Babies are magnets for crazy people

One Sunday, I took FunnyBoy for a drive in a desperate attempt to get him to nap. While he didn't fall asleep, he did calm down and we decided to do some shoe shopping. FunnyBoy loved shopping so much, he started cooing in his stroller as I pushed him around the store (or, at least, I like to think it was because he loved it so much). And his cooing attracted the attention of a seemingly-normal woman walking by.

She started off asking if she could look at FunnyBoy and was very nice about not touching him. Then she asked me his name (still very normal). Then she asked if he was my first and when I told her he is my second, she asked if I had a boy or girl at home. When I said "boy," that's when things started to get weird.

"Two boys. You keep working on that girl!" (I didn't respond and, although the comment kind of rubbed me the wrong way by how it implied that my beautiful boys weren't enough, my weirdo radar just barely went off).

Then, this. "Let me know when you need me to babysit!"

Ohhhhhhhh, yeahhhhhhh. Sure, stranger. I will be calling you annnnnnyyyyy day now. And then FunnyBoy and I made a hasty exit from the store before Ms. Too Close For Comfort decided we needed her to come home with us.

I kept a straight face, but I was laughing inside

Man, if it weren't for rude and/or dumb people, I wouldn't have anything to post about these days. Today, I stopped at the store with FunnyKid and was standing with the rear door of the car open so I could unbuckle him from his seat. As I was trying to get him out, a woman started to pull into the spot I (and the car door) was in. And even with me and part of my car in front of her, she didn't stop. She just kept slowly pulling at me.

I was kind of incredulous because there was an open spot RIGHT NEXT to the one she just had to pull into, but no, she wasn't going to have to walk any further than she had to, and she kept coming at me. I finally squished my nine-months-pregnant body as far into my backseat as I could and pulled the door against my back so she could park (which ended up being half in the spot and half in the empty spot next to it-- how's that for irony?).

As I did this, I glanced up just in time to watch her impatiently hit the gas a little... and drive straight into the little concrete bar on the ground that keeps a car from plowing into the building. She wasn't going fast enough to cause whiplash or anything, but I still found it to be poetic justice for being such a bee-yotch (seriously, parking one spot over would have added, what? An extra five feet to your journey?)

And another irony? This morning, I was the one in the car as a woman had the side door of her van open to get a bunch of boxes out at the post office (in this case, it really was the only spot that was open). And I stopped and waited patiently for her to stack all the boxes in her arms, get her door closed and move out of the way. If only everyone was as awesome as me... :)

The home stretch... if I can just keep from killing someone before the baby arrives

With less than three weeks until my due date (FYI: my due date is Christmas Day so you might want to get that holiday shopping done-- and quick), I'm used to some second looks and questions about when I'm due, what I'm having, etc. And some comments about how hard it's going to be to have a toddler and a newborn (yes, I'm aware...)

For the most part, people have been nice. Today, FunnyKid and I went into a coffee shop and immediately attracted the attention of a man sitting at a nearby table wearing a "Grandpa" T-shirt. He had really nice things to say about FunnyKid's behavior and asked a bunch of questions about my pregnancy. He wished me luck and that was that.

Except our conversation must have somehow attracted one of the workers, who bolted out of a back room and loudly asked "do you have one baby in there or two?" Stunned, I answered, "just one" and she replied, "Sorry. I had to ask."

Um, listen, bee-yotch, you did not HAVE to ask and while I have a very obvious belly (again, due to being two and a half weeks from my due date), I am nowhere near looking like I'm hauling around twins. I know this because I immediately started texting the Pretend Husband and a bunch of my friends to tell them what happened and they assured me I look like a normal pregnant woman. Then they gave me a bunch of comebacks I wished I had thought of, such as "What are you talking about? I'm not pregnant" and "Enough about me. When are YOU due?"

I wasn't prepared for someone to be so rude to be today, but I'm ready now. Just let someone try to imply I'm fat again and I will be using every zinger my friends and family gave me. You just don't mess with a pregnant woman.

