OMG

First of all, I am typing this as I sit with my left shoulder on ice. Force gloves are wonderful....when you are in shape, that is. I, well---I am not in shape. So My shoulder feels like it is trying to detach itself from my body at the moment, and I am still sitting here typing this. How's that for dedication?

I am also multi-tasking like only a mother can. In other words, there is a load of laundry going in the washer, and in the dryer. I have meat for dinner defrosting, sauce cooking. Nah, I don't deserve a cookie for this. In all honesty, I would be loafing if my child were not screaming that he is going to starve to death. I assure you he is not. He still has that toddler Buddha belly at the age of almost-7. It is more than likely that his "I'm starving!" is more like the equivalent of "I am no longer full from lunch." How do you explain the difference to a little boy? And so I am cooking.

My child is also the source of a big ol' gross-out today. I am sorting through laundry, when I stumble across denim with a glop of brown muck on it. I didn't delve into the pile to see whose jeans they were, but instead yelled for John. I made him smell the mystery substance and from the look on his face, deduced that it was indeed dog poop. But here is the enigma. It was in the middle of the back of the leg. Not by the ankle or the hem. By the knee. And they were my beloved child's jeans. WTF? How did he do that? So the imagery pops into my head of what he would have had to have done to get that there. My original theory I had as a little girl in kindergarten was bang-on, it seems. Boys ARE yucky!