Colt is fascinated by the fact that I don’t stand up to pee.
Those of you who don’t have kids are probably thinking, “EW. Why are you letting your son watch you go to the bathroom?”
First of all, to potty train your child, you have to SHOW him how to do it, so there’s that…
But even when the training is over, I can’t just lock myself in the bathroom and let my kid run free?!!!!
Spitting. One of the many few topics, in which my husband and I disagree.
Specifically, the appropriateness of it.
He believes that phlegm needs be expelled. That it will somehow make you sicker to swallow it.
It must leave the body immediately. In the parking lot. On the sidewalk. In the kitchen sink. Out the car window.
Apparently every player of every Major League Baseball team in America is under the same guise.
Here's the cake I made for Colt's 3rd birthday. Unlike all of the other housewife bloggers out there, I did not bake this cake from scratch. I did not pluck the Valencia oranges from my modest back yard orchard, or the eggs from my grass-fed hens. I did not shave the zest from the rind of the organic lemons I picked up from Whole Foods. I bought the orange-flavored Duncan Hines cake mix on sale. And the dark chocolate icing in the can. My mother said it tasted like Baby Tylenol. She was about right. But like I always say, it matters more what's on the outside than on the inside. And It looks awesome, right!?