*ahem*

Yes, I realize I went on and on about needing to update more often and then didn't post for, oh, a week.

I get that.

But if you're going to blame someone, please blame the nine-month-old. He's still not walking (I'm secretly thrilled about this because he's still so baby-like) but he's currently growing four top teeth at once and is anything but easy-going right now. He's not willing to let me have my hands free, nor does he like to be predictable in his sleep patterns. This is not conducive to regular blogging, friends. Even my one-handed-typing-with-Spawnling-in-arms is a no-go, as he's quite proficient at pulling off Lapzilla's keys.

I do believe attempting to destroy The Maven's keyboard should be listed as a sin, but so far the Powers That Be haven't gotten back to me about that. Maybe they didn't get the memo.

Anyway, before I get any nasty comments, I did have two gardens planted for me by the lovely Lushgurl last week. I sucked her into it by convincing her that I had a black thumb. In reality, I can hold my own in the gardening department but I prefer sitting in my kitchen watching someone else do it. In the end there's still a garden and I don't get an ugly farmer's tan. See? There are benefits to manipulation.

Actually, I begrudgingly enjoyed my coffee and wished I could make pretty things out of mounds of dirt, too. The nerve of talented people coming over and showing off like that. Thank you, Lushy, for working so hard like that. And an equally big thanks to her daughter, AAngel, for looking after the Gremz for a while so I could have no idea what to do with this 'spare time' stuff people keep telling me exists.

I'll post some pictures once I locate the rechargeable batteries that the gremlins have run off with. They probably put them in some ridiculously loud toy that 'accidentally' ran out of battery juice. There are many of those 'accidental' power-downs in this household.

Speaking of begrudgingly watching someone do things, I should probably write a bit about my friend, Mrs. Wailing. We've known each other for over a decade, pre-kids and pre-marriages. Back in the days of staying up all night and hanging out in my rental garden home filling the walls with nicotine. We were such badasses.

We're well past all that cool stuff now. The big W and I are both mothers to boy gremlins and are brave enough to stay home with them full-time. The difference? Mrs. Wailing's home is very, very clean. I'm talking immaculate here. It's spotless enough that she could have Jesus over for a pot roast in a moment's notice. I have never seen the place in anything but perfect condition. Amazing!

Oh, we all tease her about it, of course; that's just our envy shining through. In fact, for Wailing Jr's birthday last weekend, I went with my usual theme of buying him things - this time they were books - related to cleaning up, as he shares his mother's love of tidiness. A mutual friend, Stephbucks, also makes cracks about Mrs. W. possibly breaking out in hives at the sight of dust on the baseboards. As a gift from her kiddos, she gave four-year-old Wailing Jr. finger paints. Ah, a woman after my own heart, tainted ever so slightly with evilness. Even I hate cleaning up finger paint!

It truly does seem like Mrs. Wailing is near perfect, don't you think? Adorable, well-behaved children. A perfectly clean home. Not even a flinch at the finger paints. She's a good sport about all our jabs, too. Obviously, any friend of mine must have incredible patience.

Today I was over for our weekly visit. As per usual, the home was impeccable. My gremlins had no problem making it feel more like home in short order, however, as they tore apart not only the main floor but the bedrooms, too. Those are my little darlings, making mommy proud.

It came time to make lunch. I had brought over some cheese and bread so that we could have grilled cheese sandwiches. As I dealt with Fussy McClingsalot, AKA the Teething Terror, AKA Spawnling, Mrs. W. took care of fixing our lunch.

At least I thought she was. For, the next thing I knew, she was taking bread out of the toaster.

Toasting the bread? This is one step I'd never performed in order to make grilled cheese sandwiches.

The next thing she did was not only creepy, but just outright wrong: She slapped a piece of processed cheese between the pieces of toast and put them it in the microwave.

I couldn't speak. I was absolutely stunned. I had to regain my composure.

'Um.. Mrs. Wailing? What... um... what are you doing?'

'Making grilled cheese,' she replied calmly.

Wide-eyed, I replied: 'No. No you're not. You're butchering toast.'

'I am not,' she retorted. 'You don't like how I'm making grilled cheese?'

Perhaps she had just forgotten. I needed to gently remind her, that's all. 'The thing about grilled cheese is that it's grilled. You know, in a pan?'

Mrs. Wailing looked beyond mortified. 'What? You want me to cook? Me? Cook? No, no. I hate cooking. Mr. Wailing does all that stuff.'

And finally, I understood: Mrs. Wailing isn't perfect like I thought she was. She has all the time in the world to clean because she saves time by microwaving her kids' sandwiches.

Isn't it nice when people are instantly humanized?

I came back to my messy, mostly unpacked home with a smile on my face. Then I made tacos.

Then I didn't clean up the taco stuff for a while because I kind of suck at cleaning.

Then I noticed that Fruitflypalooza was happening in my now messy kitchen sink.

Then I spent the next three hours trying to find time to clean it with Gutsy and Intrepid and Spawnling requiring various things from Tylenol for headaches to wanting help gardening to nursing an entire cup size out of my breasts in order to soothe sore teeth.

Meanwhile the fruitflies where having an orgy in the salsa bowl.

Then I thought long and hard about microwaving some grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch tomorrow.