I spent years, 6 to be exact, dreaming of leaving my small South Texas home town, of breaking free from that tiny community where everyone knows way too much about each other. Population less than 3,500 and it seemed that half of them were related to me to some degree. I never considered myself much of a country girl. The last time I rode a horse was in 7th grade before I fell off and broke my arm mere weeks before cheerleading tryouts. Devastating. Never had the desire to get back on or be around one since, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Kendall’s able to ride one on his own in a few years, leading, no doubt, to the begging and pleading for one of his own.

When we go “home” to visit my mom (Kendall’s Nana, or “NA” as he likes to call her), like we did this last weekend, Kendall is THRILLED to pack his mud boots and talks all about the “orses” and the “moos” and the “wowers”. This time he got to see some tiny “woofs”, too. Though, he wasn’t nearly as excited about the puppies as I thought he would be. The whole time he kept looking at them, asking where the “orses” are. After all, he can see dogs anytime he’d like back at his house.

It’s funny that I worked so hard to leave this place only to have my kid fall in love with it.

Kendall is 22 months old and still despises the 6 hour drive home from Nana’s house. Also, he will forever have a black eye.

Not that I’m going to go switching up my blogging approach, but I figured I’d do a little day in the life post for you all while Kendall naps today, give you a little peek into our day to day life, which is, unfortunately, pretty mundane, but we always seem to find the humor even in the mundane around here. This house is full of laughter (also full of screams and NOs and dogs barking… we are a very loud family, I think we scare some people).

We signed up for 24 Hour Fitness yesterday after nearly 2 years without a gym membership. The biggest selling feature for me was not the hundreds of cardio machines, complete with Ipod compatible TV screens, nor the classes or the indoor and outdoor pools. No. I was 100% sold on the 2 hours of childcare a day. Sure, I have to stay at the gym, but I don’t have to actually work out. I can drop my kid off and go sit in the jacuzzi or lounge by the pool for 2 hours if I want! I can’t even being to explain what this will do for the level of my sanity the weeks Scott is travelling for work.

My sister said, “I have a feeling you’re going to be REALLY in shape because of this.” That, or I’m going to have a killer tan sunburn. And I’m not the only one benefiting. I know for a fact Kendall would much rather hang out in the Kids Club with it’s giant tunnel slides and buckets of crayons, then hanging with me for those 2 hours.

We got up and dressed this morning, excited to head over for our first visit, only for me to realize as we  headed to the door that I left my wallet/ID/gym pass in Scott’s car yesterday. Ugh. Isn’t that just the way it always freaking is?

While I called Scott and waited for him to confirm that he, indeed, was in possession of my wallet and I hadn’t left it in a grocery cart for the 20th time, Kendall occupied himself with his nifty chalkboard cabinet in the kitchen. I keep meaning to show this off to you all. Not that it’s super inventive, or anything. I just took down the cabinet doors one day, taped off the insides and painted a few coats of magnetic primer and chalkboard paint on top. The magnetic primer was SO not worth the money and effort. I think I painted 4 coats of it, and it still barely holds a thin magnet. The chalkboard part is awesome, though. That and the contents of his very own cabinet keep him entertained at least a good 10 or 15 minutes a day.

It’s also really helpful on rainy and cold days when he wants to play with his “cock ass”, which translates to “chalk outside”.

Seeing as how we were already dressed, me in my running clothes, and it’s a damn near Spring-like day here today, I figured we’d run up to the park. Nothing like a trip with a ballsy toddler to a giant, metal structure with several open landings  3-5 feet off the ground, all spaced at equally awkward and hard to get to angles to get your blood pumping. I spent most of my time internally conflicted as to what was the safest thing for me to do – stand on the ground and run around the play structure like a Labrador anticipating a flying tennis ball, or follow his every move and possibly get stuck in a narrow tunnel. Despite my very valiant attempts to keep him from hurting himself, and calmly and repeatedly asking him to go “feet first” down the slides, he still left the playground looking like this.

Boy, n.:  A noise with dirt on it.

Since we were already both covered in mud, I figured we’d go ahead and plant the “wowers” we got at Lowes yesterday. I only bought these things because they came with instructions, everything but water and a guarantee.

Except they didn’t say that the bulb was actually hidden in the big bag of dirt and that it would look EXACTLY like a giant clump of dirt. I was thisclose to packing the whole thing up and telling the folks at Lowes they sold me an incomplete kit. Really, pictures could have helped. Also, the above picture doesn’t really show off just how black my thumb is.

