So, as I grocery shopped today, I passed by a new deodorant. It is called "Romantic Evening" or some such flowery name. Really, product-manufacturers? If any romantically-inclined evening results in my love muff getting to know my armpits that intimately... ay ay ay.
"Why sweetie! What is that lovely -mmmm-heady scent wafting from your pittage? Must get closer.... mmmm..."

Ack! I love a good-smelling pit, but the key isn't for it reach out and wave at people.

It's been a tiring week. Mr. Big has a new trick, and it's another whack-a-mole thing. For the past 3 weeks he has been pulling up and standing in his crib, in the night. In his sleep. Screaming. He is sleep-standing, and can't get back down. We go in to see what the holy racket is, and there he is, lean little froggie, clinging to the rail. We lay him right down, he curls on his side, pops in the thumb, and is completely asleep. Repeat as needed, usually 3 times per night. Adjust whacking to include angry older brother, upon occasion.

Therein lies the rub of sharing rooms with a sibling - you have to shoot for that optimum amount of time, where the little one will scream and realize he is standing up, and just lie down - yet not over-shoot the time mark and let him scream long enough to wake up Cole. So, in we go after a few moments to rescue the little turkey.

And that's what I've been up to. Ho-hum-hum-drum.