghost Hunters.

But, back to the point. So, my stubby chewed-off nails didn't work, I only pushed the wad of food wad deeper. I tried to force a stream of spit through my teeth to push the food wad out , but only succeeding in spitting all over the mirror, and then, a stroke of genius: I have long hair, hmmm. Hair is kind of like floss... it just might work. So, as disgusting as it may be, I was desperate, I was late, so I flossed with my hair. It would have been a great plan if only my hair hadn't snapped in half and curled up like gift wrap ribbon.

Pop Quiz Time:
Q: What's worse than having a wad of food stuck between your two front teeth?
A: Having a black curly hair stuck between your two front teeth.

Earn 2 Bucks, the hard way

For the last few years, Sayde has had this pitiful looking small grey tooth taking up real estate in the front center of her mouth. I think the "grey" part had something to do with an overly enthusiastic Jake chasing a tennis ball on the driveway, and deciding that rather than run around the toddler, it's quicker to just go straight through, thereby causing the unfortunate toddler to land tooth-first on the driveway. And, we won't make mention of whom the tennis ball thrower was, okay, Lennie?

But, I'm on a tangent. So, thank God, on Friday night, the shabby little tooth was finally loose enough for me to yank out of Sayde's mouth. I was not sad to see it go, and apparently, neither was she. She held out hope that the Tooth Fairy was going to leave her one hundred dollars, and to ensure it, she placed a bribe underneath her pillow. In addition to the tooth, she left a plastic baggie with a heart colored in red crayon, with an Ariel eraser and a ginormous plastic ruby ring. I guess the Tooth Fairy would have rather had a bottle of wine, some chocolate and a new pair of heels though, because all Sayde got was a dollar wrapped in a little paper heart.


Friday night



Fast forward to last night, when the kids were in the bathtub and I was folding laundry a few feet away. One minute, they're splashing around having fun, the next, Sayde is frantically shrieking, "MOMMY! MOMMY!"

I looked over to see Sayde holding her face, her hands dripping with blood.

The hell?

"Mommy, Connor kicked my other tooth out!" She was hysterically giggling - to the point of psychosis. On the contrary, Connor was speckled in blood, and trying to submerge himself in order to hide from what from his point of view, was likely a very very bad scenario. Since there was only about 4 inches of water however, he wasn't going anywhere. But, luck was on his side last night. I mean, how often do you kick someone's tooth right out of their friggin head, and they're deliriously thrilled about it? Wrath of Mommy avoided in one bloody toothless smile.

Oh the curious relationship that is Siblings:

You kick the tooth from my head
Bathwater churning, swirling red
Thank you, brother.

Sunday night

PS
Sayde tried to up the ante last night by leaving a Dora the Explorer Doll, driedel, coloring book, and a snake stamp underneath her pillow. The tooth fairy left her a stiff neck and one crisp dollar bill.

Mama said Knock You Out

Yes, that's right. Lennie and I spent this weekend in Tampa, where we collected seashells on the beach, went running, went to the movies together, and I got into a fistfight. But, more on that later. We also went to (get ready because I'm going to sing it:) The Suuuuperbowl La La La Laaaaaa! Since Lennie is still technically on the Browns' roster, and those days are rapidly coming to an end, I figured it would be my only chance for a long long time - if ever - to go see the Superbowl, la la la la. Plus, we haven't been away together without kids since Sayde was 13 months old. So, even though the Red Bitch was in town, we had a great time doing all the stuff you take for granted when you don't have kids, aka, peeing without an audience.





Oh, by the way, if you are ever in North Redington Beach, swing by The Frog Pond for breakfast. Holy Yum. After Lennie and I snarfed down an omelet the size of France, and a fruit plate that rivals the Chiquita Banana lady's hat, we were off to the game. We got there plenty early (5 hours early) so that we could walk around the NFL Experience, and get price gouged. We waited on a 10 minute line just to get IN to the *tent* store, and once inside, we discovered not only was it 1,000 degrees, but the acceptable price for a sweatshirt is apparently hundreds of dollars. So, empty handed except for a $10 beer (which was worth every penny), we wandered over to the stadium.

