I haven't been around. This I know . . . a week since my last post. Has it already been that long? Yes. The date tells me this is true.
So, where have I been?
Not lounging. Not eating the proverbial bon bons (who does that, anyway?). Not even indulging in lackluster sitcoms with forced funnies. Nope.
Yes. I've been answering to my wee tow-headed dictator. Apparently, the more mobile a toddler becomes, the more bone-weary you become.
He's climbing. Jumping. Running. Putting things where they do not belong (only to have me searching feverishly for whatever is his new obsession: my keys, the telephone, my cellphone --which I found in the vent when I called it and heard the distinctive ring . . . the vent. Not the toilet. Score one for mom!).
Stuff found in vents year-to-date: socks, banana peel (what?), multitude of toys, a vent cover (from another vent), crackers, a Cheeto (OMG, how did that get there?!? I only feed my child healthy and nutritious foods made from the highest quality ingredients! You believe me, right?)
I thought all this activity would be good for something. Say, for earning a decent age score on the Wii we just purchased (because going on an actual date in the foreseeable future is . . .well, unforeseeable and we need some after 8 pm entertainment). I'm 83.
At least I have something to shoot for . . . like, 80.
Quite honestly, my mii having no arms or legs is disturbing.
It so happens that being 83 coincides with me wearing my elastic only-pair-that-will-fit-and-not-show-off-my-plumpy-parts-mom-jeans for three days in a row.(This in turn coincides with my increased consumption of chocolate biscotti, chocolate milk, and really tiny chocolate cheesecakes--I'm in training for the holidays.). The jeans are in the washer, don't worry. But, don't ask what I'm wearing now . . . this is a family-friendly blog.
Mom's ever-expanding waistline: 1 point
Mom's self-esteem: 0 points
Mom's solution: cut chocolate in smaller pieces
Yesterday my bumper had a little run in with an old Chevy being driven by a kid who was very busy dipping his fries in his ketchup. Yup. Dipping fries in ketchup.
Survivors: Two teenagers, a mom (wearing trusty mom-jeans) and blissfully unaware baby boy.
Casualties: old Chevy (totaled), my bumper, a few fries and two chicken sandwiches (RIP).
Him: No insurance.
Me: $1000 deductible
What this means for Christmas: Homemade Sock Puppets!
Alright. Enough distractions . . . I'm sure I have a mess that awaits clean up somewhere in this house. Chances are, it'll be something like this . . .
Mommy loves when J rearranges the office. He's so helpful . . . I'd better check the vents.
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