I'm Just Not Funny Today...

... Or as Mr. Pretties would say, anyday, except we all know that's not true. I really wanted to do a humour filled post today, but, that's just not going to happen.

As it happens, LLP has become a source of stress for me. She makes me want to run away from home. Not that I would. Obviously. LLP likes to climb. Alot. She likes to colour. But only on things that aren't paper or otherwise intended for colouring. She likes to do funny things like cover my bedroom mirror in bum paste, colour on our nice white fridge with black and brown permanent marker, and cover herself and my tables in Caesar salad dressing.

Now, I know you're saying:

'That's terrible, but Jenn, where are you when this is taking place?'

That's a very good question, I'm glad you asked. As it happens I also have LBP and BLP that require my time, attention, and my advanced skills as a nappy changer. I also have to do laundry on occasion, say, 10 times a day. Totally no big deal though. In addition, LLP is fast. Very fast. In the time it took me to change LBPs nappy (one of those super fab ones that goes all the way up the back, my personal favorite) LLP had managed to push a stool up to the counter, dump my apple cider mix all over the counter, run into the hall and dump fist fulls of cat litter on the floor (ick), and fetch the dressing out of the fridge and douse herself, the floor, and my coffee table in it. Completely. Seriously. And since she is also extremely quiet (sneaky?) I'm usually totally unsuspecting until BAM! there it is, my house, sabotaged.

To say she drives me insane is an under statement lately. She requires her own parental team that has nothing to do but follow her around all day and then sit outside her bedroom door at night (She likes to do some night wandering, what can I say?).

We have more locks on things in this house than I ever knew they made. Did you know they make microwave locks and toilet lid locks? I had no idea, and quite frankly, I was enjoying my ignorance regarding the lock situation. Now I have to turn combos, fit keys, push and pull, push and turn, and my current fav, push, pull and swear. Repeatedly. All this just to get some freaking Lysol wipes out of the cupboard, go to the potty, or nuke a bottle. This makes me very unhappy and saps the majority of my energy (ahahaha, that would be if I had any to begin with).

This series of events is usually followed up by Mr. Pretties coming home wanting to know why he isn't walking into a reenactment of the 50's completed with me waiting by the door ready to light his cigarette, hand him a martini, serve him a hot roast, and read him the bloody newspaper. I may own vintage pieces, I may have a love affair with all things vintage, hey, I may even be vintage (I am by the way), but I do not live in a vintage era. Sorry about your lucky. I find myself frequently sending him back to work at night just to look for the reality he's clearly misplaced somewhere along the way.