So there was this one time when I managed to get myself linked to from Dave Barry's blog. That was incredibly cool and thrilling and I'm sure caused a few pinched bridges of noses over in the Typepad server room, but it also happened to be the same day I wrote about my spanking new thrush infection.
Yesterday I found out I am a finalist for Best Parenting Blog over at the Weblog Awards. The same day I wrote about vomit and posted photos with my bra sticking out.
I am possibly quite brilliant, or just the world's biggest jackass. I don't know. We'll see how the voting goes.
(You can vote once every 24 hours. Look! Here's a visual reminder!)
(What? Too much? A little ostentatious? How about this one?)
I might be wrong, but I don't think there are any actual...prizes? Except for bragging rights? And Lord knows, if there's anything we parent bloggers need more of, it's things to brag about.
SPEAKING OF BRAGGING...
Noah was a freaking champion trick-or-treater. We had a little bit of a problem with him walking inside people's houses (at one house he barreled past the owners and made a beeline for the kitchen, and probably would have opened their fridge and helped himself to some milk and pie if I hadn't caught him) (hoods on Halloween costumes: a MUST!), but he caught on to the general concept pretty quickly. He audibly gasped at the first house that held out a candy bowl, then turned to look at us, to make sure this was okay, and really happening, and that nobody was going to try to touch his face with a duckie washcloth while he was distracted by the candy.
After about five houses he marched right up and asked for dessert. DESSERT? DESSERT? DESSERT?
The best part is that the kid has NO TASTE when it comes to dessert, which means he gets the gross stuff like the cherry-flavored marshmallow "OOZ'N EYEBALL" and I get all the fun size Twix bars.
(I am kidding, of course. Nobody is eating the OOZ'N EYEBALL. After all the eye infections poor Ceiba's had over the years I just want to douse the thing with some antibiotic ointment and set it on fire.)
Anyway. I am feeling much better today, obviously. I never, ever drink hard liquor anymore for just this very reason, and I was very stupid for not asking for full disclosure on the punch bowl ingredients. (Other than: IT'S YUMMY!) (You know what else is yummy? ROOFIES.)
I started feeling better last night, right around the same time Noah came downstairs with two mysterious bulges under his shirt, which turned out to be the silicone bra inserts I'd worn with my costume. He was super proud of himself. I was too, in between the howls of laughter.
Then, as if to remind me that yes, he IS still all boy, he came over and handed me a live squirming ant.
(Aaaaand we're back to bugs and boobs. Vote Amalah!)