Per the instructions, which I followed to a tee, we put all the dirt and the bulb back in the provided pot. Kendall enjoyed helping with that part, but I could tell he was really confused by how none of this looked like a “wower” yet.

Then, following the instructions precisely again, we “watered well”. It was at this point I was beginning to think we put too much dirt back in, but the instructions didn’t say to leave any out! I’m taking this whole “guarantee” pretty seriously.

A mid-day bath was a necessity today, and a nice, unexpected treat for Kendall. We followed that up with some yummy black bean quesadillas for lunch, an episode of Dora, 4 books, a battle of the wills, and, finally, a nap in the “big boy” bed, which obviously doesn’t contain him or keep him from tearing down his changing pad or bringing his piggy bank to bed after I close the door.

2 changes of clothes and 1/2 of the day down.

Kendall is 22 months and .5 days old

I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to come up with a cool idea for business cards – something that will leave everyone knowing exactly what “Baby Rabies” really means, at least in the context of me. I figured I’d start with a little field research on Twitter, and asked everyone what they thought of when they heard the term “baby rabies”. As you might imagine, I got a lot of “well, honestly? a baby foaming at the mouth… a baby with red eyes… an evil, rabid baby.”

An idea struck me, and in my 1-glass-of-wine-down state of mind I quickly Facebook messaged my sister in law Gabbi. She just married my brother, and they are both attending the Art Institute in Seattle, he for Photography and she for Graphic (or maybe it’s Digital?) Design. They are both crazy talented. For real.

Title: Can you make a rabid baby for me?

Like, not a real one. Ha! That title is very misleading. I mean, a cartoon one. Just a chubby, cute cartoon baby with rabies. Maybe foaming at the mouth a bit, maybe red-ish eyes. Nothing too complicated, I don’t think. I’d like to use it on my blog business cards for an upcoming conference.

Of course, I can pay you for it. Just tell me how long you think it will take you and how much you charge. And please, please, PLEASE don’t feel pressured to say yes. I know you’ve got a ton of work with school, so if you can’t fit it in right now, that’s okay.

Hope you two are doing well, staying dry and not starving!

So then, for some weird reason, I went back and looked at my sent messages. I was thinking maybe I sent it to her before I finished writing it after I glanced over at my empty wine glass and realized how quickly I’d sucked it down.

As soon as I opened the page I was all :: confused, squinty eyes:: “Who is THAT?!” ::heart stops:: *GASP* ::desperately searching for some sort of UNSEND button:: “Oh SHIT.” ::still looking for unsend button, WHEN WILL SOMEONE INVENT THE UNSEND BUTTON??:: ::slow laughter…shrug…harder laughter..snort…face is red…commence new message::

Uhhmmm… clearly I sent this message to the wrong person!!! OMG. LOL. Sorry! Ignore, please.

That person? Uhh… yeah… not quite sure who he is. I mean, I’m fairly sure he went to high school with me. I recall friending him in a mass friending around our 10 year reunion, which I was in charge of planning. Nice guy, it seems, although I’m not sure that we’ve ever even had a formal interaction on Facebook. And now he’s probably totally confused/alarmed by my request. The title alone might make him unfriend me, which truthfully, would save us both a lot of embarrassment.

What’s even funnier is that another guy I went to high school with, who was actually quite a close friend of mine, saw the name of this blog linked on my Facebook page last year and was all worried, thinking I’m blogging about my poor child’s plight, battling rabies, and what a sad, courageous thing to write about… you know, until he clicked on it and was all, “Agh! OMG, my EYES! She’s talking about her shredded labia and chunks of flesh missing from her nipples and cloth diapers!”

You see the need, then, for me to really come up with a great business card concept so that others at Blogher do not mistake me for the girl with the rabid baby. You may also see the need for me to stop drinking and writing things… of course, that would make this blog a lot less fun.

OH! OH LOOK WHAT I FOUND?!  Facebook DOES have an “unsend” button! It’s called DELETE! Fancy that. I need to sober up. <Edit: No, no that is wrong. It does not “unsend” it. It merely deletes it from your sent messages list. Gah. I realized this when the guy messaged me back saying he didn’t think he could help me out.

Kendall will probably be 22 months old by the time I get around to spell checking this bitch and hitting publish.

