This week has not left a lot of room for bloggability.
Which has decreased the amount of this…
And, more importantly, this…
And has also sharply increased the amount of this.
I’m also afraid that the snot sucker might have withdrawn a bit of brains as well, as he has repeatedly and angrily insisted on drinking out of this.
(Yes, these photos made me realize that I have not changed my child out of pajamas in about 96 hours.)
(Thank goodness that these photos also prove that I did at least change his jammies.)
SO. Since blogging (or thinking) hasn’t exactly been an opportunity I’ve had this week, I thought I would share some highs and lows and call it a day.
Hearing a clank-a-roll-a-clank-a-roll-clank-a-roll, looking out the window, and seeing our mentally and physically unstable mailbox rolling down the street.
Then watching our Postlady, (who was apparently the accidental nudger of the ready-to-jump mailbox,) leap out of her mail truck, run down the street, scoop up our mailbox like it was a tender baby, and slam it back into place.
And that, my friends, is why the cost of postage keeps going up.
Getting a flat tire on a torrentially rainy day, then learning that if I wuss out about changing said tire in the rain and decide instead to drive, even at 5 miles per hour, down the road to Express Oil Change to get it patched, I will ruin said tire altogether.
Being able to justify my tire-ruining trip by finding out that my spare tire lowerer was missing, so the Express Oil Change men had to use vise grips to remove it – something I would have definitively not been able to do by myself.
You haven’t lived until you’ve spent an hour in a 12 foot x 6 foot Express Oil Change lobby holding a wiggly, sick, sleepy, wanting-down-on-the-nasty-floor one-year-old, trying to entertain a bored and loud five-year-old, and attempting to keep from further irritating a curmudgeony twenty-something-year-old businessman who has a clear disdain for wiggly one-year-olds and bored five-year-olds.
Halfway through this experience, Ali had a philosophical moment and mused out loud, “I wonder what it feels like to have two kids?”
“Now may not be the best time to ask me that, honey.”
Finding out that despite the fact that my Sam’s paperwork clearly states that road hazard damage is excluded, it mysteriously isn’t really, therefore saving me $150.
Having to drive back to the Doorway of Hell that is Express Oil Change (with a fussy, sick, sleepy baby in tow) to retrieve my slashed tire in order to receive my warranty credit. And then drive back to Sam’s and wait uncountable hours for the replacement to be installed with a fussy, sick, sleepy, hungry baby in tow.
(And possibly spending all of my warranty savings on food, because I was also quite hungry, and being marooned in Sam’s when you’re hungry is more dangerous than Richard Simmons finding a store called Sweatbands ‘R Us.)
There’s something really disgustingly satisfying about the unbelievable amount of snot that can be retracted from a baby’s nose.
Babies don’t find it nearly as satisfying.
Downloading the Google Earth iPad app and getting totally lost in fascination of satellite images of Saudi Arabia.
(Random Bonus Fact: There is no place in the world that piques my curiosity more than Saudi Arabia. Not that I’ll be visiting anytime soon – black is not my color.)
Having to stop looking at Google Earth to, you know, tend to my sick kids and stuff.
Having a dream that Adam Levine from Maroon 5 had a huge crush on me and begged me to date him.
(Apparently, I’m a total egomaniac in my sleep.)
For the record, I turned him down, explaining that I was incandescently happy with my husband.
(Apparently, I like using big words in my sleep.)
Realizing that was just a dream and I may not be so awesome after all.
Having a romantic, delicious, cozy, after-children’s-bedtime dinner with my husband.
Of Sloppy Joes.
(Sleeping sick babies sometimes create the romance, not the menu.)
And finally, we got Siri’s advice about our future family plans:
Well, that clears things up.