I've pondered some more about whether I'll keep blogging, but the good by far outweighs the bad.
In two years I've only had one troll, and even then, it was just some bitter tossbag that complained about how much I complained about being pregnant. I surely hope that troll was the midwife I actually threatened to punch in the face after Little C was born. Otherwise, I hope my troll is sticking it out with me here because I'm a mother of three, and you can bet your sweet bippy that although I love my little family, to the moon and back, I'll be bitching about something or other in the near future and I'd like my troll to jump in and get their cranky pants on, just so I can laugh at the fact they continue to read this, despite hating my whingeing.
Miss E turned two on Tuesday. I made a pretty great cake, considering the fact I'm like a younger non-felon version of Martha Stewart, if she were completely smashed, in the kitchen.
For those of you 'in the know', it was my 4 year wedding anniversary on Friday. We spent the day ignoring the fact it was our anniversary (okay, technically I forgot) followed by a roast dinner I didn't have to cook, and clean dishes I didn't have to wash. Winning!
Hubby baked a chocolate brownie thing on Saturday. It made Miss E cry because it had random globs of caramel in it (rather than cut a little hole in the packet, he cut a massive hole in the packet, so it was massive amounts in random spots, rather than be evenly poured through the mixture, the way Sara Lee intended) and she thought there was poo in her brownie. Hard to explain to a two year old that not everything brown & gooey is shit and sometimes you should just give it a taste.
Master S is in his third term of Kindergarten. We got his mid-year report with complimentary scary photos of him playing dress-up as a doctor with a borderline murderous look on his face. Pretty sure if given the chance, he'd remove an appendix with a spoon. He's also excelling in cutting & pasting, but I already knew that, because the back of Miss E's hair was the 'victim' of his cutting abilities. He did suck it up the vacuum, though, so it's hard to be angry when he cleans up after himself.
Little C is 7 weeks old now. She can hold her head up and absolutely loathes tummy time. I figured out that she hated it when she started rolling at 2 weeks old to her back, just to avoid it. I'm proud as all heck, but wish she'd stop it and stay little for a bit longer.
I probably haven't mentioned her here before, you know because I have 'the touch of death' where pets are concerned, but we have a cat now. She was a kitten when we got her, but since she's survived nearly three months of my TLC, she's growing into an actual cat.
Her name is 'Catty'. I tried to negotiate with the Kidlets on this one, to at least make it look like we love her enough to give her a good name. I lost, and Catty is Catty.
She's a bit of a dickhead and makes for an entertaining time if it's dark and you have a lazer light for her to chase.
I, actually, spent the better part of the morning making a collage of Catty photo's. I then chased her around, much to Miss E's amusement, yelling at her because she wouldn't wear a hat and pose for a photo. Don't know what her bloody problem is. Miss E ended up calling her a 'mole'.
(Just want to post a quick shout out to Channel 10 for airing an ad for Puberty Blues with the word 'mole' in it. Now everything is a 'mole' in our house. The cat, the door, Master S, Hubby, me... You kind of made a balls up with that one, didn't you? Shame, shame, shame!)
Anyway, back to Catty & the hat. Maybe she thinks blue isn't her colour? Or she's just a bloody cat and I need to get a life. Your guess is as good as mine.