Mine mine mine, all mine

I heart Peeps

You Are an Easter Egg

You're so sweet, you don't need candy. You much prefer the taste of artificial coloring instead.

What Easter Candy Are You?

That is so true. I'm glad that I learned this about myself today. We should all take every opportunity we can for self-reflection and personal growth.

Now, I will tell you everything I've learned this past week about interior painting:

1. That blue painter's tape that you buy at home improvement stores? It goes on really easily, but after it's been splattered with three coats of paint, it takes mortar and a few hand grenades to peel it off. I'm thinking about leaving it and just pretending like we think tacky blue crown molding is the wave of the future.
2. Latex paint washes out of hair pretty well, but not so much off of floors. Or cats.
3. No matter how much plastic you put down, you will end up with paint splatters everywhere. The plastic tarp stuff is just a ruse to get you to spend more money at Home Depot.
4. Definitely do not skimp on paint brushes. A cheap paint brush is about as useless as energy-saving advice from Al Gore.
5. You should lock your cat in another room when you're painting. (see number 2)

let the swearing begin

It's here. It got delivered last night.

This is what it's supposed to look like when it's finished:

Minus all the strange children, unless of course they're included in the cost, in which case we'll put them to work helping us build it. And then they can fold some clothes or something.

It is my sincerest and fondest wish that somebody else puts this thing together. I've already recruited Charles; now I'm working on enlisting my dad to assist him. I've asked my mom to notify me the minute she discerns that he's in a halfway decent mood, so I can jump in and beg for his favor. I told her, I don't care what time of day or night it is - as soon as you see him smile, you call me. Immediately.

As if we weren't punishing ourselves enough, we have also taken on the task of painting our downstairs. Drew is visiting with Nana and Papa, so we have exactly one week to paint approximately 1000 square feet of wall space. Yay! Oh and did I mention that we're not taking any time off work, so we're doing this all in the evenings? Double yay!

Sunday night we taped and trimmed two rooms - the dining room and Drew's playroom. Last night, I went to Lowe's and bought the paint (only $200 - vs. the $1,200 that the professional painter wanted to charge us. Now if we can avoid killing each other, Charles and I will have struck quite a bargain!) and painted primer in the dining room.

The primer is a dark grey; we're using it because we're painting those two rooms a dark red over white, so the Lowe's guy told me to use primer to cut down on the number of coats of paint we have to use. Or something like that. I don't know. What I do know is that this morning our dining room looks like the inside of a submarine.

"We can just leave it like this and call it our Yorktown room," said Charles.

Tonight my plan is for me to paint primer in the playroom while Charles puts the topcoat on the dining room, and then we'll begin the massive task of taping and trimming the hallways and the living room. Fortunately, we're painting those areas a pale yellow, so we don't need a primer.

If we get this all done by Sunday, with no fatalities, it will be a sure sign that God loves us and wants us to be happy.

the definition of 2

It all began rather innocuously.

It was a dark and stormy night. Not feeling up to cooking dinner, we decided to stop by one of our favorite restaurants on the way home.

Drew seemed to be in a pleasant mood. When we retrieved him from daycare, he graced us with smiles and hugs. He babbled happily in the backseat. He said "ES, MAMA!" when we asked if he wanted to eat mac-n-cheese at Michael's.

He grinned and waved when we entered the restaurant and told us joyously that we were there to "eat-eat" and he remembered that this was the restaurant that has the butterfly-shaped crackers on the tables. ("laller-fie cackers, mama! laller-fie cacker!")

So we took our seat and handed him the basket of assorted crackers.

And then it all went horribly wrong.

He dug, with increasing frenzy, through the basket. Then, with a puzzled furrow of his brow, looked at us and said, "Whee-ah laller-fie cacker?"

A passing waitress overheard, and uttered the words that would lead to our doom.

"Oh, hun, we're out of the butterfly crackers! We ran out earlier today." And then she sashayed off, blissfully unaware of her role in the ensuing fracas.

"Drew, they're out of butterfly crackers," I said cheerfully. (you'd think I'd know better, right?) "Have one of these round crackers instead."

Suspiciously, Drew took the proffered cracker in his hand, inspected it closely front and back, and then hurled it to the floor.

"No, Mama. No. No dat cacker. Want laller-fie cacker."

"Drew, butterfly crackers are all gone," said Charles. "Eat another kind."

As Drew began to grab anything within reach and chuck it to the floor, we sensed danger, and began attempting to appease him with various shapes and sizes of crackers, as well as with sips of milk, toy cars, crayons and the promise of a zillion-million dollars if he'd just stop crying and let us enjoy dinner together.

But alas, the damage was done. The storm broke with a great caterwaul over our heads and we, scrambling for cover, uttered our final words to the waitress...."We'll be taking our order to-go, please."

And that is what it's like to live with a two-year-old. All that stands between you and sobbing, screaming hysteria is one, small, butterfly cracker.