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Archive for February, 2009

the sinking flame of hilarity

It’s a cliché that all little boys adore potty humor, yet now that Shriekeur, at almost three, is the living embodiment of said cliché, all I can seem to do is helplessly remark on the startling frequency of potty talk. (The irony, of course, is that he is not even using the potty reliably himself yet.)

Anyway, it’s all butts and poop and whatnots around here, all the time. So yesterday I sneezed and then as I was dashing for the bathroom (let’s just say I’ve not been as diligent with my post-partum kegels as I should) my husband cracked up and, making a reference to a certain adult undergarment, hollered “get back into life, babe” after me. I know, I know, he just slays himself.

And guess what my sweet, flaxen-curled, cherub of a boy said next? “Yeah, babe, get back into my butt.”

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the swift river ran

I’m on a double deadline, and little Shriekeur has been home sick all week, sending the productivity bar chart into a severe nosedive, so much so that my husband came home a couple hours early today to relieve me of Puke Duty. I’ve shuttered myself at my desk the last few hours but even with the door closed and my earbuds in, the goings-on are perfectly audible.

I’m sure Monsieur Shriek is cursing himself for having stupidly left the relative peace of his office for our little procession of domestic catastrophes. For example, just now I hear Shriekur say “I has to spit” (uh, that’s hork in Shriekur-ese) immediately followed by Shriekeuse calling from the bathroom, “Daddy, you need to come clean the toilet because I, um, I….”

Did I mention we’re having the Effluvia Extravaganza this week?

Right, back to work. Lucky me. Really.

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