Dear Blog Readers,
I bet you think I don't love you anymore, don't you? Or that my fingers have fallen off. Or that I no longer speak in full sentences. Or that we got our cable back and I haven't been able to turn away from the TV long enough to feed my children let alone write on my blog.
None of the above.
Don't ask me "busy with what?" because I won't be able to tell you. I have no idea where my time goes but I'm thinking it must be the same place where socks go from the dryer. And where calories go when you break a cookie in half.
I will say this about my time: yesterday I spent too many hours cleaning my 3 bathrooms. 3 bathrooms in which I allow, I mean allowed, to let Samuel pee in. 3 year olds with a penis should not be allowed to pee inside. In fact, I don't even know if they should be given any type of liquid that will transform into pee. Perhaps only solids and then if they still have to pee it can only be done outside. What is it about a 3 year old penis that is so hard to control? You hold it, aim, and pee. That easy. Apparently not. Apparently a 3 year old penis is much like a fire hose turned on full blast and it gets a mind of its own and there is just no use even trying to tame it because it is going to put out that fire and any fire within a 3 mile radius.
And the whole time I was cleaning bathrooms I was thinking I should stop cleaning and go blog about cleaning but then I realized if I did that my blog wouldn't so much be for you to read but for me to get out of cleaning bathrooms. So I finished cleaning them and I'm blogging today while the kids nap. And trust me, there are other more productive things I could be doing like putting laundry away but I was afraid you were beginning to think I didn't love you anymore. Or that my fingers had fallen off.
One more thing on laundry. You know I pile laundry up on my couch, right? If not, read this. So the other night I went and bought 2 laundry baskets with the intent of folding the laundry and putting it right in the basket(s) and then bringing them upstairs to put away. Genius plan. Well when Jeff got home there were towels folded on the couch and he commented (in a sweet way, not a patriarchal way) "what about the laundry baskets" and I had to tell him they were both full and sitting at the base of the stairs. Sweet heavens. If you are not rolling your eyes right now you should be. I am rolling mine. I cannot imagine living with me. I really cannot. That man is a saint.
And yes, the laundry is still in the baskets AND on the couch because I had important things to do today like shop for a shirt for Samuel and have lunch with Maryanne. And let you know I still love you and my fingers haven't fallen off. Man I am good to you. What sacrifices I make.