1. I officially gave up on the art of carefully crafted and creative blog titles. OBVIOUSLY. Suck it, SEO. We have no use for you around these parts.

2. We had the bathtub in the boys' bathroom repaired and reglazed. It made the entire house smell like a giant magic marker. The guy doing the work didn't even wear a MASK, meanwhile I could feel my brain cells having a giant tripped-out rave before overdosing on whippits. And then a unicorn walked by. But hey! The bathtub looks fantastic. 

3. Ezra's brain, meanwhile, is doing just fine. The bathroom hullabaloo meant I temporarily relocated our extensive stash of bathtub letters to his room. He quickly got to work finding the very best ones. 

(Please ignore the piles of laundry. I am enfeebled! I cannot carry loads of laundry down the stairs in my current condition. Beause ye.  My ankle injury. Is totally why this completely out-of-the-ordinary level of mess is happening. Yeeeeah. That's the ticket.)

(Oh, and obviously the children were not here during the bathrub reglazing. They were off in the fresh air, doing wholesome activities with the sitter, while I tried to get work done in between bouts of arguing with the giant purple snails on the ceiling. Can you believe they don't like Game of Thrones? Jesus Christ.)

At Ezra's last parent-teacher conference, I mentioned my concerns over his lack of letter recognition and general disinterest in drawing or writing beyond some half-hearted scribbles. I was like, "look, I get that Montessori thinks milestone charts are a facist tool of the development oppressors or something, but COME ON. I PAY MONEY. TEACH MY KID WHAT STUFF HE NEEDS REAL GOOD."

Naturally, I shouldn't have bothered, because Ezra proceeded to explode in the reading/writing/drawing departments almost immediately. I bought him a small Moleskine notebook like the one his teacher uses, and within a few days he was drawing elaborate stories involving outer space and beaches (in outer space) and minivans (in outer space). Attempts at writing letters and his name soon followed. I think our chalkboard wall and drawing table in the kitchen helped too, once I made a point of plopping his butt there and insisting he spend some time coloring every day. 

(Please ignore the overflowing recyling bin in the background. We simply love the earth THAT MUCH.)

4. Ike's hair went insane. For reference, I've spent the last month trying to get a decent picture of these two little baby curls on the back of his head:

I figured I was going to have to cave soon-ish and cut them off, because the rest of his hair was growing long and straight and mullet-ish. The curls were like a weird extra hair appendage growing straight off the back of his head, and seemed permanently gooped up with jelly and syrup.

And then BAM.

The humidity spiked this week and his hair lost its damn mind. Almost every hair on his head is now a perfect, gloriously towheaded ringlet. 

If you think Imma let scissors anywhere near this child's head anytime soon, you be tripping. You be tripping magic-marker-scented unicorn balls, lady.

Though I admit it can look a little Wolverine-like at times, like right after a bath.

And I suspect he's getting tired of me taking a million photographs of his beautiful hairs. 

(PS: Lana. Lana! LAAAAAANNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAA!)

MOM. STAHP. STAHP MOM STAHP.

(Please ignore the pile of paint cans in the background. I'd put them away except the kids like building a drum set out of them. And then fighting over the paint-can drum set. Even though we own an actual goddamn drum set. This Christmas I'm giving them gift cards to Home Depot and a box of plastic bags.)

(Also, If you'd like to have your shit thoroughly freaked out by GENETICS, HOW DO THEY WORK?, I suggest poking through the archives in the June/July/August range of 2007.) 

5. Max said hi.

And kissy face.

(Please ignore the...ah, fuck it. There are random computer cables, a double chin and a curtain pullback that my husband hung too far away from the window to be useful. THIS IS REAL LIFE.)