The Tiny Tyrant broke my TV today. Why? Because I'm an idiot and handed him a bottle of Windex and a paper towel. Who knew you could spray a TV so much that it will drown? (And, no, I didn't expect him to clean the TV. I thought he'd head to the window.)
Never mind that we've never bought a TV in our entire married career, Hubs is highly annoyed that we might have to go buy one (not that we "need" to buy one considering another of our family's cast offs is in our basement, but it is apparently "too small" even though it worked just fine up until six months ago when we were passed this one). And why? Because, apparently, if we buy another one, it will just be broken also. Because we break TVs all the time around here (even if this is a first in 8.5 years of parenting). "We can't keep anything nice."
Potty training sucks.
Potty training also robs me of any good feelings I can conjure up about blogging. Because, frankly, I don't want to relive my day. In writing or otherwise. Thus the many, many dark days we've had around here.
No comments about putting off the training until he's older. We're too far gone for that.
Old Navy swimsuits are NOT for women who have nursed children more than four years. And that's all I have to say about that.
I had the stomach flu from H E double hockey sticks last week. My stomach still hasn't recovered. Food, no matter how bland, burns it.
My mother's day card:
"For my mother
What's that smell?
I kid you not. Like I'm going to smell a brown streak. With the kind of week I've had. (It was gingerbread spice lotion. She was being sweet, but I'm SOoooooo saving it to give to her when she's potty training HER kids.)
Well, it's pouring here. So far the basement is dry. But the ceiling isn't. Grrr.
Life is TERRIFIC.