Because even on days when I can’t manage to make a phone call (which, honestly, happens rarely anyway, except to my BFF Bonnie who also has a toddler son and totally understands when I go all Tourettes on her in the middle of a conversation), I can still reach out and touch some sanity saving sistas.

Of course, the street goes both ways, and last night I was on the receiving end of the most hilarious string of text messages I’ve ever received. My college friend Jaimee has a little boy about 6 months older than Kendall. As with all of my friends who have the joy of raising a toddler right now, it seems the topics of potty training and poop really bring out the kindred spirit in us.

J: “Currently sitting in a dark closet…O has a flashlight…while he poops in his potty…he is doing great peeing in the big potty, but prefers to poop in the dark in a closet?!?  Hmmm…Fun times in toddlerville! Thought u may enjoy the visual!”

Me :”Hahahahahahahhaa that’s hilarious! Made my night. Have fun!”

J: “Yeah a blast…whoever came up w/this portable potty was an idiot…the way I see it I just added a step…still clean his bottom…AND  a giant potty of poop.”

Me: “Can I put this on my blog?” I’m polite like that and ask, even though all my friends should know they are fair game for blog fodder.

J: “Of course you can…it was just one of those moments where I was questioning my potty training game plan…he was insisting that I sit next to him in the closet…I told him to hang on, so I could get my Blackberry… then he proceeded to fill that thing with days worth of poop…the smell… ugh!! All to get him to poop in the potty…really?!? Sorry…I could go on forever about this stuff!”

And just to know that my friend, who once joined me and 3 other friends on a 14 hour drive to Panama City Beach for Spring Break, could also go on and on forever in one way or another about toddler poop is enough to make me smile and feel a little more sane, or at least in good company.

Kendall is almost 22 months old and not any closer to potty training than he was 2 months ago, but I haven’t tried the in the dark with a flashlight trick yet.

I realize I owe a lot to his favorite programs. Not only do they keep him occupied while I wake myself from a zombie-like state or unload steak knives from the dishwasher, but they also teach him things. Really! I swear they do. For example, he learned to “waddle” like a penguin the other day thanks to Diego. Hilarious. That should really come in handy down the road.

That being said, the shows range on a scale of annoyance from “Eh.. this is a small price to pay for 25 minutes of peace” to “OMGSTFUSOANNOYING”.

He’s got about 5 shows in steady rotation these days, here’s how they rate on the annoyance scale from least to most annoying.

5. Caillou- Maybe it’s because this is the newest addition to the DVR, but I gotta say, I don’t mind the kid. He’s sweet, well mannered, and speaks softly.  Kendall LOVES him. Plus, I love that once I turn the show off, I’m not bombarded by Caillou anywhere else. He’s not plastered on boxes of crackers at the store, he’s not an action figure, and he doesn’t have his own set of Tickle Hands.

4. Blues Clues- I’m not in love with the show and I don’t think Kendall is either, but it’s manageable and seems to interest him every now and then. He discovered it just before he fell in love with Caillou. What I can appreciate about it is the noise level – quiet. There’s lots of tiptoeing around, looking for “clues”, and it’s all very subdued. Nobody is encouraging my kid to scream. Additionally, I think since the show peaked a long time ago it seems much of the Blues Clues paraphernalia and branded products have disappeared from stores, so it’s pretty easy to escape once we turn it off.

3. Diego- Up until a few weeks ago when Caillou stole his throne, this was Kendall’s absolute favorite show… well, after he fell out of love with Dora, and after Dora kicked Elmo off the top. Diego’s on thin ice with me, though. He’s coming close to wearing out his welcome, and I really don’t appreciate his insistence that “Everybody SCREAM!” all the time. And Diego is one of those we can’t escape. He’s nearly everywhere. I actually almost bought a miniature toilet seat with his face all over it in a moment of weakness while lying to myself, thinking a cartoon rescuer could entice my kid to potty train.

2. Dora- I don’t think I really need to justify why I’m annoyed by Dora, as I’m sure many of you feel the same way. She’s demanding and bossy and always yelling, “Say it LOUDER!” Why must we make the children be loud?! And she’s everywhere. She’s on shirts and shoes and sheets. She’s in your bathtub, your toy box, your laundry, your car. Sure, she’s educational, and sure she’s provided hours of entertainment for my kid, but enough already. We need a break.

