Comment Responses (and a bonus rant inspired by AYC)

Okay, yeah, it's kind of a cheat to use a response to comments as an entire blog post itself, but this got so long in the little comment boxy thingie that it was just silly to keep trying to type in there.

Anyway, on to the responses!

Dr. A, man, I hear ya there on the Diet Coke. I was really low on it by the time yesterday night rolled around, so today I bought two twelve-packs in two different places, just to be sure I was adequately supplied.

Those will last until Wednesday. Because I'm working and will be drinking the office's Diet Coke during business hours.

Angel, I'm working on the vasectomy thing. At this rate it looks like I'm going to have to go somewhere and make him the appointment myself, which I understand is difficult what with HIPAA and everything.

Like I said, if I get pregnant again it will be a case of immaculate conception and I will make an absolute killing in the tabloids.

Awesome Mom, I have that eye-poking-out urge over the SpongeBob bedroom going on for sure. Plus I think I'm developing hives.

The elder son, who didn't care what was on his bed? Now wants to get a new comforter and sheets for his room. If he chooses SpongeBob too (he is also a fan) I'll be blogging from the psych inpatient ward.

Scott, it was indeed both a fun and crazy Sunday. And hee! on the Problem Child room. You know, in the second Problem Child, my old orchestra director and his chamber group were the quartet in the wedding scene.

Yes, that is my one claim to vicarious fame.

As for kiddie bedding in stressful medical situations, well, I took my pillow to the hospital when I had my first son and had my old Raggedy Ann and Andy pillowcase on it, so I'm totally with you there.

The jury is still out on the sponge wall. We shall see. It isn't too complicated, so it could happen. When he hates it in a few years, he can help us paint over it.

AYC, three isn't so bad? What's one more?

:faints:

Woman, you do understand that at three children, we adults would be freaking outnumbered in this house? And that's only the beginning. The younger son is trying figure out how to spell to put a sign on his room keeping his elder brother out (because his mean mommy won't help him spell it), and the elder brother already has a sign on his door (because he wrote it himself without any assistance from me) saying,

"No little brother.

Unless I send him to get something.

Then he can come in."

Now, ma'am, picture these two little dears sharing a room.

I'll give you a moment for that to sink in.

Now picture them alone with their new sibling, a frazzled daddy, and a mommy who's practicing crocheting with a blunted plastic hook on the eighth floor of our local hospital.

Yes, that would be the previously-mentioned psych ward.

Ain't happenin', sister.

(But thanks for giving me a good rant to sign off on!)