Sign Me UP.

$76 a month for a membership to the YMCA down the street that offers childcare? That's a lot of money. Several weeks ago, I wasn't sure I could justify spending it ... we are already pretty tight on funds.

But now? I would probably pay double that much, and just skimp on food and toilet paper for my family. I am DYING over here. Why did we start having kids when we live 6 hours from our parents? That was not the best decision we've made. Now we have a mortgage on a house we need to sell, and hopefully one day we will return to our homeland where our mothers reside.

Until then ... I need a break. If I have to take a spinning class or yogalates or sit in a locker room to get it, then by golly, SIGN ME UP. My ass is huge and my kids are crazy. Something has to give.

An Exercise.

Why is it, that no matter what agents I use or how many times I clean it, the toilet ALWAYS smells like pee?

Kind of like how no matter how many times I stick the pacifier back in TWO's mouth, he spits it out and then cries for it back. Over and over. 

These are the constants in my life: crying and a persistent pee smell. It's an exercise in patience and long suffering, which leaves me to wonder ... will I make it? Can I persist even longer than that damn smell?!?

Now I understand how so many women get bogged down in the doldrums of motherhood and wifedom. It's relentless. The demands never cease. This is why I put a child proof knob cover on the doors to my bedroom, my closet, and my bathroom. They might all be down here killing each other -- or maybe ONE will simply smother TWO with a blanket and Husband won't notice because he's playing a video game -- but I do have somewhere to hide if needed. 

And when I come out ... I WILL END YOU, PEE ODOR. Your days are numbered.

The Things That Happen Here.

After a night of sleeping not enough, followed by a day that sucked because I was not well-rested, TWO went right back into his Woombie. I'm experimenting with different swaddling techniques. Today for one of his naps, I stuck him in a sleep sack with his arms inside.

 

He seemed to like that.

Random and unrelated: I run into the foot board on our bed regularly. Here is my latest injury. 

It hurts. A lot. Also, it's spreading.

One final, random, and also unrelated thing ... ONE threw a big blanket over his little brother's face this morning, ran away, and hid. Which is probably for the best, because I had time to calm down while I conducted my search for him. 

I finally found him here. 

It seems strange to me that any of us survive in this house on any given day. But then I think about the people who live in truly deplorable situations (like Haiti, for example), and I feel stupid for showing everyone my super huge bruise. 

Ringing.

My ears are RINGING. Like actually, physically, hurting from three-year-old chatter. Nonstop. All. Day. Long.

Mommy. Mommy. MOMMY! Baby Asher smells like pepperoni. Let me smell you. Oh! You smell like pepperoni too! Do you have a horse, Mommy? A real horse? Not a pretend horse, but a real one, with a mouth? What about goldfish? No, not the crackers. Real goldfish. The kind that swim. Why don't we have fish in the house? Fish don't eat people. Did you know that, Mommy? Sometimes big fish eat small fish, but they don't eat people. It would be safe to have one. I wouldn't let it hurt you. Or the baby ... Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Where are  you going? What is that? What are you doing? What are you drinking? Is that juice? Can I have some? Why not?

Yes. It's juice. Fermented juice. 

I'm exhausted.

Look out.

I'm joining Pinterest.

Sleep Training.

Last night was TWO's first night sleeping without his Woombie. A Woombie is a zip-up swaddler that literally saved my sanity when colic was taking over my life. It's really cute, in a Hannibal Lecter kind of way.

Yes, those are my feet.

I had an epiphany two days ago and realized that TWO will never learn how to self-soothe, and therefore sleep like the rock I wish he would, without access to his hands. So that means sleeping without the straightjacket. That scares the crap out of me.

It's not the same as when ONE was three months old and we were growing out of the hellish colic phase. I could let ONE fuss and cry if needed -- I didn't jump out of bed at every little sound. But this time it's different. I don't sleep much. Because if TWO gets cranked up, and he can get to that point quickly, his big brother will wake up and that opens up a whole new problem I don't care to deal with in the middle of the night.

Last night, at midnight, both kids were awake and Husband was snoring soundly through all of it. I finally chose to handle it by pointing a serious Mom finger at my older boy ... I have a vague recollection of saying something like I don't want to hear it/go back to sleep/you better keep your butt in bed ... and apparently it scared him into quieting down. He never came out of his room. He whined and then went back to sleep.

Since when did I learn the Mom finger? 

Probably when I decided to start using a switch.

