My guy likes to potty all the time

I knew when I painted the downstairs bathroom a soothing light purple that it would come in handy someday. It just so happens I spent the entire weekend staring at the walls in that bathroom while we started the potty training process with Jack.

The color of the walls and the calming effect of the framed Asian art prints put me in the perfect zen state of mind, which is what you need to potty train your 2-year-old son. That and a pedometer to track all the steps you take to and from the bathroom every five minutes.

Saturday morning we all woke up early and we showed Jack his big-boy Nemo underpants and talked up how he was a big boy now and he wouldn't be wearing diapers anymore. The smile on his face was huge and he kept saying, "No dipes! Underpants! Pee potty!" I am pretty sure he got the idea.

We knew he was ready seeing as he's been peeing on the potty like a champ a few times a day since the beginning of January. We're just taking it to an organized level with the underpants. And none of that Pullups shit in this family either. That's just a diaper that's harder to clean in my mind. One of Josh's friends has six kids (no seriously, SIX KIDS -- my head would pop off) and he had them all potty-trained at 2 by sticking them in underwear and letting them feel being wet after peeing themselves. He says having it drip down their legs and make them cold and wet gets the concept across pretty quickly. We went straight for the underpants for exactly that reason -- we wanted him to know when he was wet.

I decided to eschew the trendy potty training method of using a doll for modeling and throwing a potty party with engraved invitations and went straight for setting a timer for every 20 minutes and having him sit on the potty. If it worked for all of our moms, it can work for me.

The first day, he went every time we asked him, twice announced on his own that he had to go, and he had two accidents. Pretty acceptable, if you ask me.

The second day, he went every time we asked him at 30-minute intervals, made three announcements on his own and had two accidents, once of which was our fault for taking him out to dinner. We took a potty seat with us, but somehow he managed to have an accident. If you were dining at Pat's Pizza on Sunday night, I bet you didn't guess that was in the backpack I put on the chair next to me did you?

Today, the third day, he went every time I asked him at 45-minute intervals and even stretched it to over an hour at one point. We ventured out on errands and to the park and he had two accidents. But today he told me four times that he had to "pee potty!" and I think that was progress.

But he's doing such a great job and thriving on all the positive reinforcement and attention. We don't even have to bribe him, he just loves us making a huge deal out of him being a big boy and clapping and saying "yay" and letting him flush the toilet.

But I called my mom today to ask her why Jack wasn't fully getting it. I mean shouldn't he be running to the potty on his own and asking for privacy and grabbing something to read in there by now?

Silly me, I thought when people talked about staying home for a week, it meant after a week your kid would come out using the toilet without any assistance from you. I would have been wrong. My mom laughed at me and told me this is more like a month-long process. The first week is just about getting the idea in their heads.

Well that sucks it. I was only changing four diapers a day. Now I am taking him in the bathroom no less than 12 times a day. I deserve a raise for this increase in responsibility. I should picket.

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire

OK, so the title of this post is a little misleading. Perhaps "in danger of falling down" would be a better term, because seriously, WHAT MORE COULD BE WRONG WITH THIS SUCKING MONEY PIT I CALL MY HOME?

We saw a few water spots in the ceiling of Jack's room over the last couple months. Which looks a lot worse in print than it does in real life. There weren't any actual drips, just light brown spots. It started as one, and now there are four distinct spots. So we asked our contractor to have a roofer come over and fix it.

The original thought was it was some bad flashing around the chimney because the shingles were in great shape.

The roofer took one look at it and pronounced the shingles were indeed in great shape. But the boards underneath were warped and rotting and we have no water or ice barrier underneath. So a complete tearoff is the verdict, with repairs to the plywood sheets and rafters.

Let me remind everyone once again, we've owned the house three years. Three years ago, when we bought this place, our inspector said the roof was in great shape. Oh really?

Looking at the bright side, we now have identified major problems with both the foundation and the roof. There's not much left outside of that, so I guess all the surprises are over.

Mmmmm, beer

For no less than the third time this week, Josh and I are going out to drink beer without the children. This evening's exciting destination is Summerfest in Milwaukee.

So this is a total copout post to tell you all I won't be posting any actual content because I am going to be too busy drinking beer. And longingly drooling over the mozzarella marinara from Saz's that I can't eat. Yes, that's fried cheese. Yes, I'm from Wisconsin. Yes, I am a walking, talking stereotype.