Our seats were about 2 rows from the very top, so we ambled up up up the ramp and walked along the concourse looking for our section. Whoops, you can't get to this section from this side of the stadium, so back down down down the ramp we went on our way to the opposite side.

If you have ever been to Raymond James Stadium, or watched a Tampa Bay Bucaneers' game on TV, you will be familiar with the pirate ship, which sits in one of the endzones:




It's pretty cool, except for one little oversight by the designers. In order to get from one side of the stadium to the other, 72,000 people have to squeeze through a concourse that suddenly shrinks down to about 10 feet wide in one section. Needless to say, this creates a bit of a logjam.



Here's where the fistfight occurred. Now, let me just preface this by saying that I abhor confrontation. I am typically a mild mannered suburban mom who smiles and waves at people while I putter around town in my minivan. However, I have now learned that I have a darker side and can suddenly turn into a screaming lunatic at a moment's notice. Lennie and I were inching our way through wall to wall bodies, smiling at the people trying to squeeze through and bonding over how much it sucked, when it happened: I felt a hand on my butt. "Ok," I thought, "It's really crowded. It could be an accident." Then, the mystery hand squeezed my butt... twice. Without a thought in my head, I whipped around to face the man directly behind me.

"How dare you," I snarled.


He immediately put both hands in the air and said, "It wasn't me." Guilty. And that's about the time when I LOST MY SHIT.

Here's me, face to face with Mr. Grabby, placing my right hand on his douchebag neck and shoving as hard as I can (which I'm pretty proud to say caused him to stumble back a few feet) and screaming, "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!"

A circle cleared around us, and a lot of people began yelling. That's when Lennie jumped in and I think pulled me out of the way so he could have some words with the disgusting pervert. The rest of it was kind of a blur...I hear rage tends to do that. After spending a few minutes convulsing with adrenaline, I decided to not let it ruin the game for me. But, I am still hoping the pervert got hit by a bus later that day.

After the unexpected discovery of a backbone, I also stood up for myself when someone cut in front of me in line to buy a t-shirt. I know, it was a big day for me. We also got to see The Boss, which was pretty awesome. Plus, the actual game was not too shabby either.

Minus one moment of guttural furor, the weekend was beautiful. Many thanks to Poppy, La La and D for watching the kids for us while we were away. We had such a good time, in fact, that we decided to expand our family. Meet "Prime" and "Sally".




We thought Sally was dead for a while. As it turns out, she is only shy.

Have your sandwich boards ready because: The End is Near

So a bipartisan congressional task force has just released a report on weapons of mass destruction, and the fabulous news is they say a nuclear or biological attack is more than likely and can expected in the next 5 years. Furthermore, they say our margin of safety is shrinking. They claim their intent is simply to inform the people of the United States, and not to terrify us. Um...thanks?

Watch how fast I'm going to grab my shovel and head into the back yard now to start digging my emergency bomb shelter, you know, in case. And, for Christmas this year, I would like 4 plastic tarps, several rolls of duct tape, 500 cans of beans, a year's supply of water, and a gun with one bullet. Don't worry, I already have plenty of batteries saved up from Y2K.


I'm anxiously awaiting the Department of Homeland Security's response.

Lo Siento, Mama y Papa

There is a great car wash not too far from my house. You know the kind where they not only send the car through the autowash, but on the other side, a bunch of guys armed with towels, Windex and vacuums are waiting to buff the cars back into shiny newness (or in the case of my minivan, a lesser degree of disgustingness).

Well since my parents were coming into town this past weekend, and I knew I had to pick them up from the airport, I figured I'd make the poop-mobile as bearable as possible and take it to the car wash. Words cannot describe the putrid horror of the backseat of the minivan. A few weeks ago, I bought this little nylon garbage bag for Sayde because I was tired of cleaning all the apple cores and gum wrappers out of the cup holder. I thought it had been working out pretty well; she neatly deposits all her junk into a plastic baggie inside this larger nylon bag and no more soft brown apples for me to touch. Yes, I thought it had been working out well until I reached my hand into the black abyss of the nylon bag and it plunged into a pool of slimy foul-smelling goo which I can only assume used to be an apple. At this same moment, I was also engulfed in an alarmingly large swarm of fruit flies. Did you ever see that scene in "The Mummy" where he opens his mouth really wide and all the bees come flying out? Yeah, that was like the little nylon bag, except with fruit flies, and except it didn't turn me into a zombie chanting "Imhotep". It only turned me into a more nauseous and twitchy version of myself, although I do have an unexplained craving for BRAAAIIINNNNSSSS.

