You Have Got To Be Kidding Me

It's been a busy week at work: long hours, multiple annoyances, and a host of forehead-thumping encounters. I am usually fine with the deadly hours this time of year, considering it a trade-off for a less demanding schedule in the summer and fall, but I always question my dedication when I realize my office expects me to work on Superbowl Sunday. I mean, is nothing sacred?

But I got home in time for most of the game, and after a week of not much sleep and too much time at the office, I have this morning off.

We're hiring a Daytime Babysitter (Esther isn't your run-of-the-mill babysitter, she's a Daytime Babysitter. It takes a special kind of woman to sell childcare services in the light of day.) for the already-born tormentors and having our first ultrasound to meet the other one. It's probably too early to see any gender-specific parts; this scan is to ensure things are all regular-like in the chromosome department.

As long as I'm on the subject of new hires, we've employed a contractor. He's also coming by this morning to settle a few final details before beginning work. Our condo has been screaming "You people just don't fit in here anymore!" at us for several months, so Bump and I have gotten serious about selling this place and getting a house. We're completely re-doing the bathroom, updating the kitchen, and having light cosmetic work done in the half bath. We'll also need to (hire someone to) repaint and install new carpet. This contractor was highly recommended by a friend who, amidst glowing reports, described him as "a straight man with a gay man's aesthetic." Sold.

Bump leaves with the tormentors on the 12th. He's going to his mother's for a week so the contractor can demolish the bathroom without the assistance of our two curious muppets. I'll be lonely and unshowered while they're gone, so come by and see me, won't you?

Oh, and I found this in the toybox last night:
What. Ever.

Now he's just showing off.