Chaos theory

A few weeks ago, back before we started the Great Remodel of 2008 and the subsequent Extermination of the Termites, I made an conscious decision to stop managing the clutter in the house.

I figured we were already in chaos, but it would only be two weeks, so I just let it go. Josh and his dad embarked on a little fence project (remember the fence that we never closed? And our car got broken into? Well now the fence slides! And we close it all the time! Progress!) and the toolboxes and drills and screws remained in the dining room. Isn't that where you store your toolboxes? No? Oh, must just be Josh.

The dining room table was covered in baby gear and winter coats we never took upstairs as well as the various travel items we use in the car every time we take a trip. You know, Elmo DVDs and hop hop (bunny-shaped) crackers and the like.

The mess then started to take on a life of its own, migrating into the kitchen. It looked like the post office threw up all over the island and the five laptops (yes, FIVE) were taking up every available inch of counter space.

Jack went to stay overnight at Grandma and Grandpa's house today and when he left, I took one look at the mess, which was compounded with toys covering the entire surface of the rug, and said uncle.

I conducted our quarterly toy purge, boxing up the less-loved ones and making sure the remaining items fit securely in the toybox. I then started at the very back of the house and moved my way forward, cleaning and organizing everything in my wake. I almost sorted Emmie into the "to recycle" pile, but she squawked with displeasure so I guess we'll put her in the "to keep" pile.

Three hours later, I had the house looking like new. Just in time to start construction again next week. At least if the house falls down, the neighbors won't see our winter boots are still by the back door.

Happy birthday Josh!

Josh is 33 now. And I gave him a video game for his birthday. What's wrong with this picture?

He celebrated his big day with jury duty -- and of course, with his stellar luck, he was actually chosen to sit on a jury. I told him he should live blog it, but he thought they might frown upon that.

And of course, he can't tell me anything about his case. They must have known I have a big mouth and like to talk about crazy shit on my blog. That, or it's the standard procedure for sitting on a jury. I wonder if the judge is a longtime reader? Perhaps he came across it while searching for incompetent cervix or potty training conversation.

Undaunted by his silence on the matter, we celebrated the rest of his night with presents, cupcakes and an adults-only trip to Ravinia, an outdoor concert venue in the burbs. We had a picnic of sushi and beer and listened to a one-handed pianist. Seriously, he only played with his left hand. It was crazy. And then we were eaten alive by mosquitos who weren't fazed by our organic citronella bug spray.

Happy birthday to you, now put some calamine lotion on those bites.

Mac and Loosh

We have just returned from a 10-day visit to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Peoria. Jack was in seventh heaven as he had unfettered access to "soutside" (outside) where he could run around in actual grass and drive his big wheel on the patio.

His big wheel rides consisted mostly of him announcing he was going to go the door (store) to "buy ice cream, bread, cheese, pakes (pancakes), booey (veggie booty) and mook (milk)." He would then roll himself to the other end of the patio, pretend to grab something off the brick of the house and put it on the back of his bike and then deliver the goods to us to taste. Lather, rinse, repeat approximately 75 times in an hour. As it required me to do nothing more than sit on a lawn chair and pretend to eat blue ice cream out of my hand, I was more than happy to indulge his game.

But then he would notice the cats eyeing us from inside the patio door. And he would beat us to the door, which he would then throw open so the cats could realize their manifest destiny at the edge of the patio. Our cats, Mac (Max) and Loosh (Lucy), have lived at Grandma and Grandpa's house since Jack was diagnosed with a cat allergy early in life. They are very much indoor cats. Except when Jack is around, and they make a break for the edge of the grass, where Lucy enjoys a sampling of Peoria's finest Kentucky bluegrass. Which she then throws up on the carpet a few hours later. It's good times.

Perhaps they want outside so badly because they get a welcome respite from the laps they are forced to run around the house in terror inside. You see, Jack's new favorite pastime is chasing the cats and the poor 14-year-old dog around the house screeching at the top of his lungs. When he corners one of them, usually the chill Max, he throws himself face-first into their fur and starts petting them. And by petting, I mean slapping the living daylights out of their backs. They then escape to the basement, causing Jack to inform us, "Mac, Loosh, potty! Nigh-night!" That's right buddy, they're probably using the litterbox, but likely because you literally scared the shit out of them.

Hurts so good

We had our first official injury today.



Mr. I Don't Listen To My Mommy or My Grandma was fooling around in the hallway at Grandma's house, taking the picture frames off the wall. He tried to grab one that was just a little too high and it fell off the wall and the corner of the glass caught him right on the cheek.