After I ran away from the fly swarm, washed the goop off my fingers, and chucked the nylon bag as far across the backyard as I could, I continued to clean out the minivan. Did you know there was a poopy diaper that was hiding underneath the passenger seat? I didn't. But it explains why I go through air fresheners so fast. Also in the trunk, after I removed the stroller and some canvas bags, I discovered that there were several large greenish ovals about the size of a small turd. I knew they couldn't be poop because:
A. God wouldn't do that to me twice, right?
B. They were too symmetrical
C. They kind of looked like multivitamins that had swollen up with water and started to crumble and decay on the floor of the trunk.
So I scooped them out, and because something is wrong with me, I smelled them. Yup, multivitamins.

I also cleaned out all the newspapers, school art, crayons, toys, hats, juice boxes, wrappers, folding chairs, sweatshirts, coffee cups, receipts, barrettes, water bottles, socks, and books that had been riding around North Carolina with us for weeks. And only then, after I considered it fit for human occupancy, did I dare take my minivan to the car wash and allow my shame to be exposed to strangers with towels.

I watched the guys go to work on the minivan, doors flung open, vacuum humming, a cloud of Windex. Then, they opened the trunk. And started talking to each other in Spanish, and pointing, and laughing. And I wanted to run over and say "Es vitaminas, no es poopies!", but I thought they would probably laugh even more at that, and also assume that I was not only the driver of a turdy minivan but also a little loco. So when they signaled that my car was ready I just gave a polite "Thank you", popped Ella in, and peeled out.

To Mom and Dad, who had to sit in the back of the minivan after it had been through the car wash: The 2nd level of Hell doesn't seem so bad when compared to the 9th, does it? Just ask Sayde, she's been sitting back there for years.

Mother Goose (gets plucked)

Connor had some gorgeous blonde curls.
Alas, strangers mistook them for girl's.
He might look cute with a little pink bow,
but with football and mud, it just wouldn't go.
So off to the barber we swiftly did flee,
to make a Man in his waning days of three.

"Not too short, please longer than most," I nervously said as I stood at my post, off to the side. Just along for the ride.

The scissors did not belong to me.

"I can deal with this," I thought, as the curls were lopped off and gently dropped to the ground.

Somewhere, under all the hair, a little boy was found.

I agreed it was fab, and we settled the tab.

But still, I can not deny, in the back of my mind,

an uneasy "Meh" you could find.

This was not the vision I had.

But it all turned out well,

when I brandished the gel, and pounced on my little guy.

He protested a bit, but he did then admit,

that now he looks pretty fly.

I love you Connor, quit growing up so fast.

I swear I didn't do it

Although I am kind of glad someone did. This, my friends, is all that remains of our Butler and her Hell Demon Spawn.

Don't hate me, animal lovers. For all my talk, I really am a big softy at heart. I'm the person who had a slight nervous breakdown after running over a squirrel, remember? The only living things I really get excited about killing are mosquitoes (and gnats....and flies...and fruit flies) mostly because it takes some luck to catch a mosquito red handed sucking on your arm, and I have mad skills with the dish towel vs fly scenario. Oh, and there was that time that the humongous Bumblebee flew inside the screened porch and I trapped it inside the plastic keg cup with full intentions of releasing it outside. But then I couldn't slip the newspaper over the opening of the cup quick enough because every time I tilted the cup, the giant Bumblebee was right there ready to attack me and buzzing really menacingly. And my panic was growing as I could feel the surprisingly heavy Bumblebee throwing itself against the cup like it was trying to burst through the plastic. And so I started screaming, "LENNIE HELP ME! GET THE RAID, GET THE RAID!" And Lennie came running out into the backyard with a can of Raid, aimed it directly into the cup, and right through the screen, sprayed the shit out of that Bumblebee. I was ecstatic. BOOYA, Humans win again! But that feeling was short-lived as the buzzing got weaker and weaker, and the Bumblebee didn't seem to be hurling itself at the cup anymore. Then, I just felt like a big human piece of crap stomping all over nature. Yet, I can sleep at night because it was either the Bumblebee or me, and that's how nature is. But, I digress.

