Are My Ears Bleeding Yet?

It's nearly 8.30 pm and bedtime is clearly out of the picture. The Little Guy is running circles around me. Literally. He runs to and from the kitchen with his stuffed blue snake with missing eyes, dragging on the floor. I can tell Yaya Eva is trying to get him to shush but it's not working. His shrill screams are piercing my ears. My body actually stiffens with every shriek. I wonder if I can lure him to sit by me by offering to make hot chocolate (last night's late night activity). Then I think twice. I don't care to add to the evening's sugar high. This only makes me think of the pop tart I am about to finish. This is just one of those days where everybody annoys me and my to-do-list has gone out the window. Oh yeah, I feel like a sausage wearing workout clothes.

Camping In

9.45 pm. The Little Guy has set camp in my bedroom. Next to my side of the bed to be exact. From inside his tent (an Ikea buy from four years ago), I can hear him. I'm not sure who's keeping him company. Could be the Transformer gang (some of them are on my bed) or maybe it's the 'Action Figure' crew. Could be the Playmobil posse too. Wonder how long this camping thing will last?

Age Is Relative When Youre Seven...And Swine Flu

While the Little Guy was getting ready for his bath he asked me if M was really 50 years old. "Yup. He really is," I said. "I guess he'll be dead soon." he says as he tosses his clothes into the hamper. I'm actually taken aback by his nonchalance. It's the same tone he uses when telling me he's going to get a glass of water. Or going to the toilet. I am superstitious so this doesn't sit well with me. "What do you mean he's going to be dead soon?" "Well he's fifty. That's really old. If a heart attack doesn't get him a stroke will." He pauses for a minute, then adds, "And of course, there's swine flu."

Sundae Love

Yesterday I bought all the makings for ice cream sundaes. This weekend we've been busy warming fudge, chopping cashews, making chocolate curls (from the giant Milka bar), and spraying whipped cream.



Life is sweet.

Just Call Ms. Muscle

I've had to buy larger sized jeans just to accomodate my hips.
If exercising three to four times a week isn't cutting it, it must seriously be
a diet thing. (Damn that cookie I ate this morning and the one I am longing to eat right now!) M. casually asks if I've gained muscle. Uh...Have you ever heard of anyone gaining muscles on their hips???

Goodbye Tooth No. 4

I came home to find a note informing me that the Little Guy lost tooth number 4 while eating an apple. Apprarently, after it fell out, the Little Guy put his hands together, closed his eyes, and said "Please let me get one thousand. Please let me get one thousand.....oh, wait. Just make that three."

So it seems, my earlier lecture (sort of) worked. The Little Guy has decided to appeal to a higher power.

The Barber Is A Trekkie

I've learned that there's a fine line between a little boy's haircut (aka. the 'bowl' haircut) and the Mr. Spock 'do.