Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Apparently other children sleep in beds...

As I was reading (and reading and reading) blogs last night, one or two mentioned something or other about children sleeping in beds. My first thought was how odd that notion seemed, but then I remembered that most kids probably do sleep in beds and not on the floor in the hallway. Our sleeping arrangement is the one that's outside the realm of normal, not the bed-sleeping one. I don't really understand why M and J made this switch, but since they actually sleep quite well most of the time, I don't fight it. It's just not a worthy battle for me to engage in. They can be kind of cute out there, too, sprawled across the entire space one night and cuddled together on the same pillow against the wall another...it definitely makes me smile often enough;>

Perhaps there's some genetic pre-disposition to sleeping on the floor because I know I did that for a number of years during high school. I had stopped sleeping in my bed and begun sleeping on the living room couch, which had a sleeper-bed that I didn't use. My mom bought a new couch and allowed me to get rid of my bed altogether and just put the old couch in my room. My bedroom looked like a second living room that had been decorated by a teenage girl. At some point soon after I just started spreading a blanket on the floor with a pillow and another blanket to cover me, and slept like that; the floor was much roomier than the couch. The only reason I stopped sleeping on the floor was because IFKAMH wouldn't conform to my ways and insisted that people sleep in beds. Turns out most guys believe that. Too bad...imagine the space I'd have in my bedroom without a bulky bed dominating it. I could just fold up the blankets and have a little stack of pillows against the wall and have all that glorious floor space! Alas, I guess it is just not meant to be that way.

I need to read faster...

Since I started trying to catch up on blog reading last week, I've maintained 100+ unread posts in my Google Reader (which, by the way, is the bestest feed reader ever...although maybe not great for commenting when you're already a lazy commenter like me). It just doesn't seem like I'll ever get them below the 100+ mark. So, if y'all don't mind too much, stop posting for a couple days until I can actually tell how many unread posts I have without having to add. Math and reading don't mix well, especially when you throw in having to scroll to complete the math portion. Yeah, I'm just kidding, please post away; I'll catch up eventually;>

Monday, January 29, 2007

Did you know?

That last paragraph from the wedding post made me realize that not dreaming of getting married in a fairytale wedding from the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper goes against the stereotype of a girly-girl and might be construed by some to be odd, and since I've seen this done on quite a few of the blogs I read and was enlightened and entertained, I figured I'd just join in with posting five lesser known facts about me...

1. Eyes
I don't touch my eyeballs. I simply can't place my fingers on my actual eye. If my sight ever needs to be externally corrected, I will be forced to wear glasses, and I can assure you that I will seek surgery for it as soon as possible because I don't want to keep up with a pair of glasses.

2. Hairy Faces
Men with facial hair generally give me a feeling of distrust. My dad had facial hair for a lot of the time he was in my life, sometimes just a moustache and sometimes a full beard. Because of the type of person he was, hair on a man's face makes me feel as though he's hiding something. Quite frankly, it repulses me. I have yet to see one man that didn't improve his appearance 10 times over after removing his facial hair. One of the now long list of things I could never understand about IFKAMH is how he could purposely grow hair on his face knowing the reaction it would produce from me because he knew why it produced that reaction. He knew about the things my dad did to me and knew that facial hair reminded me of him and therefore revolted me but didn't care, claiming it was a "man thing". Seems to me that wanting your wife to be attracted to you would be more of a "man thing", but what do I know?

3. Bling
I'm quite particular about jewelry. I have no desire to have the biggest rock of the bunch; once a center stone exceeds a carat and a half, my nose crinkles, my eyes narrow, and my eyebrows go up a notch, conveying a message of shock at the gaudiness. I love long, dangly earrings, but if they're just studs, I want them to be a much more modest size. I also have a severe aversion to round-cut stones and am usually drawn to the other end of the spectrum completely with emerald cuts. I don't like round in rings or earrings or bracelets or necklaces, yet I have been able to accept them in a pave setting, as is evidenced by the fact that my watch has several round stones (crystal, cz...I haven't a clue) set that way, and I love my watch. Watches are a pain for me to pick out as well because I need it to have all 12 numbers, not just dots in their place, and would love it even more if it had dots in between for all the minutes. But, I don't like big watch faces, either, so it's a lot to ask of a watch to incorporate all those details in something small to medium sized. I did have to sacrifice the minute-dots for my current watch.

