I am in no fit state for writing, yet here I am. These days I feel I am swimming against a current of poop. Two boys are doggedly waging the war of the human refuse. It’s them against me.
As a matter of principle, I am honestly disinterested in participating in most forms of competition. However, I totally WILL NOT let these two stinkers win this war.
They may have taken some of the battles, but this momma will not complicitly allow her seriously stubborn offspring to steal her sanity. Especially not over poop, for Pete’s sake.
I will win.
In the meantime, let’s talk about something else. These things are happening:
Charlie has developed an affinity for Dr. Pepper, which he calls Dr. Pepperoni.
Baby started crawling.
Jack digs taking trips to the dollar store during therapy once a week to stock up on fun sensory play items. You never can have too many sparkly tinsely wigs or tiny plastic award trophies, you know.
Henry went to an exciting college football game with his two best friends. They were quintessential ten-year-olds: rowdy and silly. Jeff overheard this gem of a post-game conversation, “If a vampire sucked my blood and then sucked your blood, we would be blood friends.”
When Jack ripped a page out of my hymn book on the piano during family night this evening, I spontaneously exclaimed, “What the hell?!” Nice.
Henry pointed out that swearing probably wouldn’t help much in the above situation. Touché, my son.
Jeff and I are now completely up-to-date on Downton Abbey, and can’t wait for season three to cross the pond. Like now, already.
I am reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, and finding that it is not the odious chore it was in high school. Rather, it is funny, intuitive, effortlessly eloquent, and surprisingly addictive. Time to indulge.