the sound of siblings

Me: Hey guys, I'm just going to use the bathroom for a minute, so if you could be nice to each other, that would be great.

Big Sister: Eeeewwww! Gross! The baby pooped! Mooooommmmm!!! You need to change his diaper!!!

Magic Baby: Her put on puppet! Moooommmmmyyyy! Her put on puppet!! Mommy! MOMMY!!!!

BS: No, Magic Baby, the puppet doesn't like you. You won't go on the potty.

MB: No!!! No potty!! NO POTTY!!!!

Me: No kidding.


How I love summer.

haiku

Magic Baby is currently obsessed with the song Baby Beluga by Raffi. We read the book all day, we listen to the cd in the car, and we even listen to it while he sleeps. Just. That. Song. To impress upon you exactly how that makes me feel, I composed a haiku (at 2 a.m., while listening to the song for the bah-zillionth time that day) which I would like to share.

Ahab Was Right

One song, repeated

Through the monitor all night.

I must spear that whale.

sorry, wrong number

Apparently someone posted a request for a housecleaning service on some website and (inadvertently?) gave our home number instead of theirs. What this means is that I've been getting really tempting calls from housekeepers all morning. Then I started wondering: You don't think someone I know put my number out there as a hint, do you? 'Cause I know my house has been (far) less than immaculate lately (okay, always), but there's no way I can afford a housekeeper. Not that I haven't been fantasizing all day about all the cleaning I'd have him do (to avoid being sexist, I've decided my dream housekeeper is a guy... who happens to look like Johnny Depp), but honestly I'm too pregnant, busy, tired and yes, lazy to spend any more time on housework than I already do. And do you know why? Because the dern house is just going to get dirty again anyway.

And there you have my housekeeping philosophy, folks. Feel free to adopt it as your own.