
Halloween is over, and as most of you know, I start
listening to Christmas music on November 1.
The house is a wreck while our bathroom is being demolished and remodeled. Our subfloor was rotten - it's the classic home ownership tale, you call the plumber to fix the clogged toilet, and you find out the entire subfloor is rotted. "How soon do you think we have to replace it?" I ask. "Well, you could wait a while, but you better not sit on the toilet too much or use the bathtub." I'm starting to feel like Diane Keaton in "Baby Boom." WHY CAN'T I JUST CALL THE DOORMAN ABOUT THIS?!?!? Anyway, I digress. The kids and I have booked our time between Grandma's and playdates with friends, but one does have to actually be at home sometimes, so we've been camped out in the playroom two levels below the din of water saws and sledge hammers. This interferes with Chase's theatrical leanings in our stairwell, of course, so I've had to get creative. The other day, Chase and I were parading around for Cole, playing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" on our kazoos and tapping out the beat against our legs with spoon instruments. Suddenly, Chase yelled, "OW!" I stopped marching and looked over. He was a little pale, with a surprised look on his face. "What happened?" I asked. Cole looked genuinely curious as well. Chase said, "I hit my penis with the spoons!"
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