4. Lighting
If the light isn't from a natural source, then I'd prefer to do without or with very minimal lighting instead, and I'd opt to have the minimal lighting be from a "like sunlight" bulb just to further minimize the artificialness. Another reason to dislike my apartment is that sunlight is unable to penetrate the windows in any significant amount, which forces me to use artificial lighting at all times. One of the best things about my house in FL was the amount of sunlight that we got through the windows at the back of it, which was where the main living spaces were. I never had to turn on a light during the day. NS seems to think our bedroom is a little too dim and put a super watt (150 or so) bulb in the lamp on his side of the bed. As if the universe wanted to confirm my love for barely-useful lighting in non-daylight hours as being perfectly acceptable, that bulb melted the back of his wireless keyboard. My general rule with lightbulbs is nothing over 40 watts and no more than 3 of those in a room. I have three lamps in use in my office, not including the light in the fish tank, and it's been called a cave. I simply find that it's not too harsh for my sensitive, owl-like eyes; it will be too ironic when this eventually leads to the deterioration of my sight as I'm told, again and again, it will;>

5. Free Shipping
Promotions for free shipping almost always capture me. I am the perfect sucker, um, I mean target, for the "spend just $30 more to get free shipping" option, especially if it is for clothing, purses, shoes, or lingerie (oh, goodness...I cannot buy lingerie in moderation). Even as I'm shopping I know that it doesn't make sense to spend $30 more to save $5-15 on shipping charges, but I still somehow manage to justify the extra items. It seems wrong (in my shopper's mind, at least) to not take advantage of a limited offer for free shipping while it's available.

Now, if those tidbits don't answer everything you've ever wondered about me, then feel free to post a question in a comment;>

Friday, January 26, 2007

Weddings schmeddings...

I've been surrounded by the topic of weddings for months now, starting with a co-worker planning her wedding for this June, then another co-worker's daughter getting engaged last month and wanting a June wedding, and now my dearest friend, GA girl, getting engaged over Christmas and stressing over how the hell she wants to get married. She called me earlier this week about that, wondering how much my full-fledged wedding cost and whether I'd do it all over again.

I didn't pay for my wedding, so I didn't know how much the real total was, but I was fairly certain I recall it being in the $10-15,000 range. That was an outdoor wedding in a gazebo with fewer than 100 guests, buffet-style reception held at a military officer's club (open bar only for the 5-person wedding party, although three-fifths of us were technically underage), modest flower arrangements with limited roses (just not my favorite flower), a dj, a photographer, a limo, two maids of honor and one best man (two plane tickets and one dress bought), me wearing a $700 dress. Nothing huge or elaborate but still very nice and in reality, quite costly for an afternoon's worth of events. The part about whether I'd do it all again was a little tougher to figure out, though.

I know I wouldn't want that now, decision being left solely to me, but would I have given it all up back then, knowing what I know now? Two of my other co-workers have been previously married. Both have less-than-zero desire for the hoopla again. While my wedding day was beautiful and unexpectedly almost perfect, it was just a whirlwind that is now a bunch of blurry memories with only pictures to help preserve them, so I tend to feel like it isn't worth the money or the painstaking planning, even though I don't actually have regrets about having done it that way. Does the fact that I'm no longer married to that man influence those feelings? I'm not sure, but it might. Since getting married was definitely, without a doubt not a once-in-a-lifetime thing afterall, how could I possibly believe the expense and the year of organizing and arranging was worth it? Well, I observe what my co-worker is going through with her own wedding planning, and I never had to do most of the stuff she's doing. My mom was my wedding planner and did a fantastic job at it; I only had to go to my dress fittings and fly up a couple times to approve the location and pick out flowers. Hearing about the stress this woman's been suffering with for the past six months and the upcoming, even more stressful five months she's looking forward to, I could easily say that it's better to do the simplest of ceremonies, still getting professional pictures taken in the fancy garments, and spend the money on a remarkable honeymoon, which should still allow you to save thousands, rather than the full-fledged wedding. If family and friends insist on celebrating, then a reception party could still be done, but that's still got stress involved with hiring music and catering and finding a location and picking a date and time that works for most people. I might say I'd prefer those that truly wish to celebrate the joyous occasion with the couple take them out to dinner instead of feeling slighted for not having been invited to a family union/reunion extravaganza.

While I doubt anyone that has the big blowout wedding day will ever really regret having done it, I don't necessarily believe it will be a regret not to, either, so I'm sticking with my advice to have the no-frills ceremony, to have the pictures done, and then to spend only a portion of the money that would have been spent to have the honeymoon of her dreams.

