When I said this to L the other day, about Hatchling, he didn't know what it meant. Anyone have any idea where this comes from? I know it from Anne of Green Gables, you know, where you can learn everything you ever really needed to know...

And what has caused this iron, you may be wondering. Here is a recap of the story I have heard eighty-three times a day for the past week:

"Mommy, those smaller girls at the gym think that that color (pointing to something white in his line of sight) is my favorite color. They said so. But my favorite color is RED. NOT white. RED is my favorite color. But those smaller girls said WHITE is my favorite color!"

Despite my reassurances that I know his favorite color is indeed red, and that anyone with half a brain knows that white is the stupidest favorite color in the entire, whole planet, Hatchling's wounded color pride is not lessened. I'm not sure how to soothe his ruffled little feathers. On the bright side, at least pink isn't his favorite color (any more).


Yesterday, I was leaving Wal-Mart ($126 lighter, as always), and when I popped my trunk open, a big blast of wind knocked it back down where it crashed into my poor little forehead, which is now bruised and sore and whiny. Or at least the spirit residing in it is whiny, because foreheads can't whine, silly. Oh, and also, I did something to my right shoulder (feels like it is out of its little socket, but L says he thinks it is some tendon damage. L is usually right- with a head that big you've got to figure he has a brain the twice the size of a normal fella...). Anyways, it's intensely painful. Little things like wiping the counter clean or scrubbing the bathtub or picking up the baby just about make me cry. Hmmm... maybe I've just developed a sudden allergy to housework. Do you think they have shots for that?