That will be what I have to tell Dr. Slaughter when I hand him the steaming pile of excrement I have been working on. Unfortunately, someone, anyone, forgot to tell me that they had recited “clatu verata nicto” and my babies would be turning into evil demons of teething. Rejected have been the frog of chewing and the fish of biting. They don’t work any longer…my shoulder works much better. Except today, they discovered Tillie’s nylabone. Hilarious and horrible at once. They thought it was pretty funny, and Tillie was horrified that they could take it from her–and CHEW ON IT?! The nerve.
I should be writing feverishly about the atrocities of human-kind…alas, I have had about all I can take. I have procrastinated in a productive way, however, this morning. I have ordered Christmas gifts from Heifer International, and spent the rest of twin “nap-time” (all 20 minutes of it) by crying like an idiot about nothing and everything, and now I am faced with an even closer deadline, chasing me down like a baby looking for flesh to bite. No more classes about the literature of human rights violations. My mind cannot take it, and for someone who cannot watch sad movies or holiday programming (not even A Charlie Brown Christmas), I have no earthly idea why I decided that class was for me. Nope, next semester it is on to lighter things–British Romanticism…and right now, I am romanticising having a cider and reading in a dark corner of the “Bird and Baby,” like Vic and Jo (those lucky ducks, at Merton! MERTON! *shakes fist*)
(insert monumental phazed-out drool-session here).
Lastly, I am confused by how to refer to a baby butt. What do you call it? Have you ever really thought about it? How exactly is one supposed to choose a word? It has crossed my mind to use, “flapjacks” only toward the irritation of my mother-in-law and the hilarious possibility of a tiny person repeating it…and then I feel guilty.
On to the present thought…which is this:… No, wait! …It was…um… Where has my mind gone?!
