I need to spruce up the ole' blog. I'm not good at sprucing up. If you've been in my house, say, EVER, you know this. I want to. I think about it. I never get around to it. It's like the procrastination statement that I stole from somewhere, but since I talk to voices in my head, I could have stolen it from myself. "I wanted to procrastinate, but I put it off."
I may be the only person that considers "sprucing" to be the same as "cleaning". Or else I just don't do either.
Completely unrelated, Colby was chattering to himself or ghosts in the hallway. Wish I could translate into type the noises he was making. Was pretty amusing and sounded like conversation--not babble. As I type this, he has his Popeye thing going and is talking his m&m cookie breath into my mouth. It's a little odd. Woah. My typing teacher would be proud that I was able to type all of that with toddler in my face blocking my vision of the screen and keyboard. Colby has removed himself from my lap and is perusing a magazine. I believe he is perusing it to figure out which photo he will tear from the magazine first. Not that it matters. Once he's taken one out, he decimates it pretty quickly. Ever seen cartoons when some swarm of some insect or whirlygig of animal devours a mass mound of food, etc? Yeah, that's my boy with a magazine or book or diaper or plastic bag or something else that could be torn into infinitesimal pieces that become sandlike underfoot. And this is why I will not be "sprucing" up anytime soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment