Tiny kangaroo down spot

Confession: I have acquired a fondness for these guys.

I know. I KNOW. But I bought their CD in an attempt to play something other than country music for Newbie while we tooled around town, and I fell in love. Anyone who can sing a song about fruit salad is a friend of mine. However, I'm not sure Newbie loves them. While I rocked out to "Hot Potato" and "Captain Feathersword" in the car, he just scowled back at me. And I'm pretty sure I embarrassed him while walking into the grocery store singing "tiny kangaroo down, spot"...mostly because I'm pretty sure those aren't the real words. (It's hard to translate the Australian accent sometimes, so I just roll with it.) Sorry, Newbie, but your mom embarrassing you with a full display of crazy is just going to be par for the course around here, buddy. Your dad will be happy to welcome you to the club.

Hold on, I have to go get a fudgecicle.

There's just something about the summertime that calls for a steady intake of Popsicles, ya know?

So tonight my sister and I are going to a bridal shower honoring the next innocent victim destined to join our husbands' side of the clan. We are excited to have a new cousin join the craziness because now we'll have one more female to commiserate with. There's just only so much camo one can take without a few female counterparts to sympathize with you.

In other news, I am vigorously working on a new schedule for Newbie, on which he has launched a full frontal assault. The child is revolting to my new early bedtime plan with the strength and determination of a thousand men. Kicking and screaming, folks, kicking and screaming. This is what pre-naptime looked like yesterday before the war was waged.


And this is what it looked like after I won- not without losing a few of my appendages first. This little baby is brutal. After the screaming, I wasn't sure I would ever hear the same again. Nor was I sure my heart had ever squeezed so tight. Poor baby. But he finally zonked out and woke up better for it. All a part of my master plan.


Headlining this past weekend's update is the Hubs' most recent shenanigan. At church on Sunday, Newbie filled his britches, and the Hubs offered to go change him, to which I responded with an "Alleluia!" because it's usually me who sneaks out to change 80 diapers over the course of the service.

So the Hubs stepped in as a hero and went out to change Newbie. I told him of a table I stick Newbie on that is tucked away in a corner where nobody has to witness the bio-hazard with their Sunday morning coffee. Unfortunately, I have a poor sense of direction and sent the Hubs to the wrong corner. Due to my poor navigational skills, my husband ventured where no man has been before: THE NURSING ROOM. Oh. My. WORD. In the space of five minutes on a Sunday morning, I had become the wife of the man who walked into the nursing room.

Now, I know my husband well enough to know that he had no idea what he was getting himself into and simply thought the table I had described was the one tucked away in that corner. What he didn't know what that he had walked into the opposite corner on account of my misdirections, and BOY HOWDY WAS HE IN FOR A SURPRISE when he discovered his little changing station to be the home of nursing mothers who are just trying to get away from everyone for one cottonpickingminute while they nurse their newborns. Aye caramaba.

He high-tailed it out of there once he realized where he was and made a smooth recovery. When he got back he told me what happened, and I asked him to please go sit somewhere else or at least change his clothes so nobody would know I was the wife of the man who walked into the nursing corner. Sheeeeesh.

Somebody get me a GPS. Please.

Please.