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Finn and I spend a good portion of our time together frustrated.  He says something.  I can’t understand it.  He says it again.  I get it wrong.  He screams in frustration.  I scream in frustration.  And if Rowan isn’t home to interpret, we return to our respective corners and sulkily eat chocolate.

Yesterday we had a moment.  Finn found me in the kitchen and said, “Me robbed the ligger.”

I made a mad dash to the bathroom hamper, dug under the stinky towels to find the vodka was still where it belonged and in tact. I asked Finn to try again.

“Me ropped the ligger.”

“Dropped?  You dropped something?”

“Yes.  The ligger.”

“What’s a ligger?”

And here is where my two-year old proved he is brilliant.  Hands on hips, eyes rolled to the ceiling because he has the thickest broad in the world for a mommy, Finn yelled:

“THE REMOTE!”

A synonym.  My brilliant kid found a synonym. 

Damn, that gene pool is good.

If anybody needs to find us after June 30th we’ve found a little alley off of Fifth and Arch that might be able to fit two large refrigerator boxes.  The space is occupied right now but we’re aggressive.

Last weekend fell short of spectacular: I discovered my new job was a huge scam to rob me blind, the crazy lady we bought a house from had a nervous breakdown and rescinded our sale, and my aunt’s legs stopped working.

I’ve spent the past three days at the hospital waiting for my aunt to be taken to emergency spinal surgery which finally happened last night and she’s resting comfortably today, hopefully with her mobility in tact.  Time will tell.  And yes, every time a nurse gives her that morphine I ask for some.  I’m so boringly predictable.

As for the job, que sera sera, which translates to mean life can really suck rotten eggs sometimes.  But I’m over it.  I’m not bitter.  Really.

And now, since we’ve sold our house and shall be homeless in approximately fifty-four days, we’ll be house hunting this weekend.  We do however have a backup plan to Fifth and Arch.  We live very close to a train station with a large parking lot.  We thought maybe we’d pay the fifty cents a day for a parking space and just put a POD on it.  We could even pay for two and put the kids in one.  Oh, Hell.  Let’s spring for three spots and we can have a little backyard.  We’ll park the grill and the swing set.  Maybe we could cut our rent down by stacking two PODS on top of each other.  Then we could have an upstairs and a downstairs.  We’ll just add a contingency to the sale of our house: sellers will need to use the bathroom for up to six months following closing date.  Problem solved. 

I think I’ll paint the downstairs POD a light blue - I hear it makes a small space look bigger.  With some pops of red, of course.

I’m nothing if not an optimist. 

The cup is only half empty because it’s vodka and I keep chugging it.

WARNING: very addictive!

Or so my friend Greeblemonkey says. What kind of blogger are you? I’m clearly a non-poster.

I have value!

I’m a goddamn niche!

I’m a maven, hear me roar!

The Motrin ad didn’t offend me and I’m a major baby wearer. The Febreze ad however that suggests I can’t play tennis or go out to lunch unless my house is spotless really pisses me off!

Beware. Auditory cursing involved.

Just what I need when I have more layers of stress than a spanish onion - swine flu.  One of my greatest fears in life after jail is pandemics.  (I never should have read Camus’s The Plague.)  Yesterday, just to hike up my anxiety a few more notches, I got the information about Rowan’s Friday field trip - to a farm.  Where they will be able to pet the animals.  And Nathan will be taking a group of students to New York City that day.  I’m planning on sending them both shrink wrapped and soaked in Purell.  I have enough of it to do so because after the morning news yesterday I went to my local CVS and bought every bottle of Purell they had.  I’m not even trying to be funny - I really did.  You know there will be a shortage of the stuff in a matter of days.

Did I also mention that my kids are all sick?  Every one of them is couching and has a soar throat.  And Finn has a rash.  Do you get a rash with the swine flu?  If only the swine flu made you oink.  Then I wouldn’t have to panic with every sniff and cough. 

On the upside, I should get back to regular blogging because I won’t be leaving the house for the next six months.  And you guys won’t even laugh at me for wearing this mask.

Just the same, even computers are very germy things, and I don’t recommend wiping them down with Purell because then some of thhhe kkeyss ssticck.

My only hope is that the swine flu does not infect saints.  Or the families of saints.  If so we’re good.