Happy.

Sometimes, when people meet me, they mistake my happiness for ditziness. It's happened to me my whole life. It used to offend me ... if I found out later. But now I just think it's FUNNY.

Another common mistake: thinking that niceness = weakness. 

It does not.

I am happy because I choose to be happy. I have problems I could focus on, if I wanted to. I could let them drag me down. I could harp on them. But why? Why would I want to be unhappy, when I can be happy instead? 

This is something I've never understood about the people who are wallowing in their sorrows and can't or don't want to pull themselves out of it. These are usually the same people who think I'm ditzy.

I strongly feel that you get out of life what you put into it. I complain and bitch as much as the next person, but at the end of the day I really am happy with everything that I have. We get one chance to live this life. I recommend LIVING it, problems and all.

This concludes today's sermon.

It's Time!

The Christmas cards have been ordered. Because this is the only picture we have of all four of us. 

It took 11 weeks and 4 days for it to happen, but this was the first time someone in our family wasn't wearing pajamas. The only reason why is because it was a holiday (Thanksgiving) and we were at someone else's home.

Immediately after this picture was taken, ONE went to dig in the dirt, TWO's overalls came off, and Husband probably unbuttoned his pants.

Let the starvation diet begin.

Today I Am Thankful For ...

  
I am thankful for that man. 

Those boys. 

My life.

It's Here!!!!

Finally! It's Thanksgiving! 

My cheesecake is refrigerating. All I have to do between now and noon is put the praline topping on it, make myself and my family presentable, and show up. The "make myself and my family presentable" part is what concerns me the most, and also why I have been up since 4:30.

Something about wrangling two children into nice clothes and making sure there isn't crust in their ears is pretty damn hard. Not to mention, I have no idea what I'm even going to wear today. My wardrobe is a confusing mixture of too-small and barely-fitting items ... every time I step into my closet I feel like I'm trying to solve a riddle.

Husband might be able to help with the kids. But usually what happens is he waits until the last possible moment to start getting himself ready, and generally this is during the peak of the wrangling period, when I need the MOST help. He also cannot be trusted to make sure they don't mess up their clothes before we leave the house. 

One thing I can say for him, he is excellent at making sure I am left alone for however long it takes me to get myself together. I think he has learned to appreciate (accept?) the fact that I am semi-high maintenance (very high maintenance?) and it takes me at least an hour to get ready. I may be the only female in this family, but that does not mean I'll be lowering my standards when I actually have somewhere to go besides the grocery store.

Again, this is why I've been up since 4:30. Gobble, gobble!

Turkey Time Is Nigh.

Tick tock, turkey.

I LOVE THANKSGIVING. I took it upon myself to teach ONE about the holiday by bringing home pilgrim and Mayflower stickers from Target and explaining to him what a cornucopia is. A big horn full of stuff, that's what. And ... that was the extent of our learning. Then we made leaf-shaped cookies and he ate a good portion of raw dough.

Two things have made me feel especially thankful today. First, I have decided to embrace the switch. As in, a thin branch to swat legs with. Because nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is working to effectively discipline my three-year-old ... and I am unwilling to allow him to continue to throw ridiculous, out of control temper tantrums.

Embracing the switch isn't what is making me feel thankful. It's the fact that I haven't had to use it yet. I dread it. I know it's going to sting like hell. But if it works, then it will be worth it. ONE keeps nervously talking about it. He seems to instinctively know that that little branch is about to turn the tide.

Second, I am so very thankful that my parents are coming to town tomorrow afternoon. They are lovely people. I miss them terribly. It was actually my dad's idea to implement the switch. He sent me an email today that read, Become one with the switch. May the force be with you.

Thank you, Dad. I need something to be with me. Currently, it's this. I keep it on my person at all times. And I'm not afraid to use it.

 

Oops.

Just realized that I carried on an entire conversation with the UPS man with toothpaste all over my chin. I put it there at 6:30 morning because I'm getting a pimple. Haven't looked in a mirror since.

Proof That I'm Losing It.

I'm losing it. 

Not that you people couldn't already see my mental state unraveling before your very eyes, via this blog. TWO is almost three months old and, I have finally come to grips with the fact that I'm on the cusp of ... something. What it is exactly, I do not know yet. A mental or emotional breakdown? Postpartum depression come late? Or perhaps just a break THROUGH, where I will accept the things I cannot change (my children, my husband), embrace the madness that is my life, and stop worrying about whether I am doing anything right.

