Freedom

It has been brought to my attention I've been remiss in blogging. Did anyone else notice? (Teasing, Heather.) I've had so many blog posts go through my head--complete with pictures taken for them (I'm so thorough)--and I was too lazy to write them. Not that I was in a huge hurry to rush to bed to sleep on my side when I am really longing to sleep on my back and I toss and heave all night to stay comfortable. No sirree. No, I've been busy reading the Anne of Green Gables series. Yes, I'm a nerd. Yes, I wish I were Anne Shirley and if I ever have the chance to name a girl again and think part of it should be Anne, it will certainly be spelled with an "e". Oh, and now I remember, the spouse was hogging the computer. Why would he want to use the thing he paid for anyway? The nerve.

Anyway, there is a huge event looming tomorrow that I cannot bring up because of a certain reader, but after that, I promise I'll blog about something interesting, that will hopefully not involve bowel movements smeared on any surfaces. Or anything smeared on any surfaces. Which reminds me, I forgot to take pictures of the huge amount of red Crystal Light that got spilled on my couch. I was too busy getting the slipcovers off as fast as possible to wash them. Sheesh, like people like seeing pictures of other people's messes. ;)

Oh mercy, I hope I can think up something interesting that doesn't involve smears or spills. Hint, my suggestion box is open.

Oh, but here's something to tantalize you: Mr Destructo is fully potty trained (except at night which I don't think counts) and has stayed perfectly dry over two weeks. I don't know which I like better, saving money on diapers, or the freedom from changing an extra person and all the time it saves. Plus, he dresses himself when he puts on his underwear in the morning. Double plus. I feel like Lightning McQueen bursting from Bessy yelling, "FREEDOM!!!" while screaming down the highway. And I run out of gas, too. Or lose it when I'm passed out. I'll let you sort that one out.

Oh, here's some eye candy--at least for me. I want to make one of these to see if I can do it, fully aware it just may never happen.

I can still dream. Because I want to be Anne. She hated sewing too. But did it anyway.

Ooh, and I think it would be kind of fun to hang one of these by my door, if it wasn't regularly slammed by hooligans.