Punkin really likes to go potty, when it's his idea to go potty. And maybe it's because I seem so interested, or maybe it's because he's not actually sure if something is going to happen, but he is very curious to see the, err, fruits of his labor. So today, he reaches down and grabs his little guy to check out what's happening, and he ends up spraying the bathroom as well as his mother.. And what did I do before even thinking of the bleach? I clapped and gave him a sticker. Now, what I don't quite understand is that if a kid at school had done that to me, I would be totally grossed out. But in reality I was more concerned with the germs on the floor than the germs on me. Why is it that I don't think my kid has germs? His boogers, for example, are to me completely harmless. His smashed peas and french fries mixed with ketchup in his hair, not a big deal. Only a mother's love, I suppose.
MY SISTER IS COMING! Like in 20 minutes. Eeek. I am making her a pizza. Too bad all the good towels are dirty. Oops. I am not so much a thinker-aheader. (Otherwise known in the educated world as a planner.) When we took those personality tests in college, they asked what we would do if a friend told us we were going to leave for France the next day. One group made a list with items such as "check the weather and pack accordingly, make sure passport is valid, exchange money..." The group I was in came up with, "call everyone I know and invite them along, pack, buy a new outfit." On the other hand, we were also asked to divide a bag of M&Ms among us. One group just passed the bag. My group counted them out, distributed them, exchanged colors as neccessary so that everyone had at least one of each (but hopefully not more than one of each) and talked about cutting a few of them in half. See, I'm an unprepared organizer who wants the world to be fair and fun.
Okay, I need to make sure La Frozen Pizza is not overcooked.