This morning Lorelei decided to make “potions.” She informed me that she would be needing soap, water, and salt. Okay. And food coloring. Whoa, wait a minute. I draw the line at food coloring. Until I’d already helped her once and she asked again, and after all she did say please. My counter will be tie dyed for a while.
I hate April Fools Day. I spend a lot of time actively avoiding looking foolish, and here is a day whose sole intention is to make me look like an idiot. No thanks. It’s not going to be pretty if someone puts a box of donuts in the workroom that actually contains carrots.
My relationship status with nostalgia apps like Timehop and Facebook’s On This Day is, “it’s complicated.”
has laundry baskets full of all the random shit that collects around the house. Toys, hair bows, single socks.
Rowan is sick. Again. I remember well the welcome-to-daycare series of plagues, but for Rowan a regular cold seems to turn into something more. This is the third time I’ve taken him in for coughing, with the second time being the dreaded RSV and hospital admission. I think he has had more sick visits in the eight months since his hospital discharge than Lorelei has in her entire six years. He’s on his second ear infection, and we’ve gone through almost an entire box of Xoponex nebulizer treatments. He spent hours last night screaming inconsolably.
She wanted a Honey I Shrunk the Kids birthday party.
I made giant decorations. Baked the cake. Prepped and planned. The weather was beautiful; an early April day perfect for kiddie pools and bathing suits. I was 29 weeks pregnant.
For some unfathomable reason I have produced an insanely picky kid. It’s really difficult to understand how that happened — it’s not like I refused to eat any non-starch veggie until I was in high school or anything. I definitely ate broccoli before I was 32. I’m totally not >about to be struck by lightning for lying.