It may be worth mentioning that I wasn't a little girl that dreamed of her wedding day all her life. Before I met IFKAMH, I never even wanted to get married and probably would have sworn that I never would unless I was 60+ and looking for a stable male companion. I had thought for years that I would be a single mom, having a baby when I wanted one, not feeling it necessary to settle on a Mr. Right before doing so. Women that were the little girls that have known what kind of wedding they wanted from the time they were 4 might think I'm crazy for believing that missing out on the total wedding experience wouldn't lead to any regret, but having a wedding was never on my list of lifelong dreams to achieve, so maybe that makes it seem more sensible.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

I'm really not doing this to criticize...

I'm a decent speller but far from perfect. I look things up all the time when I'm not sure how to spell them or if it's really the proper usage of a word. It's all part of being a bit of a perfectionist. I do not, however, fault others for not being like this...not usually.

The other day I was reading MSNBC's Red Tape Chronicles and eventually started realizing how I was taking those comments that were muddled with rampant misspellings and word misuse much less seriously than those that were not. I found it consuming more and more time to confer true meanings rather than just being able to read what was written and understand.

My least favorite words to read right now, only because I can't remember the last time I read either of them used properly? Quiet and quite. I actually checked "quiet" in the dictionary before writing this post to make sure I hadn't gone crazy and wasn't just wrong because every. single. time. I've seen the word used lately, it should have been "quite". And, the same applies for using "quite" instead of "quiet"; as a matter of fact, that's probably what I've encountered more often. Because the letters are all the same and only the last two differ in order, I realize that these could easily be typos rather than people not knowing what word they're using, but the amount of times I've seen these recently (easily more than a handful of times in the past month) combined with the fact that I haven't seen their proper usage even once recently seriously made me wonder if my memory was failing and if I was going to have to retrain my brain to not interpret these words incorrectly, and it had begun to irritate me to no end. Does no one else reread what they write three times after hitting publish and feel compelled to edit and correct? I know that is likely to be very rare, and I honestly don't know why I'm so obsessive over such trivial things such as spelling because I am certainly not prone to obsessive tendencies in other aspects of life that are more consequential, like being punctual;>

So, in order to get this out of my head, I must pass on the following:

Quiet: 1. marked by little or no motion or activity (a quiet sea) 2. not interfered with (quiet reading) 3. free from noise or uproar (quiet time)

Quite: 1. wholly, completely (not quite finished) 2. to an extreme (quite sure) 3. to a considerable extent (quite near)

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

I didn't fall off a mountain or get trapped in snow...

At least I didn't do either of those things to result in my demise, because I did, in fact, do both.

The reason for my lack of updating post-vacation is that the day after we got back, I fell into a near-coma, attempting to prevent a severe case of bronchitis from becoming pneumonia. I'm still far from feeling fabulous, but at least I've gotten out of bed the past couple of days and come to work, although that seems to be taking its toll now, too.

Whistler trip was great. I've never seen that much snow ever. Unfortunately, my camera has yet to be found since we got home and may very well have been claimed by an airline employee of fellow traveler, so there are no pictures to share of the beautiful white mountains or M and J in their snowsuits.

Since we arrived late Saturday evening, we did nothing more than unload cars and chat that night. Sunday, we (NS, his sister, his sister's friend, me) took our time getting out of the house and to the mountain for snowboarding, so I didn't make the all-day lesson time; we figured we could go up and be back down in time to get me to an afternoon lesson...mistake. After four hours, I was still falling constantly and had missed the afternoon lesson time as well. It was a very frustrating day for me. I was so upset with myself for not being able to do this and for holding up everyone else that I shed some tears and finished the day by walking down the rest of the trail. NS managed to get himself completely off any marked territory and wound up in some condos, forced to take the shuttle back to the base where us girls had been sitting, watching the kiddie skiers, wondering how he could possibly be taking so long.

The next morning we made sure to be out of the house in time to drop M and J at ski camp and for me to take a full-day lesson. I forgot to ask when the lesson was supposed to end, though, which meant that everyone was waiting to hear back from me on a walkie-talkie that I couldn't hear anyone on, and M and J had to wait until I got back to leave since I was the one with the release slips. The lesson went well for me; I didn't feel like I was holding anyone back because we all were basically on the same skill level. By the end of my lesson, I was no longer falling constantly and felt a great deal more comfortable on my board. M and J had a fun day skiing. According to their teacher, M was a daredevil (not much of a shocker, really) and kept trying to encourage J to go faster. They weren't very good listeners, though, and would wander off with each other, not caring what everyone else in the group was learning.