Stupid nature...

We live in a fairly rural area. Rural enough that I routinely swerve to avoid deer, have seen a bear while out for a walk, had a bobcat sun itself in our backyard and had a neighbor spot a moose (a moose!) near our house just last week. I can handle all of that and even think it's very cool (I would love to see a moose in person).

But the smaller stuff gets me. And it's not just the squirrel that ran the wrong way last week and committed suicide under my car tire. Yesterday, I opened the door to let the dogs out into the backyard, looked down and spotted a bird laying on the step. Quickly getting the dogs back into the house, I assessed the situation... which basically included a rundown of every male I could call to come take care of the situation and determining they were all otherwise busy (I don't know if my former neighbor still reads the blog, but I was wishing I could have called E to come take care of it for me!)

So I manned up, wrote the Pretend Husband a text telling him how lucky he is to have a pregnant wife willing to do this stuff and carefully approached the bird with my shovel extended. Oh, and I chanted, "please don't move, please don't move" to the bird the whole time (I was barely able to deal with a dead bird and may have died if it actually moved). Luckily, the bird was dead, and it stayed that way as I maneuvered it onto the shovel and headed for the woods.

I said a quick "rest in peace" and then lovingly and reverently... flung it as far into the woods as I could. Then I went back inside to text the details to the PH and promise him to give him a little more of a send-off when his time comes.

As if that wasn't enough adventure for the week, I walked into the garage this afternoon to find two birds banging against the inside of the window trying to get out. When they wouldn't take the hint of the two open garage doors, I figured I was going to have to open the window for them. I had to reach between the birds to unlock the window and then went outside to lower the top pane. One of the birds was laying against the glass while the other tried to bang its way out.

While lowering the glass, I somehow got one of the birds stuck between the panes of glass and there was no going back because it looked like I would have decapitated it if I tried. I somehow managed to slide one of the panes out of the way without killing the bird and it flew away. The other one took some prompting (i.e. banging on the glass) for it to find its escape route.

Also, I think we may have a mouse living in our family room. But I refuse to think about it (I've already let it out the door once) and it will be up to the PH to deal with whatever encounter springs up on us next. If he won't, then I'm moving to the city.

It's a library... there must be a newspaper around here somewhere for you to start checking the classfied ads

A playgroup we are a part of decided to meet at a local library this week. We rotate around to different libraries on rainy days and, although I had been to this one a handful of times before, I had never met this particular children's librarian. This particular *grouchy* children's librarian.
The library, like many others, boasts a nice play area complete with a train table, a kitchen and some other fun activities.And the kitchen includes a couple of kid-sized shopping carts which, of course, the kids are eager to push around.

One of the kids in the playgroup was pushing the cart quietly around the rest of the very large (mostly empty) children's room when the librarian looked up and said, "she needs to take that back to the play area." Then, when we stepped out into the hall outside the children's room to say hello to a friend, the librarian chased us out, told us we needed to return the same shopping cart to the play area and said, "And you need to help clean up the play area."

Trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she thought we were leaving (without our coats or bags?) and maybe she thought we were the types of parents who walk out on a mess (we're not), but I didn't appreciate the tone.

And personally, if you're not a fan of kids and how they do things (they wander, they move toys around, they are prone to leaving designated areas over and over again), perhaps you might want to find another line of work. Or just, you know, chill out a bit.

Note: I feel like I repeated the word "librarian" a lot in this post and I don't mean to mock anyone but this particular woman and her lack of flexibility, especially when working with kids. The library we went to is a great one and happens to be the same place that employs my favorite librarian (and one of my most faithful readers). We'll visit again, my friend, but maybe on that lady's day off!

I know telemarketers are just doing their job... but I kind of hate their job.

We recently dropped caller ID (I know, how 1990s of us!) in order to save a few bucks. Which means I have to blindly answer our home phone. Which means I've had the, uh, pleasure of speaking with many telemarketers lately.

