And there's always a but...

My son, facing his fears of the vaccum.



Primary-Colored Hurters of the Feet (And Cloggers of Aforementioned Vaccum)



Dog: "Please don't tell me we're moving again, you Sheissekopf." (My dog can curse in German. She's very smart.)



Office: The Sepia'ed "After"


Over the weekend, I traded spaces. I could barely get in my office door with all the books and papers and miscellany that had found its way in there. Old mail that needs to be shredded? Goes to my office. A thrift store chair that didn't fit anywhere else in the house? Goes to my office. Old coffee grounds and fish tails? Yep, my office. (Not really.) So one day last week, I peered into my son's nursery. Look at all that room in there, I deviously began to think. By Sunday afternoon, it was mine, all mine...(evil laugh).

Truth and consequences: Now he thinks that both rooms are his. What else would a two-year old think? He always gets the last laugh, doesn't he?

I'm afraid there's nothing really interesting about this post, and I'm tired. I just wanted everyone (the faithful four readers that I have) to know that I'm not dead, ignoring you, or on a flight headed toward Botswana. I'm just a busy Mama. But I want to be in Botswana. Where is Botswana?

BUT...

If you want to read something really worthwhile, I suggest you get the hell out of here and head on over to Arnie's Blog. Now, he's entertaining. (And don't be an imbecile and skip to the end of his story.) I even learned how to insert links just so I could send you over (a feat that I've been trying to figure out for a year)--that's how funny he is. His blog makes me feel so half-assed, and I'm not afraid (maybe a little afraid) to say it. Now with that knowledge, scram.