Tuesday was a break day. That turned out to not be such a great idea for me since Wednesday I had to take some more getting used to what I was doing again and fell quite a few times in the beginning. NS and I took one trip up to the same run we did on Sunday and made it down in a decent enough amount of time, then went back to the house for lunch and signed me up for an afternoon lesson so I could try to practice turning more. This lesson ended up being a private lesson for the rate of a group lesson because there just wasn't anyone else taking lessons besides a small group of never-been-on-a-snowboard-before people. Unfortunately, the mountain conditions were so icy that my turns were causing more sliding than anything, so while the general knowledge of how to do them was there, practicing was not worthwhile.

A temperature drop on Thursday made for a less than pleasant snowmobiling experience. All the adults signed up as drivers, and the boys rode behind our tour guide in a sled/toboggan-type thing. That lasted for maybe 10 minutes before we had one person fall off and me get buried (and I do mean buried) in snow. By the time everyone was back together and ready to continue, M and J were crying and screaming and completely unhappy with the idea of having to continue. NS's good snow pants had gotten a few holes chewed into them by a couple tree stumps the day before, so he was wearing waterproof, but not insulated, pants provided by the snowmobile tour place. This meant he was nearly as miserable as the boys were and opted to ride back and take them home while the rest of us continued. I probably shouldn't have continued. My mind was still distracted a few minutes later as we approached a turn. I had not yet mastered turning the snowmobile (I was hanging my body off but not actually turning the handles in time to make the turn) and slammed head-on into a tree, overturning my machine onto my left leg. It didn't hurt at first, so I remained calm while waiting the few seconds it took for NS's dad and a couple guys from the other tour group to come to my rescue, but had that short amount of time extended much more, I would have begun to panic as I started to feel the machine sliding down into the snow more and more, my leg trapped under it. I rode the rest of the way on the back of the guide's machine, and while it was a beautiful trip and a memorable experience, I don't think I have ever been so cold in my life. It was probably less than 20F, and we're riding at speeds of 40mph (or maybe km/h) up to 70, maybe even more, so just sitting on the back created a deep chill in my body. I couldn't feel my toes or fingers or nose or mouth, and I was shivering. I was very happy to arrive back to the house and find a warm, blazing fire and hot chocolate waiting, not to mention much happier boys;> I must have hit something hard with my thigh when I plowed into the tree because I had a nice welt form that evening, the bruise from which is now fading to yellow.

I'd been looking forward to being able to snowboard for a few hours on Friday, hopefully getting better with turning, but it was just too cold...single digits, people. Instead, NS and I went to the village so I could do my souvenir shopping. I found the most perfect t-shirt for myself, one that has a snowboarder going down a mountain and says, "Why turn if you don't have to?" Since I never had the chance to truly practice my turns, and I'm pretty sure I used that exact line a few times, I couldn't resist buying it.

All in all, it was a wonderful vacation, my only disappointments being that we couldn't snowboard the last day and that I may have to accept my pictures as being forever lost.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Glass is breakable...

Last week, returning to work from the extended weekend of Christmas, I loaded a set of picture frames to be hung in my office into my car. As I closed the door, I realized there was blood on my hand. I examined the gouge that I seem to have unknowingly received sometime recently, about an inch or two long with a solid piece of skin loosely hanging in a curl (there's a picture on my flickr). I honestly don't remember hurting myself. I checked the frames to see if any glass seemed to be protruding; I didn't see anything. Chalk it up to my clutziness.

Now, a little background. I ordered the set of 6 frames as well as another set of 3 (one 8x10 between two 5x7s) and two individual 8x10 ones all in the same suspended glass style. First set gets signed for by my apartment office. They refuse to allow NS to take it since he's not me and he's not on the lease as a resident (because they told me not to bother when I went to do that). So, I can't get it for a while seeing as they open after I leave for work and are closed before I get home if I have anything to do before coming home after work, Saturday hours may as well not exist because it is a span of 4 hours that I generally am either gone or haven't been able to leave the house during. One afternoon before Christmas, a huge box is in my foyer. I assumed a package had been left outside the door and then brought inside by my mom, although she didn't mention stopping by or bringing in the package. This gigantic box, which could easily hold a fully assembled vacuum cleaner, contains my 6-frame set. However, the only other thing in the box with this set of glass frames is a few sheets of brown paper and the invoice, and there was absolutely no indication on the box that the contents were fragile. Those frames were so out of place from where they should have been; I tried my best to see if anything looked broken. Since I didn't see any signs of damage from the atrocious packaging, I take the frames to work. I open them and find that a cable has come loose from one of the smaller frames and the back of the frame below that one is completely cracked down the back. Damn it!