I immediately know I'm talking to a telemarketer when they butcher our last name. Which, to be fair, it's not the easiest name, BUT, they manage to make a very French-looking name sound Italian-- now that's talent. While that's not a big deal, not taking no for an answer and being snotty to me is what gets my goat.

Last week, we got a call from the cable company we already use. They were basically trying to upgrade our service (i.e. increase their revenue) and tried to make it sound like the deal of the century. In a bored voice, the guy described how he was calling to generously offer three free months of extra movie channels.

"No thanks," I said.

"But you get blah blah blah for only blah blah a month and at the end of three months, you get a rebate of blah blah," he said.

"No thank you, we don't want any more channels," I said.

"But these are basically free," he whined.

"No. No thank you. We're not interested," I said firmly.

And he had the guts to sound hurt. You make me say no three times before you'll give up and I'm supposed to feel bad about hurting your feelings? I don't think so.

A few hours later, we got a call from a breast cancer organization (I had never heard of) asking for a donation. The woman not only called me by the Italian version of my name, but told me I sound beautiful (that's flattering, but doesn't work with me... plus, how does someone sound attractive?) As she went through her spiel and tried to get me to pledge a donation over the phone, I politely asked if she had any literature she could send me to look at.

"You're not going to send it back. Can you just make a pledge now?" she asked.

"Uh, no. I don't choose where I make donations over the phone. Do you have a Website?" I replied.

It took me asking twice more for her to give up getting my credit card info over the phone and actually give me the Website. Which, it turns out, didn't actually exist.

I might start letting FunnyKid answer the phone. He says "hi" and "no" perfectly and when dealing with telemarketers, that's pretty much all you need to know anyway.

Sixteen months after giving birth, I became a parent

After months of raising FunnyKid, middle-of-the-night feedings, kisses for bumped foreheads and more diaper changes than I can count, what finally earned me the title of parent? This.


The Pretend Husband and I had been patting ourselves on the back that we had finished Christmas shopping for FunnyKid and hadn't gone overboard. We had discussed getting him a Cozy Coupe, but figured we could get it for his birthday next summer. Then, while picking up some groceries at a warehouse club the other night, we spotted it. And it was cheaper than we had seen it anywhere else. And, despite my fears that having one more big gift under the tree will turn my sweet boy into a spoiled brat, we bought it.

And then I tried to assemble it. Pulling the large plastic pieces out of the box at 10 p.m., I thought, "how hard can this be?" Ha! Picture me two hours later, sweating and cursing because I'm still not finished and it's impossible to tell from the drawings which part is pictured and how does this thing fit? I had to view on-line video instructions and pull out a drill in order to get most of the way done.

It was after midnight, and long after the PH had gone to bed, when I got to the part of the instructions where you need two people to finish the stupid thing. That's when I abandoned the project and went to bed, knowing I still have a couple of days to get it done.

FunnyKid is going to LOVE the cozy coupe and I know that seeing the joy on his face is going to erase any dark memories I have of putting the stupid thing together, but remind me next year to start assembling his gifts well before Christmas Eve because they are never as easy to assemble as they look. Oh, and when you remind me, call me "Mom." I've earned it.

Oh, so calling yourself "Friendly's" is supposed to be ironic?

The FunnyGal KAT family has been on vacation, which has been a test of our parenting skills as we take FunnyKid out for adventures and sometimes push his good nature to the limits. We've had our share of having to get up from the table in a restaurant to walk around and give the people at the next table a break from the yelling. And I have admittedly thrown some extra snacks his way at times to keep him happy or quiet.

But this morning was a new one for me. The Pretend Husband and I took FunnyKid to Friendly's for breakfast. The PH and FunnyKid got inside before I did and were greeted by a waitress who not only didn't crack a smile, but kind of snarled, "I'll be right with you." "OK," the PH replied cheerily (because, heck, we're on vacation and he was in a good mood). "OK," she mimicked? Really, could she have been making fun of the PH? No, that's not possible.