Much crying commenced and after applying some pressure with a cold washcloth, it was determined to be more of a scratch than anything serious. But because it was on his face, it bled copiously.

After crying for about five minutes, he abruptly looked up at me and announced, "All done crying." An Elmo band-aid and some Neosporin and he was good as new.



Every time I look at him now, though, it's so jarring to see a big red gash across his presssshush perfect cherubic cheek. I considered calling a plastic surgeon, but thought that might be a little over the top, considering it was just a minor scratch.

Perhaps a scar will give him a little street cred with the preschool set next year.

Everybody poops

For the last two months, Jack and I have a running conversation at naptime that goes like this:

J: Poop?
A: You have to poop?
J: Yes.
A: Well let's poop on the potty!
J: NO POTTY. Poop bed.
A: Buddy, where should you poop? On the potty right?
J: Noooooo. Poop bed!

And when I put him on the potty, he jumps off after peeing and gleefully runs to his room yelling "Poop bed! Poop bed!" Guess what he does 30 seconds after I put him down for his nap -- that's right -- he poops in his bed.

It's driving me crazy because I know he knows when he has to go and is just screwing with me. OK, I know he's not doing it to me, but I would love to get him pooping in the potty. He even knows he'll get candy (M&Ms, which he has never had before except to try them last week so he would know how great they were and therefore would poop in the potty to get them) but does not care. He's been peeing in the potty with no problem several times a day since Jan. 1, but is still in diapers fulltime.

My pediatrician said in February not to go cold turkey with big boy pants and fullout training because it could cause him to withhold. But he's almost 2.5 now -- when is cold turkey acceptable?

He has astonishing regularity, pooping like clockwork in the morning when he wakes up and right before his nap. I was almost thinking about putting the potty chair in his crib right before his nap to see if I could get him to poop like that, but decided that would be unsanitary. Or would it?

And yes, I realize this child is going to need years of therapy someday when he sees I talked about his potty training on the interwebs.

What I'm reading lately

I have been on a tear with my reading lately. You might be thinking, "Why Amy, how on earth do you find the time with two children to raise, a huge house to clean, a husband to dote upon and a T-shirt business to run?"

Well let me tell you, outside of the children, the rest gets neglected. My in-process remodeling project means my house looks like a tornado hit it and the shirts get done when I have the time and no one is napping on my lap, requiring me to sit quietly on the couch and rendering me unable to type. But never fear -- Josh is still being doted upon. Well, by my standards; you would have to ask him his opinion. He has clean laundry every week and just got some awesome XBox games for Father's Day, but I am not sure he has seen a home-cooked meal since Bill Clinton was in the White House.

But the previously mentioned napping-on-my-lap habit, coupled with more than a few nursing sessions each day mean I can get some reading done again. I love to read. Seriously, I look forward to picking up my book each day and am one of those people who read fast and furious. When a particularly good book is finished, I am actually sad to see it come to an end.

As we're on a budget, I have been utilizing the library during the last few weeks. I hate not being able to shelve the books after I read them, but I am getting over it.

Today I just finished Augusten Burroughs' newest, "A Wolf at the Table: A Memoir of My Father." I think I need to mainline some anti-depressants after that one.

I also downed Stephanie Klein's "Moose" in record time last week after meeting her and getting a signed copy at a panel discussion two weeks ago. Great read, made me realize I have a huge responsibility to Emmie as she grows up to not let her become obsessed with weight.

The panel discussion where I met Stephanie Klein was actually my second attempt to get a signed copy of the fabulous Jen Lancaster's new book, "Such a Pretty Fat." Jen came and spoke to my book club a few years ago, and ended up becoming a part of the group for a while. I love her writing and the fact she's local makes her funny stories about the city even funnier, because I can picture everything she's talking about. This is her third novel and it debuted on the New York Times Bestseller list and has been getting mad press all over the place. Let me suggest you run, don't walk, to pick it up. Snarky, self-deprecating and sarcastic -- my favorite qualities in a writer -- she takes the cake with this highly amusing weight-loss chronicle.

In the last month I've also thrown back "Belle de Jour: Diary of an Unlikely Call Girl," "Naptime Is the New Happy Hour," "I Love You Beth Cooper" and "Certain Girls." I have "The Gravedigger's Daughter" three-quarters of the way finished and have been going back and forth with "Reading Lolita In Tehran" for the last two months. Tomorrow I will start "I Was Told There'd Be Cake," which I have heard great things about.

