You have some questions right now.  Yes, The Baby has a butter knife in his right hand.  Yes, that is a quart of motor oil to his right.  The food getting spit out of his mouth?  The pizza from yesterday that he found somewhere that he was properly advised NOT TO EAT because it is a day old and would taste like crap.  Which apparently was not believed.

I then went downstairs to upload the pizza debacle.  When I came back up stairs, I found this.

Technically it is the dining room table but it is still in the living room from New Year’s Eve.  Yes, that happens to be a 5-gallon bucket of deck stain on the dining room table.  It has to warm up to actually be put on the deck because you can’t put deck stain on a deck in weather under 40 degrees.  It was colder than 40 degrees where the stain was in the garage.  Grant it, it’s colder than 40 degrees on the deck.  Hey, I’m not the mathematician in the family but 2 plus 2 is looking a lot like 5 right now.

The stickers on the reading glasses?  So Dad knows which ones are the correct ones.  Not to be confused with just trying them out at the store to see which ones are best.  Let’s just buy 4 pairs and play the “I CAN’T READ” game every single time a pair goes on.  Or at least 75% of the time. The crumbly mass The Baby is sitting upon?  Hot crushed red pepper.  He was actually sneezing.  Pink earphones?  In a package when I saw them last.

The Republican haircuts?  I know the craze is to make your child look unwashed by letting their hair grow long and unruly.  We like to use clothing as a conversation piece about whether these children ever get bathed.  And when someone has vomited in the barber shop just a couple of days before, they do their best to make sure you aren’t coming back any time soon.

There are an incredible amount of hand prints on that mirror, right?  Those prints are from a year ago.  My husband keeps his stash of his beloved Windex well-hidden.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I can barely keep the fam in clean underwear and socks.  Clean a mirror?  Surely you jest.

Nasty feet with unclipped toenails?  Check!  On the table?  Check!  Not just on the table but the nicest table cloth.  Interestingly enough, no one even hedged or looked apologetic when I busted them.

It’s not even 10:30 yet.

Jess is very concerned about what we intend to call The Baby when we have the newer, more important Baby.  It’s clear The Boy is a disappointment.  We may as well get a jump on moving beyond the middle child and focusing on the child that is most important, Baby #3.  If you have an opinion (as I know you do), let me know in the comments what you think the name should be for The Baby and for this little rug rat that is determined to come out via my belly button.

We should have built an ark.  We should have built an ark.  Have I mentioned that we should have built an ark?  Or at least a boat? Wait, we have that boat.  But I think it leaks.  The Husband swears it doesn’t.

With temperatures hovering at 34 degrees, it won’t stop raining.  As I speak, the children are mesmorized by Steve Songs singing that “Rain is falling down, falling down, falling down” song and frankly, as much as I love Mr. Steve, I want to throw a boot at the television.   I can tolerate that 50% of the country had a white Christmas while we did not, but the rain has got to stop.  The only way daily rain is tolerable is if it was 80, I was illicitly lying on a beach chair at an all-inclusive in Aruba and I was carefully calculating the number of SECONDS it would take for that tiny rain cloud to pass over my body and move on as the sun shone brightly.  Kinda like those water spritzers they have at the pools in Vegas.  But all natural.  On the perfect day it would be exactly 120 seconds.  Just enough time to rinse the salt water off your body but not long enough to get your towel too wet.

Don’t ask how I know these complicated equations.  I just do.

I don’t know how you people in the Pacific Northwest do it.  Oh, that’s right.  You have SNOW now.  Are we getting your rain?

The roof is leaking.  At least it’s in the bathroom.  On the bright side, you are already wet from your shower.  And my basement full of thousands of shirts?  Dry as a bone.  See, it’s not all doom and gloom over here.  Except that part where The Boy threw up the second we walked into the barber shop last night.  He had complained about wanting to throw up but I thought he was just faking.  What a horrible mother.  We were out to dinner and his father said, “give him that cup in case he wants to throw up” and I was all, “if I give him my sprite cup then I can’t refill it.”

Thirty minutes later I was cleaning up puke at the barber’s.  That’ll teach me.  I also was carrying a plastic bag for him to throw up in but in good pregnancy form, held it in my hand as he vomited 4 times.  You think the thought would have crossed my mind to open it up and, I don’t know, stick it under his mouth?  Nah.  The barbers thanked me profusely for cleaning up because apparently the last horrible mother who didn’t believe her child was going to throw up was in such denial that she didn’t believe he threw up even as they walked through it to the door.

It felt slightly like watching a dog throw up.  You stare oddly at the vomit, wondering where all that stuff came from because none of it looks remotely like Kibble.  This time it was the shell pasta that threw me off.  We haven’t had pasta in a week.  I’m pretty sure we don’t have any leftovers in the fridge.  Who knows?  He was asleep at 7 and woke up looking fresh and frisky this morning.  We’ll see what happens.