But the rest of our experience made me suspect she really may have been mocking my husband. And what a bizarre experience it was. For one thing, I didn't see the woman crack a smile the entire time we were there. Which, everyone has bad days so that's almost excusable. But some of the other stuff wasn't.

When an order for the table next to us arrived, it turned out one of the kids was given the wrong kind of pancakes. When the mom pointed it out to the waitress, she insisted she had brought the ones the grandmother had pointed to on the menu. She went so far as to bring the menu over to show the grandmother which ones she had pointed to. When the grandmother politely said those weren't the ones she thought she ordered, the waitress snapped, "Well, what do you want me to do?" Then, as the mom was asking the little boy if he would eat the pancakes in front of him, Waitress Friendly McSunshine stood there with a hand on her hip. When the boy said he wanted a different type of pancakes, she picked up his plate and stomped off without another word.

But the bizarre part was how quickly she switched back and forth between being a complete grump and being a nice person. She dropped off our food, saying, "Here you go, my friends," then started muttering about customers at another table! I even overheard her telling one older lady that she had too much perfume on, then complimenting her jewelry in the next breath. So weird. And not at all how to earn tips.

I will say that we left her a decent tip. I worked as a waitress for awhile and know how difficult a job it is-- so I have a standing rule never to stiff a server. But I will also say that woman-- if she truly is as grumpy as she came off today-- probably shouldn't be working at a family restaurant if she can't handle some of the silliness that accompanies children.

Rocking the body of a 50-year-old

When I was a 24-year-old spring chicken, I sometimes played six soccer games a week. I remember looking at those old ladies in their thirties who complained about their knees hurting them and thinking, "that will never be me." I figured I would just keep playing multiple games a week and prevent my age from ever catching up to me.

Ha! That plan-- and that schedule-- was kept up for a few years until my knees, hips and back needed more than a day to recover before I beat on them again. And now-- somewhere in my early-ish thirties-- it doesn't even take a full soccer game to put me out of commission for a few days.

A few weekends ago, I was up and down a ladder as I powerwashed our house. Having lifted equipment around and twisted in funny ways, I wasn't surprised to wake up with a sore lower back. A few days later, while my back was still bothering me, I somehow pulled a muscle in my upper back. I'm also sporting a massive gouge in my arm from where the dermatologist removed a suspicious-looking mole. Then, today, while driving home from the grocery store, I experienced a really bad burning pain in my back.

Thinking it was a muscle cramp, I tried to grit my teeth and sit still until it passed. Which it didn't pass. Swiping at my back (while somehow staying in my lane of traffic), I grabbed a wasp off my back and discovered upon getting home that it had stung me twice through my shirt.

I don't need to play soccer six days a week anymore. These days, I would consider two full days without pain a success.

If he wants to push the next kiddo out of his nether regions, I'm happy to listen to him complain. Until that happens, zip it.

FunnyKid is an Eater. With a capital E. We have yet to discover a food he won't eat (except for a three day period where he wouldn't eat-- of all things-- watermelon). And when he's in his high chair, in your lap or anywhere where there's food, he wants to eat and he wants to eat now.

Let me preface the next little story by saying the Pretend Husband is an awesome father. He has one evening a week alone with FunnyKid while I work, he rushes home at the end of a busy day to make sure he gets time with FunnyKid before bed and he's very hands-on with everything from playing to changing diapers.

However, if there is one thing the PH hates, it's being interrupted when he's eating. He will spoon veggies into FunnyKid's mouth before he sits down to eat so it doesn't interfere with his meal. So, if there's any additional cutting up of food or throwing Cheerios onto FunnyKid's tray, that has fallen to me.

I'm not sure the PH even realized how harried I was during meals as I tried to grab bites of my own meal in between cutting things into little chunks for FunnyKid and keeping him well-fed. Until a few weeks ago. FunnyKid and the PH had come to my soccer game, but the grass was too wet for them to sit and watch at first. So the PH loaded FunnyKid into the car and took him out to breakfast.