1. Honestly, it was a close tie between and Elmo and Dora, but I had to give the number one spot to the furry red monster that Kendall has been obsessed with for the last 6 months. I don’t know what it is about him, but it seems like every 16 month old is instinctively infatuated with Elmo. He’s loud, he sticks around way too long, and he’s taking over the world. The marketing monster has grown so big that they now think it necessary and appropriate to introduce us to Tickle Hands. I might be willing to bump him down to #2 if his Potty Time With Elmo book and corresponding Elmo “big boy undies” actually get my kid to use a toilet.

What’s funny is after making this list I’ve found that a show’s annoyance factor is based on a few things, and they all seem to coincide. The longer I’ve been subjected to it, the louder it is, the harder it is to escape it and not run into licensed products at every turn, the more likely I am to be all OMGSTFUSOANNOYING. Now, if that’s not valuable information for… well, somebody out there who’s in charge of making sure parents are not totally annoyed by their lucrative little TV show, I don’t know what is. Unless they don’t really care about the parents because we don’t really have a choice. It’s possible that’s the case. It’s possible they have a deeper understanding of the power of a toddler.

Kendall’s one week shy of 22 months, and now I can’t shake that one time Elmo sang the “Skin” song to the tune of Jingle Bells. “Skin, skin, skin, Skin, skin, skin, Skin, skin, skin, skin, skin!” <Creepy, no?

The winner of the free piece of art with SOUL is commenter #105 – Amber!

The winners of the 50% 0ff discount are Diana and Ashley, comments #372 and #215.

Thanks to everyone who entered and gave Modern Bird Studios a warm welcome into the blogosphere!

DON’T FORGET you can still get 15% off with the code “BABY RABIES” until February 26th!!

Sure, I may not be as “successful”, career-wise, as the 19 year old me would have hoped, but I can honestly sit here and tell you all I am HAPPY, 110% happy, and that’s not something that even the 25 year old, career-driven me, who had quite the quarter-life crisis, could say.

But, let me not digress and turn this into a post all about how far I’ve come in 29 years or how I’m a little anxious about this next year coming and going, leaving me no choice but to turn 30. No, what I really want to talk about is how HORRIFIED and confused I am by clothes right now.

I can’t say that I’ve ever been super stylish, but I like to think I’ve been able to pull off some snazzy looks in my lifetime. The orange cowgirl hat, after all, was quite the eye-catcher and very “Coyote Ugly” back in 2000. Since becoming a stay at home mom, I’ve obviously had to ditch the pretty numbers from Banana Republic and Ann Taylor, which took me through my days full of  meetings and happy hours, in favor of more toddler and budget friendly apparel. That usually means I spend my days in jeans, a fitted shirt, some flats (or sometimes my good ol’ Skechers slip ons), and a fun accessory, like a scarf. Yup. That’s pretty much my SAHM uniform.

Well, my incredibly sweet husband, who happens to be equal parts frugal and fashion clueless, bought me some clothes for my birthday. It was such a sweet gesture, and luckily he understood when I told him I’d have to take it all back and try to find some stuff that would be more “practical” for me to wear (read- fit me, not show my bra straps, not covered in sequins). I returned to New York & Company the next day, ready to hunt down some new, trendy clothes. I searched and searched, picked and pulled from the racks, turned my head to the side, then back, squinched my eyes and tried to figure out what I was looking at.

None of it made any sense to me.

So leggings are in now, yes? And I’m to pair them with a clingy, long, what appears to be night shirt? And then what? I put a belt over it? Is it just me, or is this an outfit I would have put together at the age of 2 after ransacking my mom and dad’s closet?

And you want me to wear brown boots with my black leggings? This is going against every rule of fashion I’ve committed to memory.

Tie dye and acid wash are back? And tapered leg pants with pleated fronts? I mean, isn’t that exactly what we have all been mocking for the past 15 years? Are you telling me I need a mullet now? Or maybe just a rat tail? Big bangs?

I gave up, bought a plain purple shirt and some clearance flip flops (which I will most likely return because, as my husband said, “ANOTHER pair of flip flops?”), and headed to Target later that day. Not that Target is the Mecca of fashion, but I’ve scored some cute stuff there recently, mainly just more plain fitted tees. I meandered into the trendy Juniors section, hoping to step a bit out of my comfort zone, when my sister and I ran across this number.

Uhm, hi. Kelly Kapowski called, and she wants her dress back.

