My toddler grew overnight. Srsly, he climbed into bed with me this morning and he was bigger, and definitely speaking more clearly. I need another baby, now.
You'd think I wouldn't be able to say a lot about soup (but you'd be wrong.) Last night I came home from work late feeling clammy and sickish, so I stood at the bottom of the stairs and told my husband that I was going to go straight to bed. He looked at me and said, "You haven't eaten. You need to eat first." He knows me too damn well. I agreed to a bowl of soup, mostly because I figured soup would be better than a Lean Pocket if I tossed my cookies. That guy heated up my favorite soup (Campbell's Italian Wedding) which I love for more reasons than the fact that it has the word "Italian" in it. It has spinach and little meatballs and teeny pasta thingies and I didn't even hurl-points for me! My littlest guy LOVES soup, which is a surprise because his siblings won't touch it-mostly because it's easy to make and has more than one discernable ingredient, I think.
I'm a sucky mom. I feel like hell, and kept my daughter home from school today because a) she said that her bruised arm hurts b) I was too sick to roll out of bed on time and c) I really like her and miss her when she's gone.
Whoever invented, manufactured, marketed, distributed and sold these farking Sesame Street K-nex needs to rot forever in a pit full of hellfire and damnation. My son is completely obsessed with the damn things, and screams like a mental case every time his creation falls to pieces, which is like, every 1.6 minutes. Kill me now.
Spring Hill and Breck's sent me their gardening catalogs, which is terrible because I promised myself last fall that I was only going to buy three plants this spring: this one and this one and this one. Breck's is offering 3 free Switzerland Begonias in a wooden wheelbarrow with ANY PURCHASE! Bastards. Speaking of wooden wheelbarrows, these are NEVER okay. Along with artfully arranged old rusty farming machinery and wagon wheels leaning against boulders, that shit just needs to go. Ditto for half barrels "spilling" petunias. If your landscape sports any of these things do not pass go, do not collect a hundred dollars, just get outside and burn that shit! You'll thank me later. You're welcome.
My daughter wants to type her story and my son wants to play Spore. Clearly, this supercedes my right to blog (to hear them tell it, anyway-lol!) For more randomness, visit my coolin' pal Keely at The Unmom!