On the way home from the game, I was treated to a litany of complaints from the PH. "It was so hard to eat! He kept yelling when he ran out of food so I was constantly cutting stuff up for him. I had to choke down my food in, like, 30 seconds at the end."

I think he was looking for sympathy from me, but he was looking to the wrong person. "Really? That's what it's like to eat with FunnyKid? I wouldn't have realized that, being that I feed him three meals a day and all. Cry me a river, PH, I've been dealing with this for months."

Giving it to you straight about motherhood... or I haven't used the bathroom without an audience in over a month

Yeah, yeah, there's a ton of books, blogs and other resources out there about what it's really like to be a mother. But I'm going to give you the straight poop with a look into my life from just the last 45 minutes.

Motherhood is:

-Holding your son's attention for a minute or two by singing, dancing, clapping, waving and any other inane thing you can think of... and him turning around, finding the tote bag we keep library books in and having it hold his attention for almost 10 minutes.

-Learning to use the toilet while a little one is using your legs to pull himself up to standing. Privacy? What's that?

-Being so tired, you mess up the lyrics to "Old McDonald Had a Farm." Apparently, around here, ducks say, "duck, duck!" rather than "quack, quack!" If FunnyKid ends up having to repeat pre-school, I'm going to feel so responsible...

-Using your child as a dumbbell by lifting them from the floor to the ceiling multiple times. Hey, anything that gets me into shape and keeps FunnyKid laughing is a win in my book.

-Feeling good about yourself because the kiddo bumped his head and was immediately comforted by your touch and voice. Then immediately not feeling good about yourself when he bites your shoulder. Hard.

-Being able to write this post one-handed while simultaneously wrestling a baby. Don't get me wrong, he's still winning the match. My only victory will be hitting "Publish Post" if only I can get my hand free to do so.

The day trip that only cost $50, my sanity and my will to ever travel again

While FunnyKid and I were vacationing at my sister's house last week, she and I decided to take FunnyKid and the two cutest nephews in the world to Baltimore's Inner Harbor for a day. We figured hauling around three kids ages 2 1/2 years, 18 months and 10 months would be a little stressful, but were willing to do it for the experience.

We had an "experience" alright.

The fun started with finding a place to park (and finding out we would be paying $23 for the privilege) and then trying to get into one of the buildings where the shops and restaurants are. Handicapped entrances, which we needed in order to get two strollers into the building, were hard to find and required a long walk to get to them. Having done this before, we were smart enough to have packed a picnic lunch rather than try to navigate a restaurant.

Because FunnyKid is still limited by crawling, I had to get used to the fact that my nephews were able to take off in two different directions with no notice. More than once, kat's lil sis went after one while I tried to head off the other with my stroller.

We adapted well. Kat's lil sis is very laid back (she has to be with two toddlers!) so it didn't bother her when the boys got soaked in a fountain and when we picked a spot on the grass to change diapers (there was no way we were going to navigate handicapped entrances again to find bathrooms). And she barely batted an eye as we walked along the water with one of her boys throwing a temper tantrum because the carousel was being repaired.

While one of the most fun parts of our trip was taking the boys on a water taxi to a different part of the city, it was also one of the most challenging. On our way out of the Inner Harbor, we had the advantage of full stomachs and cooperative kids so even having to empty the strollers of kids and bags before boarding and then begging the boat employees to help heft the strollers onto the boat didn't bother us.

The way back was a different story. Both the moms and the kids were exhausted and hot and hungry. It was a recipe for disaster. Basically, I tried to divide my time between keeping FunnyKid from throwing himself overboard and talking one of my nephews out of disappearing under the seats, while lil sis had a wrestling match her younger son to keep him in the seat, suffering multiple slaps to the head in the process (I think I had the better deal because at least FunnyKid is too little to put up much resistance).

The way home included tons of traffic and overtired kiddos who kept waking the others up. And the irony of it is that all of the boys are too young to ever remember the trip outside of looking at all the photos we took. We agreed it's going to take some time for us to forget the experience and try to take all the boys out again with just the two of us. Eight or nine years ought to do it.