Is this just a sign that I’m getting old? Am I physically incapable of seeing clothes for what they are now and officially stuck in my comfortable, plain rut? Is this the first sign that I’m thisclose to giving up and turning into the cat shirt lady??

Kendall is nearly 22 months old and I’m 29 years old and 2 days.

“Why would Scott be inside Kendall’s room banging?”

::step, step::

“Oh…my…God, please let it be Scott inside Kendall’s room banging.”

::step, step, slowly open door, thud::

That thud was me accidentally hitting my kid, the one who was supposed to be IN HIS CRIB.

He looked up at me, grinned ear to ear, and seemed to say, “Hey mom! What’s up? Don’t worry, I got out all by myself. I’m good. See, I even got my toys out and everything. I don’t need a nap!”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I knew it was the end of an era. He finally mastered climbing out of the crib. It was only a matter of time. I should have seen it coming much sooner after taking him to the mall play area that morning. He scaled the Tweety Bird slide, all the way to the top of Tweety’s head, 3 times all by himself.  Last week I came into the living room after quickly throwing some clothes into the dryer to find him perched atop our couch, the fireplace behind him. Why, then, did I think I’d be lucky enough to keep him in the crib until he was 2? Because I had planned that? Ha. Surely I should know better than to think I’ll ever be able to follow through with anything I plan.

We were lucky he hadn’t hurt himself, and knew we had to make a change immediately, so Kendall skipped his nap on Monday while we ran to Home Depot to replace his corded blinds with roller shades. We also removed just about everything from his room. I would say it was pretty baby proofed to begin with, but we’re trying not to underestimate his powers as of late. We took the front off the crib, turning it into a toddler bed, and laid a bunch of pillows on the floor next to it.

I was terrified that Monday night was going to be a battle, but, delightfully, it wasn’t at all, and neither was last night. He went to sleep without a fight, stayed in bed, and didn’t fall out. Both mornings we retrieved him before he did so much as read a book from his bookshelf, and that was as late as 8.

Now, before you go hating on me for bragging, know that as I type this I am seated next to his bedroom door, listening for sounds of distress, as I have abandoned him in his room in hopes of him taking a nap. I started at 1 by reading a couple books, then wrestling with him while he tried to crocodile roll himself off his bed for over 20 minutes. I asked his teacher yesterday how she gets him to nap on the floor, and she told me they just don’t make eye contact, keep laying him down, pat his back, and tell him to go to sleep. Tried that. Failed. Miserably. So I left the room for a bit before I became concerned with the lack of noise coming from the room because silence is never golden when you have an uncaged toddler. Then I went back in, took the white noise machine away from him, tried the crocodile wrestling some more, left again. I finally went back in a few minutes ago and just sat in his rocking chair  and pretended to ignore him while he screamed and eventually passed out on the floor amongst his toys. It took 2 hours, but he’s conked out now, and I’m grateful to have at least one more afternoon nap. I refuse to let him give up naps just because he’s not contained to a crib. (That sounds terrible, I know. Let me clarify that the screaming was brief, and is pretty par for the course around here. He almost always hollers a bit out of pure exhaustion before going to sleep.)

And yet, the whole time I sat there in our rocking chair pretending to ignore him, I couldn’t help but think about Layla Grace, a 2 year old with Stage 4 Nueroblastoma who is living the last moments of her life, and this incredibly heartbreaking blog entry by her mother all about how she wants nothing more than for her sweet baby to stay awake. I just couldn’t help but feel sad and greedy for wanting, willing, begging my son to take a nap. And how trivial of me to be annoyed that *my* plans to keep my son in his crib until 2 were derailed, when this family’s plans to raise a beautiful little girl who they hoped to shop for prom dresses for, see off to college and walk down the aisle were vanishing in front of their very own eyes. My thoughts and prayers are with Layla Grace and her family.

Kendall is 21 and a half months old

Most importantly, they don’t sell fishnets. But make no mistake, you NEED a fishnet.

And you need to keep it next to the plunger.

And then when your husband gets home from a 2 week long vacation… excuse me, business trip, he takes over bath time routine for the first time in what feels like 50 f-ing years, and your kid rewards him by filling the tub full of turds just as your husband lifts his head from the water after blowing some bodacious bubbles, you can walk in, hand him the fishnet and leave… glass of wine in hand… cackling.

Just sayin’.

What other baby/toddler/kid necessities do you have that you can’t find at the “baby” stores?

