1. We have the Disney Channel on the teli in our house, and the status of said channel is nearing the level of…I don’t know…way too much? I know some psychological examiner of children’s habitats from Brown University who currently fulfills his residency at the Rhode Island institute for Brigham Young (or some other complicated I don’t-know-what-the-heck-that-means-title) will tell me how unhealthy it is to have the television on. And if not for developing ADHD, it will be for radiation emitted from the screens at ridiculously dangerous levels. In fact, I’m sure it will be released in this month’s issue of Paranoia Parent’s Magazine. (I’m nursing okay? Stop it with the JUDGMENT already.) The kids don’t constantly watch, but I find that even during naptime, when I am catching up on various chores around the house, the DC is on the tube. The thing is, in the mornings after our preferred age appropriate Playhouse Disney has left the building, I find myself watching Hannah, Sonny, and those Jonas dorks in passing. And liking it. I know I’ve gone there before, but here’s my newest take on the situation. It’s kind of addictive. As in subliminal-messages-to-worship-Lucifer-in-the-undertones-of-I-fell-in-love-with-a-pizza-girl addictive. And not only that, but is it just me or are all their little television show actors moonlighting as rock stars? They make these ridiculously hypnotizing music vids that play in between the shows. This obscure chick that was recently in some Princess Protection Program movie with Selena Gomez is suddenly rocking out in her own tribute to herself, and I’m all seriously? Why are you famous? You have a weird butt chin. Selena is better! And have you seen that nerdy kid with the weird nose and long hair? I don’t even know his name but I have no clue as to why the ten year olds are currently stalking him…Probably because they are ten. You can do better, ten year olds. Trust me. Puberty will hit (probably later than sooner) and then you will be all, I could do way better than NKOTB weird kid with the odd nose and bad hair. Ah…the next gen release of Britney-level screwups. It’s all in the fun of waiting expectantly to see what they’ll do next (VANESSA!)

2. I was straightening the house the other day, and when I came to my kids’ play kitchen (our new hallway catchall) where I was depositing a few rogue toys, I happened to glance down. There, in the hole where the sink usually sits (and is always missing) was a small pink sippy cup. I reached down to retrieve the item and realized it was full of milk. Old, curdled solidified milk. Yeah. Gross only begins to glean the descriptive surface of such a trophy produced by small children. The culprit: little miss troublemaker herself. This brings the grand total to three times in the past few weeks I have found nearly solidified large quantities of milk randomly stashed about our humble abode. Emerson does have a great sense of humor, so I wouldn’t put the idea of purposeful placement past her. If I were her, I would be all, “Dudes, mom totally gags whenever she sees my old milk. Watch this…bwaaaa!” But she has developed quite a nasty little habit. I mean who has time to keep tabs on missing cupfuls of milk when you’re doing well just to score a shower that day? It seriously makes me hurl. I would throw the cups away, if this weren’t the third time it’s happened. And if we were rich and could afford three new sippies at a whopping seven bucks a pop…so I simply leave them for Jamin to clean up and pretend that I forgot about them when he finds them sitting in the sink later that night. Thanks, Jamin. You owe me for that latest near death experience of a frighteningly painful labor anyway.

3. We were out cold Saturday night, exhausted from a long day of celebrating Aiden’s fourth birthday with friends and family. I was snoozing away on my side of the king sized, completely in la-la land. It was around eleven when I awoke with a start. Jamin was turning circles in the bed as if caught on the spin cycle of a dryer being pummeled by rocks, knives and a small car. He let out a couple of gurgled cries that sounded like distressed German, and threw a few elbows with a couple of loud “Goobenshladen Meeshaluden’s!” I half wondered if he was in fact wrestling a live alligator, and then viciously body slammed him until he woke from his apparent nightmare. “You were dreaming,” I explained, as he gasped at me, holding his bloody nose from where I scored my landing with a knee. Okay. I’m exaggerating. I only broke his arm. “I was being attacked by a bat. In my dream. A bat was flying at my head,” He responded, when I asked him what on earth was wrong. He then rolled over to resume his naturally spastic sleep position. “You sure you weren’t fighting Hitler?” I seriously thought some unseen Freddy Krueger force had launched an attack. With small green tree frogs to make him squeal like a girl…

Speaking of birthday parties…

Aiden's partay

just can't stay away

a few fun finds