But in all seriousness, back to me.
Thursday we celebrated Veteran's Day, or as Natalie refers to it, the day we are thankful that people make sure we can keep eating whatever we want to at snack time day. Since all the kids had the day off from school in order to make sure they thanked a veteran for fighting for their right to eat Cheetos, we went to the art museum. And there's nothing like your 3-year-old shouting "Penises!" at the top of her lungs when you walk past the statues to make you realize you really should be embarrassed, and the fact that you aren't probably means you're officially one of those moms.
I now have documented proof that I gave my children a few hours of culture. And any culture that doesn't start with "blood-" is a good thing. I know my babysitter, Adam from Eternia, was happy to get a morning off. But alas, all good
So we arrive home, put the she-devil to bed, and let the nanny take back over.
Fabulous secret powers were revealed to Daniel the day he held aloft his magic sword and said, "By the power of Septra!"
I have the Septra. Or, I had the Septra. Eve was on it since last October when she was diagnosed with the c-word. (It is a drug that prevents pneumocystis-pneumonia. Are you there, Spell Check? It's me, Christy.) Now that she is six months off-treatment, we are allowed to toss it since her blood counts are high enough to avoid becoming sick. But no matter how deep in the landfill that bottle of medicine gets buried, we'll always be able to remember it.
Don't give your child a syringe filled with pink syrupy medicine on the stairs is all I'm sayin'. You can see the seven-foot mark where Matt was able to wipe it off. Unfortunately, two people with a fear of heights aren't going to straddle a ladder on the stairs willingly, no matter how much Septra is on the ceiling.
(Hey, it's not cancer.)
I don't know. Time for a getaway? Calgon has left me high and dry, that heartless bitch.
Matt and I headed out for a romantic weekend sans kids in Los Angeles to attend a...Wilms Tumor Symposium. Well, these days, what qualifies as a romatic getaway is subject to the theory of relativity. I'm convinced a trip to the local Walmart might also qualify.
First order of business? Get a head-start on Christmas shopping in the SkyMall magazine. For those of you who don't know, SkyMall is basically Harriet Carter, but for people who think they are better than Harriet Carter customers because they are spending exorbitant amounts of money on this stuff, therefore making it "not crap."
You can add this $200 Magic Eight ball to your wish list if you want a Magic Eight ball with batteries. "Is my supportive energy flowing to the north or the south of my dining table?" Ask again later. Sucker.
Or there are gifts for those of us who are more refined and can appreciate a good surf and turf dinner.
Yes, I'll have the two lobster tail and tube steak dinner, please. Why, thank you; I do dress to impress.
I know you are dying to know which one of these I ordered after one-too-many decaf instant airplane coffees, but it will have to wait until tomorrow; I have a really early appointment with the dentist to get a cavity filled. I will fill you in if I don't end up drooling all over the keyboard and shorting out the computer.
I just hope the new filling doesn't mess up my qi.