In addition to the ridiculous amount of time I spend reading news, celebrity gossip and blogs online, I am also contemplating re-subscribing to the New Yorker and Vanity Fair. You'd think I had a ton of free time with this list. You would be wrong. I just ignore my children and tell them Mommy is reading books without pictures right now, so they wouldn't like them.

Emmie: Five months

Dear Emmie,

Can it really be five months already? Didn't I just write your four-month letter, like last week? Are you trying to grow up in fast-forward or is it just me?



Perhaps I just can't remember the last month because I am so tired that it all blended into one long sleepless night. You see, my little wide-eyed wonder, you came home from the hospital loving your sleep and you have slowly evolved into a non-sleeper. You go down for the night somewhere in the neighborhood of 8 p.m., after taking close to an hour to really fall asleep, and you wake up approximately five times between then and 7 a.m. If I didn't let you sleep next to me in my bed, I would truly be a walking zombie. We've taken to letting you sleep in your swing for naps and sometimes even at night; it does the trick and we can get a chart-breaking three uninterrupted hours out of you. But hey, looking on the bright side, all this night-waking is great for the milk supply!



I keep thinking maybe there is some magic bullet for sleep, but I know there's not. You'll do it when you're ready. And when you wake up (at 11, 1, 3, 5 and 7 -- not that I'm keeping track or anything) you truly do want to eat every time. The pacifier doesn't pacify you and you want the boob. So clearly, the breastfeeding is still going well. You are satisfied with it and I decided to hold off with the solids until next month. You've hit a cute stage where you pat me and pull on my shirt and play with my bra strap while you are eating, that is, when you're not pulling off and laying a huge grin on me. Although in the middle of the night, you're all business. You peck at me like a bird until I offer it up and then you just lunge for me and latch yourself on with reckless abandon.

Your new favorite thing to do the last few weeks is crunches. You refuse to lie quietly on the floor now, instead you raise your head and shoulders clear off the rug and also lift your little legs so you're in a V-shape. Then you throw yourself on your side for a minute, then roll back and and start it all again. Sometimes you like to roll over onto your tummy, just for kicks. You've mastered the rolling from tummy to back and you've just starting to go the other way a few times here and there.



I think you and your brother have hit a new level in your relationship this month. Now that you are more interactive, he gets so excited to give you toys and have you hold them or shake them. He wakes up in the morning and always asks, "Emmie? Awake?" and now when he sees you, he says, "Hi Ahhhh-mee!" You of course, adore him. Probably even more now that he's stopped smacking you every chance he gets. Your eyes never leave him when he's in the room and now you smile and coo at him, too.



Your smiles aren't just reserved for your brother though. You literally kick your legs and pump your little arms and actually laugh when you wake up and I come in to get you. But as awesome as your reaction is to me, it's nothing compared to the show you put on for Daddy. Your smiles are the biggest for him and you just adore him. You truly are a daddy's girl these days. Your smile is a whole-body affair, complete with a little shoulder raise that makes it almost look like you're trying to be coy. But you really do light up the room when you are in it.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention your current hairstyle. All the "celebabies" are going to be sporting it in US Weekly this fall. Your blonde fuzz is about three inches long and it sticks straight up from the entire top of your head. No matter how much I try to comb it down, it just pops right back up, so we go with it and it's your signature look now. I know in a few weeks it will probably be too long to stick up and I really will miss it when it's gone.



Your hair is like everything else at this age -- we think it's how it will be forever, and then in the blink of an eye, it changes. Today I was pushing you in a swing at the park and I realized in no time at all, you won't want me to push and you'll be telling me "Emmie do! Emmie do!" But for now, you're content to have me be the center of your world and I am happy to oblige you. You bring such joy to my days -- how can I possibly be upset about something when I see you laugh at your little pink baby, grab her and try to eat her face? Or when you try to shove your entire fist into your mouth and pretty much succeed in doing it? Or when you're sleeping on my lap during your afternoon nap with your little hand pressed against your face, sighing?



There are moments in my day where my love for you just spills over. Not in the overprotective stage-mother kind of way, but I just look down at you and kiss your cute little face and tell you I love you. I can't get enough of you and I am always so excited to see you after I have been gone. Your Daddy and I went to New York for the weekend a few weeks ago and when our plane landed, I could not have been more excited to see you and your brother because I knew your little smile would greet me and make me feel like the luckiest woman on earth. I hope someday you get to experience this kind of love with children of your own, because there is nothing like it in the world.

