Here are some things I have done this week:
* Nearly knelt down and praised the Kraft Mac and Cheese gods who, in their infinite wisdom, made the cheese packet somewhat water resistant so that a mother who might be losing her mind listening to her son scream, "But I want to burn my little hands on the stove!" and who therefore dumps the entire box into the boiling water and then needs about five minutes to locate the correct tool for extracting said packet still ends up with perfectly usable cheese powder product.
* Laid my seven months pregnant self on the floor next to the newly assembled big boy bed droning, "Nap. Please. Close. Your. Eyes. It's. Time. For. A. Nice. Rest." over and over until I myself have fallen asleep, only to be awakened moments later by a sticky finger in the eye.
* Googled "toddler obsessed with ceiling fans," "scrambled eggs in microwave," and "big boy bed transition help." (For an incredibly funny blog entry on that first topic, visit here. The Biscuit and this kid could start a cult together.)
* Worn a pig-shaped name tag with my son's name on it all around town for approximately 3 and a half hours without realizing it.
* Ruined my windshield wipers by using them on a scorchingly sunny day when I finally gave in to the backseat mantra, "Yes it IS raining!" See, windshield wipers, according to the Biscuit, are a type of fan. As is his new favorite toy, the salad spinner. And this water feature at our local playground:
Check out how he hangs out by the button that gets the water going. All the other kids are frolicking in the spray, but not my little guy. Uh, uh. No rest for the fan-atic.
Ah, the summer transition to stay-at-home mom. It's never a smooth one for anyone. I think he's still wondering what I'm doing all up in his business all the time. This weekend he was so perfectly horrible that at one point Mr. Frick up and said, "Well, maybe he's just an asshole." I think he was trying to make me feel better, as he followed up by saying that most of his best friends are assholes. (Hi, guys!)
Here are some things I have not done this week:
* Any knitting of significance.
* Any blogging of significance.
* Any photography of significance. (The lens is smudged and I have to wait for the Mr. to get home to take them, so the lighting's all off. Oh, the shame. Please forgive me.)
* Any personal grooming of significance.
I can report that there are two WIPs proceeding slowly but surely. One is what I've dubbed the "playground socks" for obvious reasons, and if they survive the Goldfish crumbs, wet bathing suits, and all-natural sunscreen that inhabits their bag, it'll be a miracle. Good thing Tofutsies is machine washable, and apparently antimicrobial, thanks to the chitin content. (Check it out, Meg. Anti-pooling queen no more! No naps will do it to you- you just don't give a good goddamn anymore.)
And progress has been made on the decor item for the Fricklet's room, which we've decided, due to a complete lack of desire to paint, will be yellow and blue:
(* Title of this post of course from the Springsteen song which came on the radio during the above-mentioned windshield wiper Armageddon incident. I remember being a kid and listening to my dad express his disappointment upon finding out that the lyric was "He could throw that speed ball by you/ Make you look like a fool, boy" instead of "Makin' love like a fool, boy." I thought Dad was nuts. Because even if you really, really liked "Bull Durham," you'd be crazy to think baseball, with its scratching, spitting, and guts spilling over tops of weird knicker-pants = sex.)