I just dustbustered my child.
I know this probably isn't the best way to start a blog, but I figured I'd better be honest, or this won't be worth reading. Is it better that my 13-month-old boy enjoyed being vacuumed? He giggled and wiggled his belly as I attempted to remove the coating of toast-crumbs he'd acquired over breakfast. It was a vain attempt. He's now crawling around in nothing but his diaper. Oh, look, he found a stale Cheerio. ...And its gone. My little man is a dustbuster, too. I need better mommy reflexes!
My Dustbuster has an older sister, a beautiful two-year-old girl - a self-proclaimed Doctor Princess - who is allergic to sitting at the table for meals. She is sweet, and she is also pretty funny in a weird, of-course-because-she's-my-daughter kind of way.
For example, this morning she told me she loves babies. I said, "Yay, me too!" She said, "Mommy, they're not for eating. No, no, no."
Okay. I promise not to eat any babies.
I don't exactly have a plan for this blog, but every once in a while I do something with my children that makes me feel like a good mommy, and I feel like this would be a nice way to show off without annoying anyone. I can also share my many, many mishaps, as a way of atoning for my bad-mommy moments.
Like dustbustering my child.