Today I let one of my sons hang out in the laundry for awhile, and the other one has been wearing my apron all day. 

I see nothing wrong with this.

I DO see something wrong with the fact that I walked around the house with a Magic Eraser today and most of the marks on the walls were caused by Husband and not a child. I'd like to go into more detail here, or maybe a crazed rant, but I love my Husband and talking trash about him on the World Wide Web seems wrong somehow.

But seriously ... HOW CAN ONE MAN DESTROY SO MUCH? When he gets home, I'm going to look at him like this:

Monday.

There are many reasons why I shouldn't be allowed to have access to the internet.

Here is the latest.

 
Other things I probably shouldn't have access to:

1. Impressionable minds

2. A refrigerator

3. 

Open Letter.

Dear Pottery Barn,

I came to see you, and it seems that you skipped right over Thanksgiving. 

I do not appreciate that. While I do love your Christmas decor, I do not like that it was out before mid-November. What about the pumpkins? The cornicopias? The orange-colored place settings and such?

William-Sonoma has it together. There was nary a Christmas dish in sight over there. They are honoring Thanksgiving. You should hang your bay leaf wreathed head in shame. SHAME.

Thank you,
Harmony

WHAT ABOUT US??

Lapses In Judgment.

When I am sleep-deprived, I tend to make questionable decisions. This may involve anything from wearing a terrible outfit in public (these pants aren't too tight ... they don't show my crack ... do they? I'm sure it's fine ...) to something more serious like choosing to skip a final exam in college because I was too. tired. to. get. up. Tired, not hung over. I wish to clarify this.

At this point in my life, I am in a constant state of sleep deprivation. The other day I spent 10 minutes sitting in my driveway trying to figure out how to plug my GPS into the car charger. I have had this GPS for months. Charged it numerous times. Finally I turned off the car, brought it inside and demanded angrily at Husband to please show me how it plugged in, because clearly it was his fault that I couldn't figure it out.

Two months ago, the idea of attending a midnight movie premiere sounded FUN, like something a girl who had just had a baby would love to do. In reality, it was pure torture. I put both kids to sleep, changed out of my jammies and chugged a 5-Hour Energy drink. I decided to use a mantra: TAP INTO YOUR TWENTIES. TAP INTO YOUR TWENTIES. Because there was a span of time in my life where I slept very little and still managed to function in the daytime, thanks to crack a whole lot of energy drinks.

My friend (also a mom) and I had to give ourselves a major pep talk just to make it through the previews. I felt old. I felt really, really old. But ... we did it. We made it through the fourth installment of the cheesiest movie series EVER. I made it home and got in bed at 3 a.m. which did not make me feel like I was living some sort of exciting life. It made me want to slit my wrists.

Lest you think I didn't actually go out and do this stupid thing, here is proof in photo:

What's that? You want to know what we're drinking? It was called a Breaking Dawn. That's right. It was the $5 special. And yes, I was definitely holding up my lanyard for the photo. We were VIP. That stands for Very Important Person.

Guess what I got to take home with me?! A shirt with a big ol' J on it. My swag bag had an "E" shirt in it, and I swapped it out. I felt like an idiot the entire time the swapping process was going down, but I figured I had the lanyard around my neck and I was in a theater when I wanted desperately to be asleep, so I may as well get the right t-shirt.

Four hours of sleep and a pot of coffee later, I decided it would be the perfect time to shop online for Christmas presents. A big apology to my entire family for the items they will receive from us this year, because I have no idea if they are AWESOME or TERRIBLE. What I find the funniest about all of this is the fact that Husband had nothing to do with any of it, yet his name will be front and center on every one of those gift tags. 

Happy Holidays! 

Panties, Formula and Cheesecake.

I took TWO to the doctor today for his 2-month checkup. He weighs 13 pounds and is 2 feet long! I was feeling pretty beat down when we got there. Probably because I am pretty sure my children are trying to kill me.

Anyhoo ... things started looking up once we arrived at the doctor's office and I dragged my kids into the biggest stall the women's bathroom had to offer. ONE loudly proclaimed, I like your polka-dotted panties, Mommy!! They are sooooo nice!!! much to the delight of the other women in the bathroom.

