The Vacuum and Baby Meals

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.