Hey guys. How’s it going?
Oh, you want to see something I’ve made? Well, I’ve got to tell you, other than the endless amounts of noodles and peanut butter sandwiches, there hasn’t been too much lately. And if I have made something, I’ve forgotten to take a picture of it (kind of like the homemade pizza dough I just put together for dinner tonight. It’s rising now.) Yes, I am awesome at this whole blogging thing. It’s a wonder I’m not turning down ridiculously entitled endorsement offers.
So. I’ve got most of a sock finished. But in my defense it is a pretty big sock as it’s supposed to go all the way up to the recipient’s knee. She probably won’t see a completed set until May sometime, but since the weather has been so nice in January and February this year, I figure we’re going to have an abnormal cold spell in the summer so these should be done right on time.
|Most of a pink sock.|
I don’t care what anyone tells you, May is the perfect time for wool knee socks.
So instead of talking more about all the things I haven’t done, let’s talk about my children. And poop. (Yes, again.)
I think that I did something wrong in a past life where I was doomed or cursed to spend all of my days cleaning the poop of children or animals or I guess ANYTHING ELSE THAT DECIDES TO SHIT IN MY YARD.
Yes. Yard. Well, more specifically THE GODDAMN DRIVEWAY.
Sebastian was playing outside by himself and I guess since he has peed outside he figured that it was totally acceptable for him to poop out there. He came inside with his pants down around his ankles and poop on his rubber boots and all over the back of his jeans and legs. And guess who had to take the Trail of Turds* to find out where it ended? And so I did. And it was right in plain view of anyone who decided to drive by my house at that particular time, so there’s no telling how many people SAW MY CHILD DROP A DEUCE IN THE DRIVEWAY.
And when I tried to reinforce the fact that we poop inside IN THE POTTY, and asked him AGAIN where we poop do you know what he said? 'We poop OUTSIDE!' I may not be raising a genius, you guys.
I mean, honestly. When are other people’s feces not going to be my problem anymore? Don’t answer that, because at some point I do want a third child and it will probably depress me to think about the long, hard, shit-filled years ahead of me.
I’m totally telling this story to his girlfriend on prom night. And at his wedding. And probably the first time he complains to me about changing his kids’ diapers.
|A better day that didn't include pooping outside.|
*I apologize for this. I couldn’t help it.