We are in big trouble at our house. We have a little one who likes to roll across the room already. I wasn't ready for this. She's not even five months old yet! Our house is almost always messy lately, and I'm a little worried about what is going to go into her mouth. And we haven't gotten a new baby gate, so that's on the to do list for tomorrow. And I can't just keep the whole floor covered in blankets and towels to catch all the drool and spit-up, so once she's off the blanket, we're pretty much out of luck. It's a good thing carpet cleaners exist. Now, to find a good one to buy.
Here is a story from Preston, who likes to sign his papers at school, "Presty." He told me to type everything he said.
Once upon a time, there was a crazy mama. I changed it to a crazy baby. The crazy baby liked to jump a lot and smile. The crazy baby can fly. It's mama loves when it doesn't be crazy. Wait, does this make sense? Oh yeah. So the crazy baby's name was Sadie. And so the crazy baby went to the mama, but don't put a period. But why are you writing, "but don't put a period?" Hahahahaha. And the crazy baby jumped, wait, change that to fly-ed. Ugh. So the crazy baby was carrying the mama into the sky. And the crazy baby is crying now. So, I don't know what to write next. Wait, don't write that! And the crazy baby had a toy. The toy was a dog. The toy dog was magic. It can turn into a real dog. Okay, let me think. (Hitting his head, trying to think.) The dog turned the crazy baby not into a crazy one. So, here's what happened. I'M STILL CRAZY!!!!!! And the mama was like, "Oh my! Oh my! This is a bad baby. My baby is SUPER crazy!!!!" And there was a daddy, too. And the baby took the dad on a ride in the sky, chirping like a bird. I'm trying to make my story super silly. Why are you writing every word I say? Because I'm, um, CRAZY?!!! The daddy did not like the flight. He thought she was SUPER BABY! Her spit-up looked like bird poop. Hee hee hee hee hee. You wrote poop. The End.
We have been without much furniture in our upstairs family room since Thanksgiving, when we moved everything downstairs. I am hoping that we find something soon. A small love-seat and two chairs do not seat our whole family. And the love-seat does not promote any actual love in our house, just fighting over who gets to sit there.
Europe was fun. I only gained one or two pounds this time, so that's good. Sadie had serious jet lag when we came home. A full week of her waking up at 4 am was not fun. And I don't know why our pastries have to be way grosser than European pastries, especially French pastries. Same with our chocolate. We need our chocolatiers to study with Swiss chocolatiers. Nobody ever says, "I went to America, and I brought you back some chocolate." There is a reason for that! (Although I am excluding Reese's in this conversation about gross American chocolate. I would eat them any time of day if they wouldn't kill me.) Also, Swiss Fondue is not worth 108 euros! But when it's your only choice because you accidentally booked a hotel that was only accessible by a tram and a mountain train, then at least you can experience the real thing. Because it would cost that much just to get down to the valley and back, and it's still AWESOME to eat Swiss Fondue in the Swiss Alps. And to eat Schnitzel in Germany, in a castle on a hill. And some delicious hashbrown cheesy tomato dish in Liechtenstein. And a GIANT chocolate covered pretzel in Salzburg. And really good Italian food in every city we were in, even though we didn't go to Italy. It is NOT awesome to change a poopy diaper in Munich, or every single other city that we went to. Stupid exploding poop diapers. Bill threw away three really cute baby outfits in various trashcans in Europe. And now she's back to normal poop every few days that doesn't leak. Or maybe that's the Costco diapers she finally grew into. And if I accidentally broke a vase in a little church while we were trying to do some family history in a little village in France and nobody heard it, did it really break? Did it really?
So, Bill has told me a few times that when I sell my first book, I can buy whatever mattress I want, even a really expensive one. I had a dream last night that I found a rare diamond and that if I could get to Cartier in London, they would buy it from me, but we were in some shopping mall in Prague, where pickpockets kept trying to steal it from me, and I just wanted to sell it for enough money that I could get a new Intelli-Gel mattress, the most expensive one, of course. I think I should get writing if I am so uncomfortable that I am even aware of it in my dreams. And why does everybody say uncomfortable like "uncomfterble"? I do it too, sometimes, and it drives me crazy!