If I make a list of things I've been meaning to blog about, does that count as blogging about them?

1. I'm getting stupider.*

2. Grace can talk now, and she says anything that pops into her curly little head. **

3. Sam wants to be a ghost for Halloween.***

4. Pregnancy is emotionally confusing.****

5. Coach and I went on a little vacation a couple weekends ago, sans children.*****




* This is not without precedent, but Coach says it's got nothing to do with being pregnant. It's because I'm not blogging enough.


**For example, last week I farted, (This may be a shocking admission to some of you, knowing my delicate sensibilities about this sort of thing. But we have a strict family policy of Flatulence Integrity, and I'm not about to risk another writeup from Human Resources.) and when Grace caught wind of it she said "Mommy, you smell poopy. You go inside take bath and potty." I laughed, continued up the steps toward the house, and turned to wait for her on the porch. She refused to budge. "You go," she said, standing at the bottom of the stairs looking stern. So I went inside, and Grace followed eventually. (And although I did use the potty, I didn't take a bath. Don't tell Grace.)

***This may sound like a boring costume to you, but remember this is Sam we're talking about. Of course he has something ingenious up his sleeve: levitation. So far, he's suggested a sort of miniature remote-control crane, rocket boosters, and/or helium balloons to get himself airborne. I'm running out of ways to shoot him down. At least ghost costumes are easy to sew.


****Like what's what all the inappropriate crying in public? Like in the Apple store when I was browsing videos on the new ipods, and stumbled upon this video and before I reached the minute mark I was literally sobbing. Or when I couldn't decide if I was too tired to see the Cleveland Botanical Garden, so instead of deciding I sat down on a bench and cried. Even weirder, what's with the inexplicable composure in more stressful situations? Like when the kids decided to "wash [their] fingernails" in the upstairs bathroom while I was doing laundry in the basement, and the sink overflowed onto the floor and dripped through the tile, down to the dining room, through the dining room floor, and down to the basement, where (remember) I was doing laundry. Did I cry? No. Did I scream and yell? No. Did I clean it up? Yes. Did I grumble as I re-washed every formerly clean towel in the house? Yes I did. Or, how about when our van was broken into and our GPS unit was stolen and we lost most of a day of our precious vacation cleaning up glass and trying to figure out how to get around Cleveland. Did I cry? No. Back at home, can I successfully navigate to the dentist without the GPS? No. Does that make me want to cry? Yes.


*****It was awesome. We still love each other. And we still think we're funny.