the good, the bad and the down right disgusting (i'm talking about you. yes, YOU.)

This morning I woke up and thought:

Today I am going to write about the awesomeness of waking up next to these little girls.

The girls have been sick since their birthday. Which was over two weeks ago. RSV can suck a fat turd. Two weeks of moaning, wheezing, crying, coughing, snotting and clinging, CHRIST JESUS WITH THE CLINGING ALREADY?? Two weeks of quarantine. We left the house ONCE in two weeks. That means me, too. Sleepness nights, broken-- if any-- naps -- and the breathing treatments?-- and shoving syringes of pink candy that THEY HATE FOR SOME RIDICULOUS REASON? down their throats while they writhe and struggle through the pool of mucus that has become their brain? Two weeks of Lydia waking up to get in bed with me at 6:00. Then Zadie's regular cuddle time at 6:30. Dearest readers, it is not easy to get two sick pre-todds to snuggle back to sleep. In our bed. PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME WHY OUR GODDAMN BED IS TOUCHING THE CEILING? You can deal with that fact that you jump into bed every night. The image of you baby rolling off of the Eiffel Tower? Not so much.

This morning I awakened at 6:30 to my Little Bugg, hoping for a morning snuggle. Would you believe it, people, that we went back to sleep until the sound of Lydia laughing at her toes woke us up at 7:30? And I put the girls on the floor and danced butt-ass-naked around their room for thirty minutes because NO ONE WAS COUGHING AND EVERYONE SLEPT AND I WAS SO EXCITED THAT I PEED A LITTLE BUT IT DIDN'T MATTER BECAUSE I WASN'T WEARING ANY CLOTHES AND WE HAVE HARDWOOD FLOORS!!

And so the day continued to be incredible.

Until they woke up from the afternoon nap thinking that they were teenagers.

I've never told ANYONE this, but I plan to give the girls away when they hit the double-digits. This is not a joke. In fact, if you are one of those crazy people that actually like teenagers, I am accepting applications as early as, um, today.

People always ask which is the sweet one? or which one is more dominant? and even which one do you like better? If I'm feeling generous, I will offer the explanation that you can't really put them into categories because they are always changing (not to mention that I don't have shit for brains). Which is the absolute truth. But today, on our first outing since the Carter administration, no one was asking which kid was the asshole. All you had to do was take a peek into our double-stroller to see Lydia holding: a stuffed dog, two cell phones, a book, Zadie's bottle, John Edwards' shot at the Presidency, and a partridge in a pear tree. Beside of her is Zadie. Just. Zadie.

Screaming. Tugging. Fighting. God help me, I considered chugging a bottle of Two-Buck-Chuck in the check-out line.

While helping with my groceries, a very sweet lesbian told me that she was a twin and also that her boyfriend had red hair. I told her to kiss her mother everyday and send her complimentary alcohol until the day that she dies of liver failure. Why? She asks why? Because you and your sister did this to your mother, I tell her, pointing at Whitney and Bobby down below.

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In other news, why is my blog such a filth magnet? No really, I asked for birth control advice UNLESS you were into Dirty Sanchez', Steam Rolling and Hot Carls. So far? The post has been read by over three hundred people and only eight comments-- one of which was myself. Which means that two hundred and ninety three OF YOU have poop-related sexual tendencies. Disgusting.