Let me count the ways in which I am screwed...

My nine-month-old can negotiate the step between the family room (where all his toys are) and the rest of the first floor (where a lot of dangerous things are) and now pretty much has the run of the house.

Today, he wrestled me for access to my boob... and almost won.

Drawers in the kitchen are no match for Mr. Adventure and putting a yardstick through the handles to keep them from opening just gives him something new to play with (the yardstick makes a fun noise when it's pulled back and then let go to snap against the cabinet).

Changing a diaper is a full-scale wrestling event that involves pins, spin moves to break the opponent's hold and once he tried to tag the dog in when it looked like I was about to win.

Speaking of the dogs, they don't know what hit them. Or-- more accurately-- what suddenly and violently yanked at their crotch hair while they were sleeping.

Perhaps the worst part of all is how stinking cute he is while he wreaks havoc all over the house. This face almost makes me want to give in and let him do whatever he wants. Almost.

Guess whose mom will be doing some babyproofing this weekend...

While we're at it, who took my baby and left me this toddler?!? I'm not sure I'm ready for a kid on the move!

Thumbing his nose at life...

FunnyKid has a new and very strange habit. His habit is sticking his tongue out and leaving it there for minutes at a time. Like this:
I don't know where this habit came from or what, exactly, the kiddo is trying to do. And I HATE when I tell him what's for dinner or where we're going and that's his response (the Pretend Husband isn't so thrilled when I say, "Daddy's home!" and FunnyKid responds like that, either).

But it has proven itself to be handy in some situations. How much do you want me to pay for gas?!?
You're in front of me in the grocery store express lane with well over the 10 item limit?
You're predicting rain for the fourth day this week and, oh, Easter isn't going to be such a great day either?
What? I didn't say it. FunnyKid did.

My "triumphant" return to the soccer field (if you take the word triumphant to mean "I survived")

I went back to playing soccer this past weekend after a year-and-a-half hiatus to gestate, deliver and start raising FunnyKid. When I got the email that the league was going to be starting to play soon, I knew I had a little work to do to get into my previous fighting shape (and A LOT of work to do to get into even better shape than that). I didn't want to injure myself so I packed FunnyKid into his jogging stroller and decided I would do an easy one-mile jog.

I think I made it about a quarter of a mile before my lungs and legs gave out. It was then that I realized all those month of packing on the pounds, eating whatever I wanted (because, of course, it was "for the baby") and doing little more than walking had actually taken a toll. I've never been the fastest person on the field, but at least I was able to run from one end to the other without stopping for a drink of water.

Over the next few weeks, FunnyKid and I went out for walk/runs where I slowly went from mostly walking to mostly running. Still, I was worried about being able to keep up when I got to my first game.

Forget about keeping up, I should have been worried about keeping my own teeth. The first play of the game that involved me included me knocking the ball away from a girl, but ending up flat-out on the ground after bumping bodies. The second play was even more spectacular as she kicked the ball as hard as she could and I stopped it-- with my face.

After checking to make sure I didn't have any loose teeth, I kept playing-- and kept ending up on the ground. I blame the amount of time I spent eating dirt on how rough my opponent was rather than a lack of skill on my part (I firmly believe I lost my endurance during my hiatus, but not my skills). All in all, it was a fun game and I'm grateful that I'm not as sore this week as I thought I would be. I'm a little bruised, but I'm proud I was able to keep up whenever I was on the field. I think I'll go back and do it again this weekend.

The joys of homeownership...

The other day, it poured all day and well into the night. We made sure we checked our basement multiple times for flooding and were grateful to find it dry as a bone.

As I headed up to bed at 10:30 p.m., I checked it one last time and found nothing. When FunnyKid woke me at 3 a.m. to eat, I figured I was being overly cautious but I went downstairs to check and make sure the sump pump was still working properly. As soon as I opened the door to the basement, I knew something was wrong by the puddle at the bottom of the stairs. (One of the worst ways to wake up your husband in the middle of the night is to tip toe into the room and lovingly whisper in his ear, "Honey, the basement is flooded"-- but it does get him out of bed pretty quick).

