Air of Mystery
November 12, 2007
While there are very few topics I consider off-limits for this blog, I made the random decision ages ago that I would not publicly document the potty-training process.
Thus, please accept my baffled, sort-of impressed and mostly stony silence today. I don't know what I am doing, but that boy will do anything -- GODDAMN ANYTHING -- in exchange for dessert.
I spent most of the weekend planting bulbs in the garden. Me. Planting bulbs. In the dirt, where there are worms and it was cold and I forgot to change my pants so I was the asshole planting bulbs in low-rise skinny jeans who every once in awhile would remember to yank down on her sweatshirt, but wouldn't take her gardening gloves off so her entire back and half of her ass were covered in dirt by the end, and honestly, what are the odds ANY of those bulbs are going to bloom in the spring? Bad. Slim to none. And I am quite bitter about it already, and I spent the morning sending real estate links to Jason, subtly suggesting that we move back into a condo, because eff. This. Dirt. Shit.
Speaking of Jason, he replaced the light bulb, but not the fixture.
"I wouldn't want to deprive you of blog material," he said.
Oh, and a friend came over for lunch and wanted to know how I got all that magic marker off the lamp, at which point I realized. DEFACEMENT. YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.
Words Noah has busted out with in the past week or two: arm, hand, ear, hair, teeth, sock, green, cold, again, another, book, bath, bike, bee, cow, moo, clue, Steve, sit, chair, think, sad, wet, hi, yes, mine, me, my, heart, you, love.
Read the last four again, and just imagine all the fumbly, wonderful ways a two-year-old can use those in a sentence.