NapjunkieMom

As most parents figure out, when you introduce your children to music, you better be prepared to listen to that same music over and over. Bobby has listened to Jazz Samba everyday for well over a year. I bought Motown No. 1s for us to listen in the car, and that worked well, until I realized that I was never going to hear any music past 1965. We always had to start on the first song, and by the time we were at our destination, we'd be, maybe, at "My Girl". The only good thing is that I won't have to explain to him what "Let's Get It On" means.

Bobby had a blemish on his chin, and after picking at it, needed a band-aid. He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening periodically saying "But my chin won't ever be better." I tried, all afternoon and evening, to convince him that it would be better, and better soon. When Jim came home, he muddied the waters by talking about how chick dig guys with scars. Then he told Bobby about the phrase "chin music" (from baseball). Of course, Bobby wanted to listen to a CD of this "Chin Music". If I were an evil mom, I would have told him about the little boy who had to have a chinechtomy, because his chin never got better.

My neighbor was nice enough to watch Jonny this morning on short notice. Since it was raining buckets, I decided to drive across the street and park as close to the house as possible. While I was backing out, I concentrated really hard on not hitting their car, so I ended up driving over their lawn. And no, I didn't get away unseen. She was having Jonny wave goodbye to us.

I only average one "hell" or "damn" a week, so I knew I was in trouble today when I said both of them within a fifteen minute period. And Bobby has only been out of preschool one day.

For some reason, Bobby was running around the house tonight yelling, "I have the speed! I have the seed! I have the need!"

Wednesday was the graduation and award day at preschool. There were lots of different awards: "Good friend", "Best manners", etc. The teacher was announcing the award for "Best Laugh" and was describing it as someone who "makes us all laugh, and we never know what he's going to do next." Bobby yelled out "Is it me?" And indeed it was.

Being kind of a neat freak, I always hang my clothes in the same order in my closet (if you must know, robes, t-shirts, nice t-shirts, fleece pants, denim pants, non-denim nice pants, hoodies) Somehow, one of my hoodies was hung up on my robe hanger. It was kind of creepy, but then I realized that no one would break into my house just to hang up my clothes in the wrong place. Also, at night, while I'm enjoying the first silence of the day, I've been hearing the wind chimes (I thought) play a haunting tune. It was starting to freak me out, because I knew the wind chimes couldn't be playing that tune over and over by themselves. What kind of fiend would play wind chimes outside of my house? It turns out that it's music from a book that Jim and Bobby have been reading. After posting this, I went to my bathroom to discover that someone had hung a wet washcloth on top of my dry towels. Will this evil ever end?

Jim said that it was hard to be spontaneous in the romance department with the kids around, and I said that it's not spontaneity that we're lacking, it's a ten minute interval when he isn't doing homework and I'm not comatose.

Even though it is the same substance, at a certain point, poop becomes shit. I'll be elbow deep in it when I'm changing a diaper, and it doesn't bother me, but a smear on my computer chair drives me insane. The good news is, I have a new, very comfortable computer chair. (In the interest of full disclosure, I'm sure I'd be scrubbing the shit out if our old computer chair hadn't been old and falling apart.)

For some reason, people keep asking me if I'm having a hard day.