Love,
Mommy

A blog by any other name...

Blogger sucked so bad a few weeks ago that I was forced to change to Typepad. But in order to be able to have a blog with them that allows a customized header and design, I had to pony up some cash.

But now we have the termites taking up all my extra money (do you know how hard it is to feed and clothe thousands of hungry bugs?) and a remodeling budget that has skyrocketed past all previous expectations. Suddenly spending money just so I can have a customized header seems pretty wasteful. You know, when I could be spending it on things like new sill beams and floor joists. Things that hold the house up.

So the question is: can I trust Blogger enough to publish my drivel on a regular basis again? I hate jerking all you readers around and making you update your links and feeds and readers and whatnot.

Please bear with me while I try to decide what to do. I am planning to double-publish on both platforms for the rest of the month and then I am thinking I will move back to Blogger full-time. Again, I apologize if this annoys the shit out of anyone else. So check snarkymommy.com or check snarkymommy.typepad.com -- eventually it will all redirect you to snarkymommy.com again.

New tenants

This morning we found out we have new tenants downstairs. They apparently don't mind the fact there are no walls or a ceiling. They also like that it's quite dark. And they're staying for free.

Oh yes, my friends, we have termites living with us. As if we didn't have enough problems with all the old termite damage, they're aiming to make more. Or actually make less of our house by eating the whole damn thing.

I sat with my head in my hands this morning as a lovely man told us there is not enough of the sill beam left on which to try the epoxy fix. And then watched in horror as he removed a rotting piece of fascia board on the corner of the house and uncovered real live termites.

My next move was to the phone, to call Terminex. They sent someone right over and for a cool $1,600 they will evict our new tenants tomorrow morning. The Terminex man told us he's seen worse, but our case is pretty bad. But if they're in our house, they're likely in all the houses near us because the termite can range 400 feet from its nest to find food. The nest could be anywhere, he said, but we all know with our luck it's probably smack dab in the middle of our house. He's seen active infestations in a number of houses in our immediate neighborhood, though, and said the 2-square-mile area around us is a termite haven.

Clearly the termites like the overpriced real estate and nightlife as much as the rest of us.

We might want to stock up on brownies, however, so we can use them as an excuse to visit all the neighbors and tell them the great news: since we're exterminating, all the little homeless termites will be looking for a new home. And their buildings are the prime targets.

Potty talk

Today's conversation during a potty break before naptime...

Jack: Penis!
Me: Yes, that's your penis.
Jack: Jack penis.
Me: Yep, Jack's penis.
Jack: Daddy penis?
Me: Yep, Daddy has a penis. (I'm sure he loves me blogging about it, too.)
Jack: Emmie penis!
Me: No, Emmie doesn't have a penis. She's a girl. Girls don't have a penis.
Jack: (pauses and smiles) Mommy penis all gone!

That was the first time he's ever strung four words together. Of course one of them had to involve the genital region, but I am proud nevertheless. Not sure where my penis has gone, but hopefully we won't be talking about it at the playground tomorrow.

That's me in the spotlight

The smile and the smirk

I haven't posted a picture of the kids in awhile, so there ya go. I got nothing else of note.

Wait yes I do! My husband surprised me with tickets to the REM concert on Friday night, and it was so much fun. We drank beer and had fun and then we went out to some bars. It was like we didn't even have kids! But then we came home and Emily was squawking for the boob and I remembered we definitely did have kids.

Remodeling our remodeling

You might recall this week was the beginning of our downstairs remodeling project. Our contractor got his crew started bright and early Monday morning, tearing down the walls and ceiling. Let me give you a little before and after action.






Let me also show you the weird popcorn ceiling someone slapped up there in a past remodel.


Three years ago, right after we bought the house, we had a contractor come over and look around and he said he would definitely take that ceiling down and redo it. "I wonder what's hiding under there?" he mused. But of course, we weren't even close to doing anything with the downstairs at that point and we promptly forgot about it and got our renter in there and all was well for three years.

DUM DUM DUMMMMMMMMMMM... cue the scary music.

Wanna know what was hiding under that ceiling?


Massive, horrible, terrible, god-awful, our-house-is-falling-down termite damage.

