Home is Where the Milk Stinks

You know you're behind on housework when you go to dump a glass of milk into the sink and nothing happens.

(...pauses for effect...)

On a related note, can I just say that I hate the term "housewife"? It's demeaning and degrading and a thousand other bra-burning exclamations that I won't bore you with. I didn't marry the house. I'm not an accessory to the house, like a house-plant or a house-fly. And, let's face it, if I were married to the house, we'd be in couple's therapy by now. And it would probably end in a tragic and messy divorce.

People would come for a visit...

"I just love your house."

"Oh, we're not together anymore."


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On a completely unrelated note, I've finally figured out the perfect way to get Luke to "open up" when I brush his teeth.

I yell at him.

Right in his face.

Not a loud, angry yell. Just a sustained noise, loud enough to make him smile. In no time at all, the kid has his mouth wide open and he's yelling back at mommy. And I have all the time in the world to brush those molars.

Last night Evie joined in as well.

She was walking around his room (yes, that's where we brush) and came right up to us during our shouting match. She was so cute, blinking up at us with such innocent curiosity. Then her little mouth opened and she started yelling like a pro...matching our pitch almost perfectly.

There we were, all in a circle. Yelling our heads off at each other.

Imagine what the fly on the wall must think.

...or the neighbors.

I hope they're kind enough to mention his extra white smile when they gossip about us.



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