Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Curious About George

Today I was having a problem with my cell phone that sent me running to google in search of a solution. Since I was in a question-asking sort of mood, instead of searching key-word style, I phrased a full question for the google gods to answer. As soon as I typed "Why does my...?" a whole list of suggested searches popped up:

Why does my eye twitch?
Why does my cat lick me?
Why does my dog eat grass?
Why does my stomach hurt?
Why does my dog eat poop?
Why does my cat bite me?
Why does my dog stare at me?
Why does my back hurt?
Why does my dog eat dirt?

Apparently there a lot of people out there who are full of questions about their furry friends. My favorite? "Why does my dog stare at me?"

I have a sudden urge to crack open my Far Side collection...

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

By the Numbers

Number of children living in my house: 3
Number of children with colds: 2
Number of children who have teeth coming in: 2
Number of teeth trying to come in at once: 7
Number of times I was up with a baby last night: 7
Number of suspected ear infections: 1
Number of days the house has been on the market: 19

In one week:

Number of showings: 7
Number of times I was given 15 minutes of warning that someone was coming to see the house: 2
Number of times I vacuumed the entire house: 6
Number of times I cleaned the bathroom mirrors: 14
Number of times I windexed my kitchen sink: 5
Number of times I wished I could take a nap: 97
Number of times I actually got to take a nap: 3
Number of times I got to take a nap longer than 15 minutes: 1
Number of times I ate candy as part of a "balanced" breakfast: 4
Number of times I regretted it: 0
Number of times I let Michael play Super Mario on the wii: I plead the fifth
Number of times I told Michael to stop crying: 17
Number of times he was crying because he stuck a piece of apple up his nose: 1
Number of times I laughed because he stuck a piece of apple up his nose: 3; ha ha, make that 4
Number of times Michael helped me clean up without complaining: 15
Number of times I felt grateful for him: at least 37

Number of reasons I hate moving: 722,496
Number of reasons I hate trying to sell my house: 369,900
Number of times a day, on average, that Michael says, "Mom, we don't say hate!": 2

Number of times I've been interrupted while writing this blog: 16

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Oral B: Formula 666

The following substances are of the devil:

Easter grass
Christmas tree icicles
Foam peanuts
Suckers (and any other candy that is meant to be licked)
Peanut butter

This list has remained fairly stable for the past ten years, but I have a new item I would like to add:


Yes, toothpaste. I know toothpaste is technically a good thing. (Imagine how much faster my teeth would fall out of my mouth if I didn't have a little Colgate to polish my pearly whites! With my genes and no toothpaste I think I'd be needing dentures by about next Wednesday). But, I swear Michael could not get any more toothpaste smeared around the bathroom if he filled an aerosol can with the stuff and sprayed it over every smooth surface.

With that and, um, other substances one finds in random places in a little boy's bathroom, I've been cleaning the bathrooms three or four times a day. I'm about to start wearing a bottle of Lysol and a roll of paper towels as wardrobe accessories.

Why the sudden obsessive need for cleanliness, you ask? Well, I figure pink toothpaste smeared into the sink and yellow highlights on the already-ugly vinyl flooring around the toilet are not the most effective ways to say, "Buy me."

Yes, our house is for sale.

I have not even begun to come to terms with it yet. Mostly I'm wandering around in a dazed sort of way mumbling something about losing Wegmans and never having toured the White House. You see, at least once a day I miss something about living in New York City and I only lived there for a year. So I can't even imagine how much I'm going to miss Virginia, where I've lived for almost one-quarter of my life.


But, new adventure awaits in Salt Lake City. Sure, we won't have Smithsonians in our backyard, but then, we might actually have a backyard! And my husband might be able to come home for dinner more than twice a year!

That settles it. Westward, ho!