kiwords

Oh. Em. Gee, y'all.

Raphael was just biting into a Nik-L-Nip and he somehow managed to turn it into an indoor sprinkler system, thereby doing the ONE AND ONLY thing I can imagine to make a Nik-L-Nip a worse candy than it already is.

"I don't know what's WRONG with this thing," he shouted, "every time I bite into it, it just...SQUIRTS EVERYWHERE!"

Get that? EVERY time. Because after the FIRST time it squirted everywhere, clearly further experimentation was required.

Max just read me his history lesson, and he started out using a goofy voice. Like, could there be anything more annoying? Why don't you just POKE POKEY THINGS in my EARS?

Two days ago Sophia's sippy cup had an inaccurately assembled valve, post-washing, and instead of her having to SUCK on the thing to get liquid out, it would gently dribble into her mouth, over her rosebud lips, and down her front. She thought that was awesome. Ever since then, when I put the PROPERLY ASSEMBLED sippy cup to her lips, she sits perfectly still, waiting for the dribbly joy and looking at me with "you can't make me suck" eyes.

Also? Don't get me started on sippy cup designs.

Speaking of Sophia, she is practically crawling, and I've gone on a mighty campaign to keep the floors clean since she's all mobile and fascinated by the small and the filthy (Actual conversation the other day during a diaper change - "Oh, hey, here's the leaf she was gagging on last night." "Oh, good."). I sweep every day, MULTIPLE TIMES. Yesterday I mobilized an enormous floor clean up, with the moving of furniture and sweeping and mopping with vinegar-and-water goodness. Today? The floor feels like the entryway of a Wal-Mart under my feet, and when I pick the baby up as she tumbles past, she is sort of...frosted with bits of leaves and dog hair and grit.

Oh! And the DOG! The dog is confused by the warm weather and she keeps going in and out and in and out AND. IN. AND. OUT. Every three and a half minutes she suddenly realizes that she needs to be on the OTHER side of the kitchen door, and she immediately trots over to it and starts to whine.

Clay left the sandwich bags on the counter this morning when he was making his lunch. Usually I wouldn't even notice this, but today I'm pretty sure he did it because he wants me to just LIE DOWN ON THE FLOOR AND PERISH. Obviously. The FILTHY floor.

My point (YES, I HAVE A POINT, JUDGE-Y JUDGE-ER) was supposed to be that I am clearly dying of a brain tumor. Seriously, that is exactly what I came here to tell you, then what do I find? That blog has already been written, by a much better writer than me.

I'm going back to bed. And I'm taking the leftover Halloween candy with me.