While the sump pump and the back-up sump pump had done their jobs in keeping most of the basement from flooding, another part that wasn't protected (and had never had problems) had somehow collected a few inches of water throughout. Which is how the Pretend Husband and I found ourselves ankle deep in ice cold water and digging trenches in the snow in the pouring rain from 3-4:30 a.m.

We were fortunate that the only things that were damaged were some empty cardboard boxes (it's not our first time at the rodeo and we've become smart about how we store things in the basement). The worst part wasn't the flooding but the fact that FunnyKid didn't get the memo about Mom and Dad spending part of their night fighting back the flood waters and woke up for the day shortly after we fell back asleep. He's lucky he's cute even when I'm running on five and a half hours of sleep!

He's lucky my self-defense skills didn't kick in!

Fact: FunnyKid tends to attract a lot of attention when we're out in public (Opinion: it's because he's so stinking cute!)

So we were at Home Depot yesterday and we actually attracted a crowd who exclaimed over FunnyKid's blue, blue eyes and his beautiful smile and those chubby cheeks that make you want to gnaw on them. Seriously, the kiddo was surrounded by three female cashiers and a male customer. (His proud mama is just telling a story and not at all complaining!)

Anyway, the male customer left, the cashiers exclaimed some more, we thanked them for their compliments and we headed out to the car. The male customer, an older gentleman, was loading his car right next to ours. Seeing us, he came over and got in FunnyKid's face to try and make him smile. Thinking the guy was going to start touching FunnyKid, I undid the strap and started to lift the kiddo out of the carriage.

That's when the guy exclaimed, "Look at that smile. He's going to be President one day!" and then... incredibly... then... unbelievably... then, he smacked me on the back! (I know he was just emphasizing his point and-- as the PH pointed out-- is from a different generation and is a guy, but it still took me completely by surprise). Apparently, I don't have to worry about people touching FunnyKid (only one person has tried), but I might need to look out for me!

The difference between men and women...

When I got into my car this morning, I smelled poop. After checking both FunnyKid and I (and not finding anything), and having my dad not smell anything when he got into the car a short time later, I figured it wasn't anything to worry about. Until about 20 minutes later, when I adjusted the heat and my dad started gagging. He thought the smell was more like a dead animal than poop and we theorized something crawled into the engine and died in one of the heater vents.

In a bit of a panic, I called the Pretend Husband to tell him about what happened and told him I would take the car to our mechanic on my way home from the store. That's when my dad and the PH both began mocking me, saying I could end up paying the mechanic for three hours worth of work if he had to take the dashboard apart to get to the animal. Their suggestion? Buy a couple of air fresheners to mask the smell until it goes away.

My suggestion? Paying whatever it takes so I don't have to ride around with the smell of a dead mouse in my car. But, alas, the guys won and I will be purchasing every vanilla air freshener in the store the next time I go out.

Confusing the family tree

FunnyKid looks A LOT like his dad (the Pretend Husband) (who, just to confuse things further, is actually my real husband). So, anyway, FunnyKid looks like such a miniature version of the PH that I considered asking for a DNA test to make sure he was actually mine.

Which is why it was so strange when yesterday, in church, a woman asked the PH if he was the uncle and he said yes! I think some of the woman's confusion stemmed from the fact that kat's lil bro (i.e. FunnyKid's actual uncle) went to church with us and somehow ended up sitting between the PH and I. Where the PH's confusion came from is beyond me.

When I looked at him funny and said, "You're not the uncle, you're the dad," the woman replied, "Oh, *that's* why the baby looks so much like you!"

In the PH's defense, FunnyKid looks so much like him, he assumed the woman was joking about how they are related. But, still, I told him denying paternity of our son (especially in church, where everyone knows we are married!) is not funny.