Before I get a chance to contact Target about this, NS tells me he signed for an enormous box addressed to me. Now, thinking that the apartment office has my set of 3 frames because that is what Target's shipping confirmation told me it was, and knowing that my set of 6 frames appeared in my apartment shortly after receiving the shipping confirmation from Target about those, I assumed this box was my two 8x10s, even though they were supposedly backordered until mid-January. Much to my surprise, I open another vacuum-cleaner-sized box and find another set of 6 frames. The poor packaging was up to par with the last set, but I thought maybe between the two sets, I'd be able to make one decent one for my office. I reasoned that this duplicate set was sent because that one that appeared in my apartment didn't get signed for, making Target believe it was not received.

Finally making it to the office earlier this week to drop off rent, I figured it would be a good idea to grab my package. Not there. This is when they tell me that they'd thought the package might have been a Christmas gift and had the maintenance man place inside my apartment. So, no, Target didn't send me a duplicate by mistake, they simply sent two of the same set instead of two different sets...great. This ought to be fun to fix.

Yesterday, I open the second set of frames in my office. In doing so, a couple of cuts appear on my other hand. This time I feel it happen as it happens and look at the spot I just touched. Dangerously poking through the plastic is a shard of broken glass. Terrific...another set of damaged frames. And, now I understand how that seemingly odd gouge in my hand appeared last week so soon after I'd placed them in my car. As I remove the plastic, I examine the frames closely, finding that all but maybe one frame has chipped glass on the corner(s).

I think I've decided to have Target refund the money and just reorder the frames, albeit at a higher cost, from the company that knows how to package fragile items.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

My reality t.v. exception...

I don't like reality shows for the most part. There is one major exception, though, and I'd thought it was gone forever...Beauty & The Geek. A new season began last night, and I am so happy to have caught it;>

This show cracks me up. There isn't anything particularly riveting about it, but I cannot get over the ignorance of some (most of the male geeks on the show) and the laziness of others (most of the female beauties). These guys get so wrapped up in their "geekiness" that they don't pay attention to the majority of what is going on around them, and the women never bother to expand their horizons beyond being pretty, not because they can't but because they don't have to. I don't think the guys would be so geeky if they paid attention to what the rest of society deems normal, like not wearing knee-high red socks with a khaki and green outfit that is bottomed by shorts. And the beauties? I believe most of them could be more than just beauties if they bothered to give it a shot. Try learning something not related to the entertainment industry...surely there's something of interest. Dumb and pretty isn't nearly as sexy as smart (at least more than 3rd grade intelligence) and pretty to any worthwhile guy.

Last night's most memorable highlights from the first 15 minutes of the show:
-During introductions/pairing up, one of the beauties states her name and claims, "I'm an expert on things I know." That is definitely the new caption for this blog. I've never bothered with a caption, but seriously, who can't live up to this?
-Geek (who, by the way, does impressions...of household appliances, the blender being demonstrated during his introduction) is talking to the beauty that chose him. He is a virgin, and the girl says something about him not getting any "booty". She had to explain the use of booty to him because he assumed it related to a pirate's treasure. He said that cleared up a lot of confusion for him since he is a big fan of rap music. Then, he felt it necessary to poll the other geeks on their definition of "booty", and sure enough, every last one that was aired gave the same pirate treasure answer. This is the couple that was eliminated last night, which was for the best. Although he seemed like he would try, she was too lazy to bother and just cried at her failures.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

It's a fucking word...

During this morning's trip of dropping NS at work and then on my way to work, the radio station I usually listen to was discussing a slip made by Vanessa Minnillo during MTV's New Year's Eve broadcast. Basically, Vanessa didn't censor herself and dropped an f*bomb. The female host on this radio show thought this was a huge screw-up on Vanessa's part and wouldn't mind seeing her fired over it.

For anyone that hasn't heard the story or soundbyte (because it seems most of the media agree that it's not a worthy "story"), Vanessa is introducing Chamillionaire and Ciara to perform and says, "We're gonna fucking (pause...gasps...nervous giggle) kill it!"