Our pediatrician must have seen it in my eyes -- that look of exhausted desperation -- and she sent us home with this:

This stuff is like gold. $30-per-tiny-can-that-lasts-two-days gold. This is the only kind of formula that seems to work for TWO. And I am willing to pay almost anything to make his colic better. I told her it was like Christmas come early. Thank you, Dr. Denton!!

Now I'm going to check on my trial run cheesecake. So far it's smelling divine.

Rant.

I am sleep deprived, angry, and desperate. ONE is giving us HELL. He's a difficult kid to parent because he is difficult to discipline. We have tried almost everything we can think of, and nothing is working for bedtime. Last night was horrible. I got very little sleep. This morning, I feel like shipping him off somewhere. But three is a little young for boarding school.

This is all especially unfortunate timing because tonight is my long-awaited Twilight: Breaking Dawn premiere party. I'm going with a friend and I've had our tickets for two months. But ... ALL I WANT TO DO IS SLEEP. I don't want to sit in a packed theater at midnight and stare at Edward.

It's just depressing.

Maybe I'll bring a blanket and use that time to take a much-needed nap.

Whew.

I just assembled this mother ship of a double stroller. By myself.

Next step: lie down.

Open Discussion.

Is there really a problem with bullying, or have we just become a society of sissies?

Don't ALL kids get bullied at one time or another? I know I was, and I think it toughened me up. Had my parents been the kind to run to the principal of the school or the parent of the bully, I may have grown up to be a spineless wonder. But instead, I remember my dad in particular giving me pep talks and pretty much making me find the confidence I needed to stand up for myself.

I realize not all kids have good parents who are present and able to guide them properly. But personally, I think a little bullying is a normal part of life. The kids that off themselves probably had other issues that were deeper than being bullied.

Maybe I'm just being a hard ass. 

Discuss amongst yourselves.

So. Tired.

It seems that every person in my house is making it his mission to prevent me from sleeping. TWO slept for 6 hours total last night. He is currently sitting here, staring at me. Oh, and his left arm. Again.

Between him, his brother, and his snoring daddy, I'm exhausted. 

I made coffee. Eight cups. Because I plan to drink every last one of them. 

Here's what happened next.

I mistook heavy whipping cream for half and half. I poured a healthy amount into my coffee before I realized my folly. Didn't stop me from drinking it. Oh, no. I quite enjoyed it. However, I might not have enough left to make my practice run cheesecake today. And if that requires me to make another trip to Walmart, that place I hate so much, with my children, in the rain ... well. I may need to consider adding another ingredient to my next cup.

Happy holidays!

Yet Another Reason Why I'm Not Bored.

TWO has discovered his arm. The left one. Here's what he has been doing all day.

Namaste.

I have had a rough 24 hours that involved vomit and two children that took turns alternately waking me up all night long. At 4:45 this morning I had to make the decision to either get a few more hours of sleep, or run to Walmart while I had the chance. 

I chose to sleep.

I need to go to the store. Badly. But Husband is at work and won't have a day off until Sunday. It is now Tuesday. So at some point, I'm just going to have to suck it up and haul a sick child and an infant into public so I can get children's Tylenol, canned pumpkin, and chopped pecan pieces. Because I have to do a practice run on the cheesecake I'm planning to bake for Thanksgiving. Priorities, people. 

I was beginning my descent into self-pity (why does he have to work all the damn time? oh yeah ... so we can pay our bills) when I made the conscious decision to stop my inner complaining and NAMASTE.  

30 minutes of yoga later, I have a whole new outlook. I may not eat my young after all. At least not today.

The Messiest Man in America.

My husband ate one of these cookies last night.  

I didn't make them. My mother-in-law did, with the help of ONE. I like the fact that they have handles.

So he ate a handled cookie, and somehow managed to drop icing on the kitchen rug, grind it in so deep with his feet that I had to wash said rug in the washing machine to get it out, and then he tracked the aforementioned icing all over the first floor of our house. 

I think the tracking actually took place this morning, after he was ready for work. In fact, Husband, if you are reading this, why don't you take a look at the bottom of your shoes?

I'm not mad at him. But only because it's white icing. This same exact thing happened once before, but it involved red sprinkles that were all over the carpet around the couch. Now THAT was a bitch to clean up.  

I may have had to stop one of my children from eating the icing out of the carpet. Both times.

P.S.

TWO is 10 weeks old now.

I have lost 36 pounds.

He was worth every. single. one.

Road Trippin.

