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Ben starts school again in a couple of weeks, this time as a big old first grader, which is actually aging Dave more than it’s aging me (this happens to be a first). With the almost 6 year old age has come the almost 6 year old attitude which is_getting_old.

I actually found myself in an arguement with Ben recently regarding the actual need for roller skates in order to rollerskate. I was suprisingly pro, he anti. What was mainly interesting about this interaction was that I am all but convinced that I had partoketh in this converasation previously, with his father, the king of “Well, actually, Becky…” conversations. If I were to mention that the sky happened to be blue today, he’d come up with all kinds of charts and graphs to prove “Well, actually, Becky the sky is green.” Or yellow. Or motherfucking pink. Needless to say, I find this to be incredibly grating.

With the addition of actual school has come the need for school supplies, something I had expected to relish buying. Until I realized that Ben’s school has ALWAYS requested that we purchase things like “snorth-fibber queesile grinder,” in a delicate azure. Never an easy purchase, now made way more difficult than necessary by the school.

Of the approximately 105 item checklist, I have now only acquired a handful of items. The rest seem to elude me. Where exactly does one purchase a (and I am not kidding here) 3 subject, plastic cover, wide rule, red notebook? According to the worker that I enlisted to help me, they don’t have them in red. At least at Target.

I guess it’s a good thing that I started early, but I am seriously considering suggesting that the school purchase said items for us and WE WILL PAY THEM DIRECTLY. Hell, considering the extreme amount of gas I will have to buy to head to 1,984 stores to find their blasted MEAD BRAND ONLY!!!!! composition book, I’d be willing to pay more than retail price. And for a cheap ass like me to say so, it must be bad.

Howdy God,

I know that we don’t speak a lot, if ever, but seriously I’ve been trying to get ahold of You these days. I know, I know, I might not be Your most pious follower, but hey, remember a couple years ago when I READ THE BIBLE COVER TO COVER? I do. Sure, it was for a class (as an aside here, God, I know the teacher may have been a more God-loving person than I, but his class was basically just regurgitating whatever he interpreted to be the meaning of the Bible. It wasn’t very informational.), but still I READ IT. And yeah, I probably didn’t see what a lot of the people who make church unpleasant were getting at with the no abortions, no same-sex marriages, etc, but maybe it was just my untrained eyes.

Although maybe I wasn’t baptised, You must recognize that this was my hippie parents decision, not my own. See, I even GOT MARRIED IN A CHURCH AND STUFF! And I married into a Religious Family! So, I’m not all bad!

Okay, so here it goes: I need Your help. I have this baby, this high needs baby named Alexander, and I adore him much as I adore his brother. But this baby, cute and sweet as he is, does not sleep. Like ever. I have tried many different things to make him sleep, but to no avail. And God, I’m tired. Really tired. Dangerously tired. I’m not going to complain about the isolation, the inability to do anything fun anymore, or the constant needs of said baby, IF YOU HELP HIM TO SLEEP.

Please, please, please, let this kid sleep. No naps? Fine. Just allow me 3-4 sweet hours straight each night. This waking every 45 minutes to an hour is killing me slowly. Seriously, I’m about 4 hours away from a trip to the nuthouse. This just isn’t pretty.

If You help me, I’ll join a church. Just let me know which one is a good one. I’ll EVEN WAKE UP AND GO TO CHURCH EACH SUNDAY! For me, as You know, this is a Big Thing.

Semper fideles,

For the first time in over four months, yesterday Alex didn’t take a dump. God love breastfed babies, but they shit almost constantly. In fact, the shitstorm usually makes it all over the front of poor Daddy’s shirt (which is freaking hilarious, really) or at least ruins the outfit he’s wearing. But yesterday, be it from stress or from the addition of rice cereal and applesauce not a rumble was heard in his tumble.

At 4 am, Alex woke up and had a meal. He promptly (thank you Jesus) fell back asleep, looking less like the Spawn of Satan with each passing moment. About 2.4 seconds after I turned the light off, I heard the familiar sound of some nasty sounding farts, and after that, he began to whimper pathetically.

Thinking he might still be hungry, I whipped out the tit and grabbed the babe. Once in his immediate vicinity, I smelled it. Either some rotten eggs had gotten into his pants or he had taken a dump. I did the side check and everything looked okay. I checked his back, and nada: no green mess to be seen.

I pulled him onto the changing pad and removed said diaper. Then I saw it. The most disgusting, foul smelling huge dump I had ever seen come out of my Ickle Baby. It went from his penis to his shoulder blades. The outfit was toast. No way I was cleaning that. Had I had some industrial strength cleaner, I’d have sprayed him down no questions asked.

Just desserts, I’m sure Dave would say, for constantly laughing at his unfortunate shit-baths.

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