My fourteen-month-old Spawnling now walks down the stairs forward, holding onto the railing. It's quite a terrifying sight. I have visions of him plummeting all ten stairs from the top of the landing. He loves to do it though, and won't stop - unless I take out the camera, apparently. In true toddler fashion, he denied me any such pleasure from gloating. Now you'll just have to take my word for it, and my honesty will forever be in question.

His saving grace is that he's squishy and lovable. It almost makes me forget how much he doesn't listen to me lately. Almost.

And to get him back for all of this later, I have a series of naked butt pictures stashed away. "What's that, fifteen-year-old Spawnling who didn't help mom declutter the basement last weekend because you were too busy playing Playstation8? Your girlfriend (or boyfriend - hey, I'm liberal) is coming to dinner tonight? Let me just get a few things... ready.

No, sweety. I'm not cackling. Only people with very evil ideas cackle. Must just be your imagination."

The blue in the hallway is very Cape-Cod-by-the-sea. We are not in Cape Cod or by the sea, but it's a non-offensive colour and really quite pretty most of the time, so we kept it. Painting hallways is not what Mavens do best. Also, there's a lovely deep red on the stairs. You have to look closely to see it. No, no. Not that close. That's dirt. Piles of cat hair because I took this right before Christmas and hadn't swept in, um... let's just say 'a while'. 'A while' sounds like it might just be a week or so. And if my stairs look like that, you can guess what my kitchen look like. But pretend it's really pretty and clean, ok? Please?