I just got back from a five-day road trip to my hometown of Baton Rouge, LA. It was a whirlwind, last-minute trip. I loaded up the kids and went. And let me tell you, after the experience I had in Tuscaloosa that involved me, a packed Panera Bread, two children and an LSU t-shirt worn by yours truly ... 

I can do anything. 

I can go anywhere. 

Seriously. New York City with kids? Yes. Black Friday shopping with kids? Yes. Nothing scares me anymore. Forcing myself to just go out and do whatever I feel like doing, kids or not, has done wonders for my self-confidence as a mother. I am not one to just sit at home all day, every day. I like to get out and do stuff. It's intimidating, but so worth it to conquer your fears.

Nothing bad will happen. Aside from people staring. And you may get snotty looks, if you decide to drag your children into eateries like Panera where people go to work on their laptops or have deep conversations. To all of those people, I am sincerely sorry. I know we took up a lot of space.

IJUSTREALLYWANTEDACUPOFSOUP.

ONE stayed in Mississippi with Husband's mom and grandparents and I took TWO with me to Baton Rouge. 

As you can see, he learned how to fish.

ONE with his second catch of the day.

This is pretty much the cutest thing I've ever seen. I am sure you're probably rolling your eyes ... unless you're related to me. And if that is the case, you've likely already recieved a copy of this picture via text or email.

I suppose I should just come to grips with the fact that I am just as annoying as any other mother who has ridiculously smart and cute kids.

I am extremely homesick for Louisiana. I miss the people, the culture, the cheap LSU gear that is readily available, and most of all -- my family. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get a tissue.

Monster Spray.

Motherhood can send you to places you never dreamt you should or would ever go. This is why we should probably not judge other people. I'm making a conscious effort to be less judgy of my fellow moms. As far as the rest of the world ... they are still fair game.

ONE is convinced that monsters are in his room. Specifically, they live behind his curtains. I have tried everything to convince him that:

1. Monsters do not exist.

2. No monsters live in our house.

3. His room is safe.

But NOTHING is working. I dread bedtime. It sucks. No, really. IT SUUUUUUCKS.

I now understand how people end up with children sleeping in their bed, or why parents are willing to lay with their kids until they go to sleep. I am so desperate for bedtime to not be a horrible experience that I am willing to do almost anything at this point. Well, except letting him sleep outside of his room.

The thing is, I know that if we start doing stuff now like letting him sleep with us, he will continue for a very long time. I personally can't handle the mere thought of having kids in my bed. That is MY BED. I need some space. I have to draw a line somewhere. For approximately 18 hours a day, I have a child attached to me or crying for me. I NEED TIME AWAY FROM THEM.

And so, I decided to try "monster spray." If he can't be convinced that they aren't real, maybe I can convince him that I "sprayed" them away.

Am I enabling his fears?

Probably.

I can't think clearly anymore at this point. I am simply tired of feeling like a terrible mother who abandons her son in his super-scary (his words, not mine) room every night and makes him stay in there. No nightlight, flashlight, lamp or stuffed animal is making it any better. 

Let's see what a defaced bottle of Febreze will do. And, if this doesn't work ... I always have this book to fall back on.

Now that, my friends, is funny.

Open Letter.

Dear Facebook,

Please stop suggesting that I "friend" my stupid ex-boyfriend from high school.

I would rather poke my eyes out.

Thank you,
Harmony

Fa La La La La.

www.target.com

I bought this yesterday. $20 worth of Christmas cheer, in wreath form.

Now I am counting down the days until it's acceptable to hang it on the front door.

IAMSOEXCITED.

Oh No.

I was feeling not great, but not horrible about my postpartum figure ... until yesterday. That's when two things happened:

1. I managed to button and zip up my size 12 Gap jeans.

2. I saw myself from behind and it scared the daylights out of me.

You see, last weekend we took ONE to a birthday party. Here he is, holding some stranger kids at swordpoint. I cropped them out, since I don't know them or their parents, and they might not appreciate being posted on the internet. And I have to say, I'm quite proud of myself for being so mannerly.

One of the other moms took pictures at the event, posted them on Facebook, and tagged me. Which was awesome, since I didn't take pictures at all. I excitedly clicked through them. 

Then I saw this one.

It took me a minute to realize the chunky chick standing behind my son was me. GOOD GRIEF.

Happy Friday!

A friend just texted me this and I nearly choked on an animal cracker.

Afraid of the Dark.