Kendall is 21 and a half months old and GOD BLESS HIM for saving that for his father

So there’s this blog, and it’s focused on living frugally. I can appreciate that. It’s an admirable lifestyle, even if one I wouldn’t necessarily sacrifice as much as this blogger has for it. I can’t sit here and say I know that much about the blogger or her life because I really haven’t read very many of her posts. What I can speak for are the few posts I have read, one being the post in which she discloses making over $1,300 her 5th month of blogging. “WHAT is her secret?!” I thought to myself. I had no idea there was so much money to be made in blogging about living off of less than $1,000 a month.  So I scrolled up and I found this post. “Hmmm… so that’s what I’m doing wrong,” I thought.

I’m not posting pictures of deplorable conditions in which my child lives and sleeps and then telling all my (well-meaning) commenters how wrong they are to suggest I might hurt or kill my child! Duh. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? So it’s a snow day here, and I wanted to put off doing the dishes. I took a few minutes while Kendall was shouting “NO!” at Dora and all her demands to do a little rearranging in his room.

As you can see, I’ve rigged an ingenious way to store and display our precious stuffed animals that really mean a lot to me and my husband by hanging a rope from the window and across the back of his crib.

The blinds don’t seem to block out enough light, so I threw up this fun animal print blanket. It will be perfect for when I finally finish the Jungle theme in here.

I have carefully stacked some books in between the top of his crib and the wall. I’m not worried about him pulling them down on himself because he’s never tried to before, and I know he won’t figure it out before his 2nd birthday when I plan to take him out of the crib completely and turn that into full time book storage.

Speaking of the crib, you will notice there is no mattress at all. I find that makes it much easier to clean up when he has accidents. In fact, I don’t know if you can see it, but there is a pan underneath the bed that doubles as a litter box for my cat. I find the cat really likes to hide out under there because it’s so cozy, so I figured I’d just kill two birds with one stone by throwing the shit collector under there to save space and help me with clean up after midnight accidents.

I’ve strategically placed a blanket over his dresser and crib and held it in place with old paint cans that now double as storage for all his old teethers and pacifiers that we will pass on to the next baby. I use the space below to store things like  an old laptop he likes to play with and some more stuffed animals.

Finally, I’m getting pretty tired of how cluttered my kitchen counters look, so I thought I’d go ahead and move the knife block to the windowsill in here since he’s never interested in the windowsill anyway, and it’s not like he actually plays in here. Plus, there is a giant plastic tub in front of it that will deter him from messing with the knives, and I always say the best way to childproof is to set boundaries. Obviously, he will know that this purple bin is a boundary he should not cross.

Now, don’t even bother making DEMANDS of me to change any of these things.  I don’t care if you are a firefighter or have successfully kept 12 kids alive through adulthood. You don’t know my life. I am simply posting this to share with you, not for you to make ridiculous DEMANDS of me.

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Okay, I admit. The above is a joke. Well, I mean my picture is a joke… in case you couldn’t figure that out. Unfortunately, the original blog is not a joke.

However, I can’t sit here and pretend I am above reproach when it comes to the order of my house. Here’s a picture of my bathroom vanity. It’s been like this for close to 3 months. The sink is so clogged I don’t even use it anymore and just use my husband’s. I have an up-close picture of the sink, too, but decided not to share it with you because it’s possible many of you will be reading this while eating lunch and, well, it’s not pretty.

Yes, the “truth about my house” (or #truthaboutmyhouse if you ever want a fun read on Twitter), is my master bedroom is sorely neglected and the master bathroom is even worse.  However, I do like to keep glaring safety hazards and messes contained to rooms my kid doesn’t sleep in (and guests don’t see).

I will now sit back and wait for the cash monies to roll in so I can hire a maid and never have to scrub  sink again.

In all seriousness, I am concerned for the safety and well being of this blogger’s children, based on the pictures of that room. I would send her an email or comment telling her so, but considering hundreds of others have done so before me, including safety professionals, and she shows no signs of wanting to take any one’s advice, I figure it would fall on deaf ears. Please note that I linked to her blog merely to provide a reference for you and I certainly don’t encourage or condone anyone to go over there an harass the girl. It’s not like any amount of *that* is going to change anything either. It’s my sincere hope that whatever meager income she makes off the direct hits from this blog she will use to purchase a sheet for her son. It’s on me.

Kendall is 21 months old, napping in his room, and I promise I put everything back the way it was this morning when it was safe.