NOT ME Monday

Oye, what a week. I mean, a marvalous one, but WHAT A week. Holiday, husband home from work, baby's routine all out-a-whack, too much food and too little sleep - you know the type.

But among the many happy moments in my Thanksgiving week, there were some that were more than slightly irritating - and you know me, I always respond in the best, most polite way possible when irritated. I never lose my cool, and I have more patience than anyone you know.

In fact, it was with that very polite attitude of mine that I responded when I realized I hadn't a single egg in the house with which to make a pumpkin pie. On Thanksgiving Eve. Me? Forget eggs? Never.

It was Not me, mind you, who made Thanksgiving stuffing that was entirely too dry a couple of years ago. And therefore, it was not our dear neighbors who refrained from asking me to make it last year. It was also not my dear neighbor's husband (affectionately known as Levi's adopted grandpa) who, forgetting I had made that stuffing two years ago, reminded everyone of how dry it was. As such, it was NOT ME who, after being asked politely to give stuffing another try this year, made it TOO MOIST. I didn't even know that was possible.

Did you follow that? I sure hope so.

It is NOT my child (get a load of this one) who has recently discovered (ready for the gross-out factor?) his rectum. Yes, his anus. During each and every diaper change I wouldn't dare be caught saying "Levi, do not put your finger in your rectum" NOT ME! that's gross. Seriously GROSS!

In a stroke of blind faith, it is not me who has been giving my dairy sensitive toddler 4-8oz of cows milk, daily, for the past week. Oh no, I know full well what kind of problems that can cause. I've SEEN THEM. Weeks of diarrhea can be the eventual result of ONE SIP of cow's milk - why on EARTH would I give him more than that. Better question: How in the world can it be true that he's actually tolerating it? Go figure.

Feeling guilty about our expenditures on disposable items, I did not recently sew a new set of baby-wipes out of two old, donated blankets. I mean, you've heard me say RIGHT HERE that I don't want to use cloth wipes (because I don't like poop going into my washer, it is for that very reason I rinse all my diapers. Yes, yes, I know I could "rinse" my wipes too, but that's taking it a step too far people). I did, however, come up with a plan I think might work. I'll let you know.

Lastly, in the veritable abundance of free time I have, I did NOT recently take up yeast-bread-making as a hobby. I have not recently found it therapeutic to bake fresh bread, after fresh bread, after fresh bread. Nor have I been boning up on my baking science so as to use the least amount of yeast possible, while maintaining a strong flavor. Christine Boothman, this one's for you: