Okay. So. THANK YOU. I needed that. All of that. Especially the joke about the pirate's balls. Which I think got posted a good four or five times but all that did was prove that yes, IT'S STILL FUNNY because I laughed every time I read it.
Although getting me to laugh didn't prove to be that hard, as actual official Laugh Out Loudage was achieved by the third comment. This one, by Margo:
Seriously. I keep going back and rereading that, and laughing every time, because it's so perfect. Even the punctuation amuses me to no end. Margo, you are a goddamn comic genius. Go start a blog.
Anyway. I am not so very sad today, and feel a little silly about it now, because I got myself into a funk over a little rookie mistake known as TOO MUCH GOOGLE. I needed to step away from the Google and the computer, and put my hands in the air like the contestants on Top Chef do when Padma screams TIME'S UP! KNIVES DOWN! STEP AWAY FROM THE UNCLE BEN'S MICROWAVEABLE RICE BOWL IN A CUP CHALLENGE!
After I got done diagnosing my firstborn with All Sorts Of Things, and then deciding against Those Things and reading about Oh My God, There's This Whole Other Class of Things, I got a call from a really great neighborhood preschool -- a preschool Noah had been accepted to last year, but we turned them down because we were silly and thought that preschool shouldn't like, cost that much -- and they offered him a spot for next year. I'm...hopeful. I think it will be a much, much better fit for him. Provided we don't qualify for the special needs preschool through the district, which. I don't know. I don't want to think about that yet, because it might make me go back to Google. And the Things.
Plus the district evaluation isn't going to happen for another four zillion years, since I needed to send in more paperwork and I did and then the paperwork got sent back to me today because Jason only put one stamp on the envelope and it needed two stamps and I bet his bad postage estimation skills had to do with a poor preschool choice by his parents way back in 70's.
HEY, YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IS FUNNY? SLAPSTICK!
So just when I decided that Friday wasn't such a bad day after all, I fell down the stairs.
I was padding around the house in my bedroom slippers and thank goodness I was holding a bag of dirty diapers and not something important, like the baby or a glass of wine, but I just slipped on a step and my feet went flying out from under me and BANG, butt and then BANG, knee and then BANG, elbow and the next thing I knew I was at the bottom of the stairs moaning in pain and then Jason peered over the railing and was all, "What happened?"
(See? More preschool-level concepts that the man will probably never master in his life, no matter what.)
This is my leg. I never would have thought that I bump my upper thigh into things that often, but it turns out this bruise is like a paper cut that you are constantly made aware of by things like...sitting down. Or rolling over in bed. Or your preschooler's battering ram of a head. Or pants.
(Don't tell him I'm a klutz. Or that he's wearing Christmas jammies in February, I CANNOT DO LAUNDRY UNTIL MAH INJURIES HAVE HEALED.)