1. Your recent responses to my extremely dubious excuse for a poll, that of the “should I go for baby number 4?” variety. Most of you said YES! NOW! HOP TO IT AND PROCREATE, LADY! Which, while very encouraging (I’ve always dreamed of having a personal cheersquad at various inappropriate moments in my life), was also, well…yes. Freaky. Yet actually strangely helpful.
We’ve since made the call to wait. “What?” you say. “You mean all poll results on this here site are not going to be adhered to? Pffft! Double pffft! Physical pffft!”
Let me appease your pffft-ing by telling you that the big reality check of having you guys going “come on, do it!” actually helped us come to the conclusion that we don’t want to.
Rebels are we.
Next.
2. The ridiculously loud thunder outside my door as I type this. Or more specifically, that it represents a hefty storm I will have to drive through to go see THIS ball of goodness tonight! I’m so excited. Sarah and I have known each other since early primary school years and apparently there’s a hint of a mention or something of a character based on moi! I feel so Miss Piggy even writing that. Truly excited. But yes, driving through rain. Don’t like.
Next.
3. The ever-fading hope that my floor will ever be truly clean. Ever.
Truly, a rebel without a cause if ever there was one.
4. This little dude. Oh my heavens. He is two and how. He’s the first of my children to uncover the wonders to be found by pushing chairs around the house. Seriously. The kid can find anything. And he does. From overflowing the kitchen sink (“doing washing!”) to helping himself to frozen peas, to working out a quite elaborate way that he can open the front door into our unfenced front yard…ay carumba.
Both hubby and I find ourselves searching for paper bags to chant into, crying “This too shall pass…this too shall pass…why is good scotch so expensive…this too shall pass…”
And finally…
5. How quickly July is approaching…namely cos with it comes Los Angeles, solo and musical improv awesomeness and general all-round freaking faboosh.
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