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So last night as the two kiddos and I crammed into the tub (scary thought, huh?) for a leisurely soak, I realized that I say some really stupid things.

Don’t make your little brother angry!!

• Why not? Is he going to turn into an ax-wielding monster. The thought makes me laugh. Those two teeth of his would fit perfectly into the face of a psychopath. Will he turn into the Incredible Hulk? If he was green maybe people would stop touching his head. I could tell them he has a contagious disease. Take that nosy old ladies at the supermarket!

Do you understand me?

• Does it matter? Even if the understood they’re not going to listen. They can bob their little heads and say ‘Undertsnad’, but the point is they don’t care what I say.

Don’t you dare!

• Again, what am I going to do? Put them in a timeout? Big Whoop. Timeout is the same as play time, you just have to face a wall for a couple seconds.

What were you thinking?

• Again, it doesn’t matter. With a limited vocabulary it’s really hard to express that you thought sticking your foreskin in the vacuum cleaner tube and then closing it would be fun. It’s also hard to explain that covering yourself in perfume, including open wounds, seemed like a good idea until you feel off the bathroom counter. And even if mama did understand you, she’d still be mad. A blank "pity me" stare works better.

Boys! Be nice!

• "We are" is typically what I hear. I guess when you’re under 3 running the baby’s foot over with a wooden truck is nice.

What things do you find yourself saying as a parent that make you wonder why you bother to say it at all?

Aren’t these peachy? I could totally dig one of these nestled in the nice green garden with little rock pathways.

The 7 inch thick walls would make perfect sense in Arizona as they are highly energy efficient. They would make a great "upstairs" for an mostly underground home too.

The Pink Tentacle article states that they can be connected and covered walkways between rooms would be cute, yeah?

They can also be used a freestanding structures, such as a bar or toolshed.

At roughly $30,00 it seems like a reasonable consideration to me. They can even be made into ’shrooms and oh how I love cute little deathcaps.

More info here at International Dome House and here. Via DIY Maven at Curbly

Yep. This means no more complaining about how I’m not married. We’ll be having a "reception" soon so that everyone can celebrate with us, since there were barely enough adults present to cover the required witnesses. I’m still fiddling around with these announcements but they’ll go in the mail soon!

Yay me! Now I have to learn to sign a new name.

Today is, as I am sure you are all aware, Saint Declan’s Day. If you would all kindly stop your feasting and merry-making to read my post, that would be great.

The ruins of St. Declan’s Church, seen over the flowers.

Anyone who’s ever met by blossoming two year old terror, Declan, knows that he is no saint. But he was unintentionnally named after one - Saint Declan of County Waterford. Although we had no intention of celebrating St Declan’s day before he was born, it’s not every day that you have a feast day named after you. On top of that, through coincidence, I happen to have a turkey defrosting in the refridgerator. So… TONIGHT WE DINE IN… sorry wrong movie.

Tonight we shall we feasting in Declan’s name. Yay!

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