ONE is afraid of the dark. I just spent the past hour trying to convince him that ghosts and monsters aren't real, and they certainly are not in our house. Thanks a lot, Halloween.

So now that I'm in the market for a super-sized nightlight, I thought I would share a few that I will NOT be purchasing. 

Ever.

www.landofnod.com

Really, Land of Nod? Do you really think this owl is going to make kids feel safe? It's creepy.

www.landofnod.com

And this one, from the same company. Would you like to know what it's called? The "Gnome Alone Nightlight," that's what. 

No thank you.

And finally, I leave you with this: the headless hockey player. I can just imagine my kid staring at that while he's trying to go to sleep.

www.lampsplus.com

Trapped.

You haven't lived until you get locked in an upstairs bedroom with a 2-month-old and a three-year-old. No phone, no way out. No food for the baby, no diapers, and of course, no ladder.

I was in the middle of giving baths. I was barefoot and scantily clad, having been inside the house all day. We were in ONE's bedroom, and he was removing his clothes. I turned my back to lay the baby down on the bed for a moment while I helped ONE get undressed, when the unthinkable happened. 

ONE locked the door and shut it. 

I locked the door, Mommy, he said.

You see ... we turned his doorknob around several weeks ago because he kept locking us out of his room. Every time it happened I got so mad that I had trouble unlocking it with the little key that we have above his door. It basically sent me over the edge with rage on a regular basis. I finally asked Husband to turn the knob around so I didn't have to deal with that drama anymore. So he did. 

Now I was trapped with two kids and had no idea what to do. 

It was 6 p.m. Husband wasn't due home until 9. I had an hour until the baby got hungry, and I had nothing to pick the lock with. Not a wire hanger in sight. No tools, nothing. The door was locked tight. And so, I did what made the most sense at the time, and which horrified my mother when I told her the story later.

I removed the screen on the window, left my kids in the bedroom, forbade ONE to move from his spot and hissed at him don't you dare touch your brother in the scariest mommy voice I could muster.

I climbed out onto the roof, barefoot, and crept to the neighbor's roof next door. I pounded on their upstairs windows and yelled for help. When no one answered, I proceeded to do the same thing to the next three houses on our row. It quickly became apparent that either no one was home, or they were freaked out and ignoring me. (I KNOW SOMEONE HAD TO HAVE HEARD ME. I AM STILL VERY BITTER ABOUT THIS.) 

With that option out, I considered my alternatives:

1. I could break the window to the baby's room, and gain access to the house from there. However, I was barefoot and really didn't want to get cut to pieces. There was also the issue of WHAT to break the window with ... I considered using a music box that I found in the top of ONE's closet.

2. I could attempt a death leap to the backyard, or swing down from the roof, but that would rip off our gutter. However, I was worried what would happen if I fell wrong and broke something ... which was likely.

3. My final option was to break down the door. With what, I was unsure. I concluded the only thing I could beat it down with was a dresser drawer. I was not thrilled about this.

I mulled it all over. I thought about what would cost more to repair. What would cause me more bodily harm. Looked at the clock and saw 30 minutes had already ticked by. ONE's eyes were like saucers. No one is coming, he whispered.

Nope. No one.

All I can say about this ridiculous situation I found myself in is, prayer works. I struggled with the doorknob endlessly before praying aloud for the door to open and ... it did. This is my testimony. I honestly CANNOT operate in my current role as mother to two boys without His help. 

As you may have already deduced, I am no church mouse holy roller. I drink. I don't church often. I enjoy the occasional swear word. I forget to pray before I eat. I am seriously, honestly, imperfect. However, when I call on Him, he answers. My mother says all the time that God has a special affinity for mothers and children. I believe she is right.

It has been quite a week.

Things I Would Rather Not Do.

Remember when ONE smeared poo all over his room?

I am finally getting around to ironing the curtain panels that I washed. And I guess I'll rehang them.

If he does anything like this again ... I'm not sure what I might do.

Open Letter.

To My 33 Followers (and whoever else reads this blog),

I am now a member of the BlogHer Publishing Network! This means I'm trying to make a little money. It's not that I'm greedy. It's just that we have two kids in diapers, one kid who requires hypoallergenic formula, and I like to enjoy a Starbucks beverage at least once per week.

Would you please click on the ad to the right? Thank you. And thank you for reading my blog. Oversharing via the internet is much cheaper than therapy. 

XOXO,
Harmony