Oh yes my friends, our house really and truly is falling down. The termites, which were discovered by a previous owner (we're talking about you ANDREW GREENE and TIM GREENE) and eradicated, left a swath of chewed beams and joists in their wake. But that one board looks brand-spanking-new in that photo, you might be thinking. Well that would be because they sistered the floor joists with new boards (in a halfass way, of course) and covered it back up. A carpenter told us the boards couldn't be more than four years old, based on their condition and the condition of the screws they used.

The sill timber holding the front of the house up is almost completely eaten away. The front of our entire three-story house is pretty much being held up by the 2x4s that you screw drywall into.

I will never forget the sound of Josh's voice when he delivered the news to me over the phone. I am not exaggerating when I tell you all the air left my lungs and I felt like I might be sick.

After a slight hesitation, our structural engineer friend told us it was safe to at least live in the house. It's not like this is something that happened yesterday, and we've been living with it all this time just fine. He said unless a tornado whips through, we should be OK. We have been having some mighty crazy weather lately, however.

Ideas for fixing this little problem, based on the extent of damage on the first floor, ranged from shoring up just the basement wall to taking 10 feet off the front of all three floors and rebuilding the front of the house. That would also require us to take the roof off. Remember when I joked this remodeling project wouldn't leave me with snow falling into my bedroom? Apparently, I was psychic.

However, we think we might have found a solution involving someone called the Rot Doctor and an epoxy product he created to harden and replace damaged wood. We are in contact with some people who are familiar with the process and should know more next week.

Perhaps I should check and see if snarkyconstruction is taken because this is going to be something worth documenting. Obviously, the actual basement remodeling is now on hold while we figure out how to keep the house from collapsing.

There's early, and then there's EARLY

You wanna know where Emmie is right now (8:45 p.m.)? Sleeping. You wanna know what time she fell asleep? 5:25 p.m.

Yes, you read that right. I thought she was just taking a late nap and she decided to go down for the count.

This surely means she'll be awake at 5 a.m. and I will be a walking zombie.

I know, I know. They say sleep begets sleep and she might actually sleep longer with all this restfulness in her system. But I also know these things tend to bite me in the ass.

Crunching numbers

Emmie is totally into working out now that she's almost five months old, doing her crunches every day.

It's hilarious because she tries so hard to sit up using only her little ab muscles. She gets her head and neck and upper back pretty much clear off the floor. Then she thinks lifting her legs into the air will help her get up, although we all know that's just a pilates move and now she's clearly showing off.

The crunch is normally followed by either a roll to her side, and almost all the way over, or by a defeated flop back down onto the rug.

Evidently, she's trying to one-up her mommy in the exercise department. Which wouldn't be hard, considering my only exertion consists of pushing the stroller. I should probably get down and do 10 sets of 20 with her if I want to lose this baby weight. Which is still standing at a solid five pounds to go before I am back at my pre-Jack weight. My jeans all fit, so not sure how that works, but I have a ways to go before I will be comfortable baring this body at the beach.

I say this while sucking down a scoop of dairy-free ice cream.

OMFG It's a miracle

Blogger actually published my post! It's only been two and a half weeks since that was possible.

Again, though, check my new blog at www.snarkymommy.typepad.com

Rolling, rolling, rolling

Emmie rolled from her back to her front today. This is momentus for two reasons.

First, she abhors being on her stomach with the passion normally reserved for religious zealots. You put her down and she is smiley for about 45 seconds and then the fuss begins and soon she is so upset I just swoop in and pick her up because listening to her cry raises my blood pressure by about 70 points. So I am not sure why she would voluntarily flip herself onto her tummy, but she did.

The second reason is she is now, in theory, mobile. And we wanted the basement remodeling project done before she was mobile. So we really need to get past the stage we are at today, which involved demolition of all the drywall downstairs. I actually see the brick on the outside of this house from the inside of the house. It's kind of urban-loft hipster, except not. Because it's not cool, it's just messy.

Also, an update on Jack and his sickness. He's still sick, Running around playing and generally acting like himself. We took him to Grandma and Grandpa's lake house this weekend and he had a great time. No more vomiting, but wowsa, those diapers are DISGUSTING. Poor kid is so traumatized he won't poop anywhere but in his diaper in his bed, so he ends up wandering around saying, "Butt hurt. Poop bed." I finally put him in his bed for a few minutes this morning, which produced the desired result, and he seemed to feel better for a while. But we're still on Dehydration-Watch 2008 here. So far, no one else has gotten sick. You know I just cursed myself by typing that.

Is this thing on?

I am going to keep trying to publish and see when Blogger finally gets off their asses and fixes the ftp problem. So far, it's been two weeks.