I had to get up at 11:40 last night because I forgot my credit card bill was due.  In this economy, I could have awakened today to a 78% interest rate and a $200 late fee.  Too bad we couldn’t have just gotten that American Express bailout directly attributed to my card.  That would have been nice.  Bastards.

I really don’t have anything else for you.  Sorry.

Head on over to PBS Supersisters to find out the latest contenders.  And since I’m getting paid by the comment, feel free to leave one.  Or don’t.  It’s only the mortgage.

as they are joined in holy matrimony.

The only things missing: white veil, Pachebel’s Canon, and… that’s right. A pesky divorce decree from the Commonwealth, releasing me from the binds of my current marriage (and I guess one for him too). As Sarah has been getting more points in our fantasy football league this weekend then the entire 11 other people put together, I was tempted to feel depressed. Then I hopped over to her blog to see her wedding picture with Tiki, and I noticed SHE DOESN’T HAVE ONE. Did she put her arm around Tiki Barber and hold on for dear life at the National Book Festival while sporting a press pass (thank you, PBS!!)? Um, no. So you can keep your damn 142 fantasy football points, SARAH, and I’ll have to settle for a loss and Tiki Barber as a spouse. Tiki Barber, author-extraordinaire.

I think I’ll be just fine.

I’m not deaf.  I’m ignoring you.

Just kidding.  Actually there is absolutely no internet in all of Idaho.  OK, the rumor on the street is that there is dial up but I would rather lie down and die of an internet-void-induced-coma than dial up.  God bless the nice people here at Java on Sherman for the free wifi.  I would move in here but my husband would be against it.

On a lighter note, PBS Supersisters launched.  Go over there and leave a comment.  Because it could not be more rocking over there.  It’s PBS, People.  Can you believe it?  I’m freaking out.  I feel like I was pregnant and have given birth.  Except I was pregnant for 17 months.  Which would make PBS Supersisters just shy of an elephant pregnancy.  But it is the CUTEST baby elephant you have ever seen.

I miss you all terribly.

Last night we had the party at Ruby Something. I can’t remember but isn’t Ruby Tuesdays so we were good.

Hi, my name is Kristen and I am OLD.

The party was in this club. A club. Did I mention I was in a club? I think the last time I was in a club was when I lived on a Caribbean island and I drank more Heineken than any one person should ever consume. The music started to pump and I’ll be honest, I thought my ear drums were going to burst. I walked by Chris and said, “Hey.” She yelled back, “WHAT???????” Just like that. Her voice carries well. I had an entire conversation with Elaine before we realized that we were having two very separate conversations. Kinda like someone is talking about dinner plans and the other person is pouring their heart out about today being the anniversary of the death of their childhood pet.

Do you know those episodes in CSI when the music is pumping and there are 40 eighteen year old girls gyrating on the dance floor and then they flash to someone getting stabbed in the bathroom but you can’t hear them scream because all you can hear is the “BUMBUMBUM” from the bass? Then they flash back to the dance floor? Then the stabbing? Then the dance floor? And two people are trying to talk at the bar and they have to resort to sign language to have a conversation? It was CSI. I did NOT go to the bathroom.

Then I went to Maggie’s party with Lindsay where we sat on a couch because I was tired because it was already 10:00 p.m. until Krystyn made us dance. Excessively. Like prom. The only thing missing was Def Leppard. Maggie is brilliant. All the food was orange. Parties will come and go but years from now we will say, and remember that time we went to Maggie Mason’s party and all the food was orange? I mean it was really fun, but there was even candy corn. Which is a food violation as you are only allowed to eat candy corn between October 1 and the 31st. Maybe on November 1, but probably not. Seriously.

I was the person whose hands looked like this. Covered in PBS Supersisters swag. Each color is a different super power (the brilliantly creative idea of Supersisters Patience). According to Zug’s picture, I apparently I have ALL the superpowers.

But the big news is, lots of new stuff went up on Baby Brewing last night, thanks to the amazing Heather Sanders.

This shirt is timely. It’s timely because I called my house this morning and my husband is having a nervous breakdown. He said those words I have been longing to hear.

“I bought you a brand new car and got the air conditioner in the house fixed.’

No, wait. That’s my fantasy. He did one even better.

“You were right.”

crickets...

“This job is ALL THE TIME.”

Bless his heart. And I mean that in the nice Southern way. Apparently there was this incident involving biting and furniture and a rumble and my husband remembers, yet again, why this shirt means so much to me….

Don’t forget we are having a big sale at babybrewing.com. Just use the code blogher08 to get 25% off your entire order. If you are around Blogher today, I’ll be at the swap meet selling my wears for INSANELY reduced prices. Then I’ll be speaking at the There’s More to Monetization than Advertising panel with several other amazing women, where I’ll be talking about ALL OF YOU AND HOW YOU TURNED THIS BUSINESS INTO A COMMUNITY. I’ll be recycling my purple club dress from last night because it was so fantastic, it must be worn again. And that necklace, Miss America/Cake Lady? I had two fashion editors compliment me on it. I have officially arrived.