Is it really taking a name in vain to exclaim, disbelieving, in response to a difficult situation? Don't answer that. I already know.
Truly, when I say, "Christ on a crutch!" I am asking for help just as surely as I cried for my mother during childbirth. Today the kids and I painted, finally dragging out the easel and paintbox after a week of artistic sloth and my living room may never be the same again. Yes, I did sit down right at the top of the stairs with the toddler to paint while his siblings chose their colors and spread out across the room. But Walky has red paint in his hair and down his cheek, and after I took his diaper off (don't ask) he somehow SAT in the paint (think "butt-rainbow") after which of course he stepped in green paint. He picked up his empty red cup and I could see the wheels turning in his head as he looked down at his penis, then back at the cup. Yep, cup on the penis! Wow. Two points for making the toss to the sink.
Then he stepped on his sister's artwork.
Then his sister slid the box of baby-wipes onto her paint palette. Then she slid the box across my carpet. Blue carpet. That's hot.
Walker now has his finger buried to the hilt in his nose. Dear Jesus, Zeus, Allah, Mother, ANYONE...send me patience, and please ignore all the swearing.