In the case of the Butler, I'm not even guilty by proxy. I didn't call the Pest Control guys, ask Lennie to call them, nor did I instruct them to squash the Butler once they got here. However, I admit that I now have a small crush on Dan from the Pest Control company for his bravery and the panache with which he wields his big long stick (insert big stick joke here).

And since Susan was sadistic thoughtful enough to provide a link to a website which gave me all sorts of useful information on our Butler (a Golden Garden spider, I now know), I will sleep easier knowing that the Hell Demon Spawn will not be growing in that egg sac all winter long and "dispersing" in the spring.

So, while I have mixed feelings about the actual squashing of the Butler, I can't deny it: I'm glad she's dead. And, I'm really glad her babies are dead. And, I'm really really glad it wasn't me.

I do weddings and Bar Mitzvahs too

This weekend, we were up in New Jersey to visit family for a few days. We also made a little trip into Manhattan so Lennie could get his shoulder checked out by the doctor. We took little Ella Beans with us and I swore I would get a picture of her first trip to NYC. Unfortunately, I didn't remember to take any pictures until exactly 2 seconds before we headed into the Lincoln Tunnel to go back to New Jersey.

Here is a fabulous picture of the sign that says "Lincoln Tun" as seen from the passenger's window of the minivan.

A parting shot of the city as we head into the tunnel with a bonus view of the side of the minivan. And, just inside that open window is...

what happens when you reach back from the front seat to take a picture of a baby in a rear-facing carseat. This is the awesome picture I have of Ella's first trip to New York City, although technically we were somewhere underneath the Hudson River when I took it.

Mountain Cabin

I have to preface this post by saying that I am a suburbanite through and through. I was raised in the suburbs of New York City, and have been living in suburbs ever since. This lifestyle has prepared me for one thing and one thing only: living in suburbs. So, I had to laugh at Lennie when he began packing things like compasses, pocket knives, a year's supply of food, a crank radio (just in case there is a nuclear war, he says. Right, because if all the TV stations get blown up, I'm suuure the radio stations will still be on air). My log cabin essentials? An ipod, smores ingredients, and a bottle of wine; and my only regret about this weekend is that I only brought one bottle of wine.

So, this soft suburbanite didn't start her trip off on a very good note when the minivan crushed a squirrel as we were pulling out of our subdivision. :( This is the first animal I've ever hit with a car (I don't count suicidal toads). This squirrel obviously was not suicidal because it was carrying an acorn during it's ill-fated road crossing. Searching for food=desire to live. I flinched as I looked in the rear view mirror and saw the acorn rolling across the street and the poor squirrel flopping around.
Me: "IT'S STILL ALIVE! IT'S SUFFERING"
Lennie: "Hit it again! You have to put it out of it's misery!"
Me, bursting into tears: "I can't."

So I climbed out of the car and stood on the side of the road while Lennie backed the minivan over the dying squirrel, twice.

When I got back in, Sayde was frantic. "What did we hit?" She demanded to know. "Daddy says it was a rock, but I KNOW it was an animal. Why is Mommy crying?"
"It was a rock," I mumbled.
"YOU'RE LYING!" She screamed.

I handled that well, don't you think? And so our vacation began.
We later parlayed this little experience into a lesson with the moral being: see what happens when you don't look both ways before you cross the street?


After a few hours in the car, we arrived in Blowing Rock, NC. "Beautiful" is the best word to describe it. It is a gorgeous little mountain town with a great Main Street. There was a huge public park with a playground for the kids to burn off some energy, and lots of cute coffee shops for Lennie and I to get some energy. We had a really peaceful afternoon exploring the shops and galleries.

