It never fails. It rains on Paul's days off every stinkin' week. And his days off aren't the same every week. It's like God looks at His great big meteorological calendar in the sky and says, "Ooh, looks like Paul's off on Tuesday and Wednesday this week - check, showers." All this does is just make him mad. Paul, not God. For two days now he has moped around the house and grumbled at me, yelled at the kids, and slept. Paul, not God.
I walked through the living room awhile ago and he was sound asleep, kicked back in the recliner. I just now walked through again and he was still kicked back, but awake and sulled up. "Stupidrain," was what I think came out of his half-closed mouth. We are nearly out of wood and he can't get out there to cut any. Okay, rephrasing, he won't get out there and cut in the rain. If your family needs wood cut, you cut it. Rain, snow, sleet, or hail. Okay, maybe not hail because that's dangerous. Besides hailstorms don't usually last that long anyway - you could get a cup of coffee while you waited for it to pass. Anyway. We have decided to sell the boat and it needs to be cleaned out so we can take it down to Sis' house (she lives on a high-traffic street) but he won't go out to the barn to do that. It's cold, he says. Well, duh, it's February ya dork. It's in the barn, for cryin' out loud. But no; he, instead of doing anything halfway constructive, opts to sit in the house and whine. He's driving me insane.
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This morning Jill asked me if we had been talking about names during the day. I said, "Uhhh...no, I don't think so. Why?" She laughed and said, "Oh, last night Chandler walked in the room and said, 'My babysitter's name is Kwistin. Kwistin Hoovah.' And walked back out." I said, "Oh yeah...he introduced me to several people at the grocery store yesterday, too." I don't know where he gets it. He also introduced himself AND Kady AND the baby to anyone who would listen. Jill also asked me what kind of toilet paper I use. I said, "Scott. Why?" "Well, last night he sang to me, word for word, the Charmin song from the commercial. Do you think maybe he watches too much TV?" Nah, he's just a little sponge, that's all. I shrugged and said, "I doubt he's watching to much TV. Kids will pick up anything catchy and repeat it ad nauseum. But I haven't taught it to him, sorry."
Just a little while ago I was folding laundry and caught myself singing, "When we say less is more, less is more. More absorbent than the regular rippled brand for sure. What you used to love now you're gonna adore. Charmin Ultra - less is more. Cha-cha-cha! Charmin!" Nope, I have no clue where he learned it.
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Cute baby is here again. Day #3. He's simply devourable. My sister just called and said she feels well enough that she can watch him the rest of the week. Dang her and her getting all well and stuff. Although, last night when I took off my shirt before bed, as I lifted my shirt over my head I caught a whiff of spit-up and thought, "Man, that's a smell I thought I was over and done with."
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I feel the need to do a blog round-up today for some reason. **I'm especially enamored with CrazyMom at Here Comes Life. Bless her heart, she has the flu AND a sinus infection right now and is living the life hopped up on Vicodin and Marlboros. We can't all live the dream, but she's trying.
**I finally jumped on the bandwagon and started reading Defective Yeti even though he competed with my beloved Heather B. Armstrong over at Dooce during the Blog Awards. His little Squirrelly is a year old now and his take on life, work and parenting is particularly charming.
**My friend from high school, Magnet Lady has started blogging and my gosh, if I thought she was hilarious in real life, she's dangerous on her blog. She had THE BEST bangs on high school and still continues to have my jealously when it comes to hair. She's also a pretty durn good camping partner. Ask her about it. G'head, she'd love to tell the story.
**File Girl, another Napoleon Dynamite fan, showed us the other day her skillz at paper folding. Boyfriends want girlfriends with skillz, I hear.
**I can't do a herding of the blogs without mentioning Cousin Courtney!! She can eat a pound of Candy House chocolates, works at The Big Fancy Casino, recently wrote about the perils of chin hairs and you simply must check her out. Just last night while standing in my kitchen, we discussed how to get people to comment on our blogs, while I peddled and she paid for Girl Scout cookies. (HINT HINT NUDGE NUDGE)
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I just now bent over to pick the baby up out of the floor. The back of my sweatshirt raised up just enough to expose the small of my back. My husband, who had just come in from the nearly depleted woodpile, thought it would be mighty funny to place his cold hands directly on the exposed skin. Thank God I have reflexes like Superman or I'd be making a call to Cute Baby's mom trying to explain exactly how her son acquired a bruise the size of Texas on his wee little bald head.
He goes back to work tomorrow if I don't kill him first. Paul, not Cute Baby.
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I just asked Chandler to sing the Charmin song for me. Oh my gosh it's cute. Kady knew all the words, too. What am I doing to these children? I've been singing "If I was a rich girl, na na na na na na nahhhhhhhh..." for the last two days. I can't wait till he goes home to sing THAT one for his daddy. We're already trying to reprogram him into saying that he's a prince instead of a princess like Kady.
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"Jingle Bells, Batman smells allllllll the way!" is how Kady sings Jingle Bells now. So much for dashing through the snow and all that nonsense. We just sing about toilet paper, rich girls and super heros with hygiene issues. Yep, bring your kids to Kiki The Most Wonderful Babysitter in the Universe. I'll teach 'em up right.
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