While it may not be what is supposed to be heard on MTV, I can't find a reason to get worked up over this. The word wasn't used against anyone, like calling someone a mother fucker, and wasn't used in anger, like saying she was going to fucking kill them, so I can't really be upset about it. Quite honestly, I can't really understand why these words hold so much power. They don't have that effect if we don't let them. One of the first callers this morning expressed the opinion of it not being that big of a deal because the word is used so often and so widely now that it isn't really shocking to hear someone hosting an MTV show use it. She asked him if he had kids. I didn't hear his response, but I do have kids, and while I don't want them to have a vocabulary overly populated with such words, I know it will be impossible to shield them from hearing them, and using them, for that matter. The more you make things off-limits, especially things that are essentially harmless, the more you tempt the rebellious need for independence that children harbor. As far as I'm concerned, if I don't think it's appropriate for my children to hear that, then I will have them in bed or watching ABC, CBS, or NBC for New Year's Eve countdown...because those stations are publicly broadcast and are held to more stringent "moral" standards than cable-access ones. No one bothered to mention this point, though. MTV is only available with a subscription to a cable or satellite service, which means they can get away with a lot more than they dare to try. FX is a great example of this, they push their limits with shows like Nip/Tuck, and you know what, people love those shows. When you've got sponsors willing to back you regardless of the language you use or the obscene behavior you show in your programs, then the kiddie gloves don't have to stay on. Does everyone like it this way? No, but you either get rid of your cable/satellite service or you don't watch. Considering MTV plays music videos (at least occasionally) that feature artists who have songs played on public airwaves only thanks to the ability to *bleep* half the lyrics, I can't accept that it is reprehensible that a veejay got a little enthusiastic and let her professional guard down during a New Year's Eve celebration. Has anyone ever been fooled by a *bleep*? We all know what the words are without needing the unedited version or even the MTV video.

I was just baffled by how disturbed this radio deejay was over a word and the fact that hardly anyone would agree with her.

Dollars versus cents...

J's starting to catch on to what he's supposed to do...if only he could catch on about 5 seconds faster, he might make it to the toilet before wetting his underwear. Oh, and stay on the toilet long enough to pee, too.

M's not really enjoying this experience, I don't think. He seems to really want someone else to be the one to change him. I find this ironic since he generally tries to be more independent and was the one that was doing so great with using the potty at daycare, even going without telling anyone he needed to go.

Sunday morning, before I'd officially gotten out of bed (just because I've gotten up for several minutes at a time to feed children and help with sitting on a potty and changing from diapers to underwear does not mean I'm actually out of bed yet), I see J putting something dark into the toilet. I thought it might have been some dried up Play-Doh, so I jumped out from under the covers and rushed into the bathroom to see what it was before he had a chance to flush it. What was it? Why it was nothing more than a few round pieces of poop. Was it his? Of course not. M's even duped his unsuspecting brother into helping him avoid becoming potty-trained. I still don't believe J quite understands why Mommy was so insistent that he not touch anything and wash his hands. right. now. And one more time.

That incident probably shouldn't have been so comical, with so much belly-aching laughter, but NS and I did not have any difficulty at all finding humor in it;>

Yesterday, I cleaned some urine off the couch, which was from J telling me he had to go pee as he stood up from his seat on said couch and then immediately let it drain, and, later, poop from their bedroom floor. By "floor" I also mean toys and bed and shoe. How he managed to get poop onto the side of the bed is beyond my imagination skills; it looked as though he may have actually stuck his butt against it as though it were a toilet. It was a mess in there; I threw away the underwear because I just couldn't figure out how they would ever be sufficiently clean again. The dread that I felt as he came tearing out of his room, frantically stating over and over that he needed wipes, lessened the shock when I got in there, though.

Getting back to the inappropriate laughter from Sunday morning's adventures in pottyland and the title of this post, NS and I laughed too hard and for too long at a half-witted, asinine comment I made last night. Beware that this may be one of those moments that you just had to be there, but you'll probably at least be able to understand why we shouldn't have found it to be so hilarious. The fact that we knew we shouldn't have been laughing at it just seemed to make it that much funnier, and we wasted an inexcusable amount of time giggling until tears streamed down our faces. A commercial for Dollar General came on. NS made a random comment about how one gets the title of General of the Dollar...possibly from a battle. My response? With the Cents. That's the statement that sent us spiraling into uncontrollable laughter. Yes, a battle between paper money and loose change results in a Dollar General. If you're laughing, I am certain it is directed at NS and me rather than at any minute amount of hilarity that conversation may have held. You don't have to deny it; we are fully aware of how ridiculous we were for laughing at such an inane comment.

That about wraps up the excitement of welcoming the new year with potty-training. Success is sure to come before we leave for Canada on Saturday, right?

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