As evening begin to set it, we figured we'd better start heading to the cabin so we'd have plenty of time to find it while there was still daylight. We punched the address into the trusty navigator and headed off. As we drove further and further from Blowing Rock, the sun sank lower in the sky, and my anxiety crept up. "How far away is this cabin?" I wondered. We spent a good amount of time slowing winding our way up a mountain on narrow roads with no guard rails, and then even higher up the mountain, on dirt roads. At the top of the mountain our navigation system said in her honey sweet voice, "Turn Right." Only there was no right turn to be found. "Where the fuck are we?" I asked politely.
"Don't get ridiculous." Lennie said. You would think after 7 seven years of marriage, that Lennie would know that this statement only increases my ridiculousness tenfold. We whipped out the printed version of the directions that the leasing company gave us, and it turns out we were on the wrong fucking mountain. So, I eased the minivan back down the mountain, now in complete darkness, and that utterly biting silence that comes after you and your spouse both realize at the same time that the other one is a total moron.

A half an hour later, on top of a different mountain, and through more white-knuckle dirt roads, we pulled into the gravel driveway. Lennie went in first to make sure there were no bears, squatters, or mental patients with hook for hands waiting inside to eat us, and then the kids and I followed. We walked in and I was very relieved to see this:







A quaint and cozy cabin in the woods. Although, the kids were pretty pissed off about the deer head above the fireplace, the turkey tail next to the fireplace, the quail-type bird on the other side of the fireplace, and the trout over the door. "Mean people live here" I think was the quote. I was so happy to be in a house, there could have been a baby seal mounted on the wall and I would have thought, "How cute."

The next morning, we woke up and walked out onto the deck to see this:






Completely gorgeous. We decided to explore and went for a walk up the dirt road, when several large dogs began barking and running towards us. So we high-tailed our asses back down the dirt road and went for a drive instead. Crossing over one of the dirt roads, was a large black animal which I at first glance thought was a bear, and then it turned and I realized by it's tail and the way it moved, that it was a very very large cat. Are mountain lions black? I have no fucking clue, but I remember telling Lennie that instead of a compass and a radio, he should have brought a gun.




We ended up having a really fun couple of days and the best part is we're still alive.

These are the wildflowers Lennie gathered on his morning walk. Awwww.

Sometimes you gotta learn the hard way

Today Connor learned an important lesson: never stomp on an anthill while wearing Crocs.



The picture's not the greatest, but he was asleep when I took it. Not only do I not supervise my children closely enough, but when they are attacked by wildlife, I photograph it (and blog it) . I'm still waiting for my Mother of the Year award.

Helmey Rocks

Notice anything? Hmmm....? I have a new blog header thanks to Helmey, aka 'El Capitan'. He has saved us all from an unbalanced existence (and, by "us all" I mean me). Obviously his Kung Fu is greater than mine because while all I could do is bitch that my blog header was off center, he whipped up a new one lickety split (did I just say 'lickety split'? No more wine for me). Hooray for Helmey!!

I'm quite touched that he took the time out of his busy day to help me out like that. I really appreciate it.

PS: Helmey, I'll pretend the little hearts were my idea. I won't tell anyone you came up with that all by yourself, I promise.

PSS: Apparently there are two types of people in the world: those of you noticed my crappy old blog header by yourself and were disturbed by it, and those that only noticed it after I pointed it out and didn't give a crap. Which category are you?

Moob of the year

Lennie is desperate to start exercising again after his surgery. He is worried that his once statuesque chest is slowing melting into moobs. (Man-boobs, get it? That's not Lennie by the way *cough*, Governator *cough*. I would never ever allow the banana hammock bathing suit) He is also trying to spend extra time with the kids after being away for a month for camp. He decided to combine these two goals into one glorious plan: walk with the kids to the Citgo station to pick up the Sunday paper.

This plan seemed oookaayyish to me at first. The Citgo is only about 3/4 mile away. It's on a pretty busy road and cars (myself included) usually take the 45mph sign to mean 55mph, but there's plenty of grass on the side to walk safely. The kids should be able to walk that far, refuel with some Citgo-mart goodies, and then whine whine whine all the way home. Plus, they'd be with their Dad, who would never ever put them in danger. I was about to give my unrequested consent on this plan when Lennie adds this, "You can ride your bikes."

Right at that exact moment, my morning coffee kicked in and I had to speed walk to the bathroom to powder my nose (because ladies don't poop). But, that didn't prevent me from shouting my opinions, about my children peddling their little training wheels down a busy street, over my shoulder on my way out of the room. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I know it included, "ARE YOU CRAZY?"

I heard some hushed talking, and when I came back, Lennie said, "Duh, I'm only going to let them ride their bikes until we get out of the subdivision. We'll leave the bikes there and pick them back up on the way back."

For my own sanity and peace of mind, I'm just going to pretend agree that this was his plan all along.

Oh, and as a little addendum to this post. I let Lennie preview it before I posted it, and he had this to say, "Take Citgo out, we're not supporting Hugo Chavez." And he wants my reader to know that all he bought was a newspaper, not gasoline.

Aren't you glad you married me?

So on this roadtrip, which went through West Virginia by the way and all I have to say about that is, "OH MY GOOD LORD will you people please lobby your local government for more coffee shops?? It's cruel cruel world when there are only 2 Starbucks in the entire state. And PS, Dentists. I'll leave it at that.

Anyway, while we were stopped at a gas station in the middle of Podunk, USA, Lennie took the kids inside to pee and I decided to feed lil miss hungry fuss fuss in the front seat. Like a good Earthing, I decided not to let the car idle because it wastes gas, so instead I just turned the ignition on halfway - just enough for the fan and radio to work. I like to be civilized, you know.

So after a while when the kids came back from their marathon pooping session, and after Jake had been walked, and the truck and minivans were all gassed up, and the baby had been fed, and everyone was loaded back into their carseats, I tried to start the car. And....nada. I turned the key again....even less than nada. I think maybe my left eye started to twitch from the increase in bloodpressure, but instead of screaming like a lunatic in the middle of this peaceful gas station, I just tossed the keys to Len and said, "The car won't start." (ie, Somehow this is all your fault, and it's your fucking problem now so you deal with it.)

So while he turns the keys again and again, I unload the kids out of the car to sit in the shade - all the while still not screaming like a lunatic (you're welcome, sweetie). "I think we have jumper cables," I offered up, because you know, I'm helpful like that.

Lennie finally gave up on compulsively wishing that 'this time the ignition will work, no this time, no this time' and goes and finds a stranger to rescue us. This helpful and kind stranger provided the jumper cables, and showed Lennie how to jump a car, made sure everything worked and then wished us a good day. Thank you, helpful and kind stranger, I waved from my spot in the shade. Meanwhile, I didn't scream once. You're welcome, Lennie.

Grossed out for life

They say to never leave your children alone in the bathtub, not even for an instant. I'm not 100% sure why, but I think this advice is an attempt to prevent some kind of a tragedy. Events such as soap in the eye syndrome, wrinkly toe disease, 3 inches of water on the bathroom flooritis, and there's another one I'm sure I'm forgetting. But anyhoo...I think I've found a new one.

Sayde and Connor were instructed to lather up while I went to the living room to pick up Cranky Baby (she woke me up 3 times last night, therefore she will remain nameless today). After fetching said Baby, I returned to the bathroom to overhear this: "Ok, now YOU sit on MY face."

I'll leave it to your imagination as to who was doing the face sitting and who's idea it was in the first place. Needless to say, "Bath time's OVER. GET OUT. I don't care if you still have shampoo in your hair, you should have thought of that before you gave Mommy an aneurysm."

I'll just keep telling myself that they were checking each other for ticks, unusual moles, hemorrhoids, etc. Perhaps one day, one of them will go to medical school and become a Proctologist and then I'll be so proud. Yeah, so proud. Until then, I'm seriously considering installing seperate bathtubs to go along with the new, 'no face sitting' rule.

Little Brick House

Connor is like a rock. Not a rock as in a source of strength, but rather as in he sinks like one. Twice this summer he walked right down the pool steps until the water was up to his eyeballs.

My mother rescued him the first time and without even a cough or a sputter, he looked at her as though she was insane and said, "Nana, why are you in the pool with your shoes on?".

After Lennie yanked him out the second time, he gave him the "you could die" pep talk. Connor's response was "Yeah. I died. But you're a hero, you save me."