The QuiNtuple Threat.

My friend Susan is a girl I hate to love. I call her the quintuple threat because she can sing, dance and act AND she is smart and beautiful. Completely and ridiculously unfair, but I digress. She is one of my best friends from college and has recently begun taking ballroom dance lessons. Not only has she lost a bunch of weight and has a fabulous new apartment in Philadelphia, but her butt looks better now than it did in college. Insane. Anywho, I am heading to her dance showcase this weekend with Chris. We're going to try to make a weekend of it, if a sick kid with his 4th ear infection doesn't ruin it for us. Apparently Susan has rented a HOT costume for her cha-cha and Chris is now torn between actually going to the showcase or hanging with the guys to watch the Final Four Games. Susan's new butt or March Madness? It's a tough call. I hope to have some great photos for you all next week.

Just to be fair . . .

I have been informed that the photo of Obama that I posted yesterday is the digitally altered form of this photo. A special thanks to blog policeman, Rob, for bringing this to my attention.

The photo of George W., however, has not been altered.

Bleu the Incredible

If you read the www.dooce.com blog, you are likely amused by dogs balancing things on their heads. And if that's the case, allow me to introduce Bleu (My BFF Bogie's beloved lab) showcasing some serious self control, balance and discipline with apples. Brava!

Georgia's Take

We decided to wrap the terra cotta color that we have in the entryway around into another wall in the living room. Georgia's response when she saw it? "I like the orange wall, but it's not my favorite."

Obama

I was speaking with my friend Anne yesterday about her recent interview with Obama (she's a local newscaster) and she said that he was quite impressive in person. She said he was extremely well spoken, very much comfortable in his own skin and not remotely "oily" (how I like to describe the Bill Clintonesque). Today, my Mom (who also happens to be a hardcore right wing propaganda supporter, particularly via e-mail) sent me a message titled: Our Next President?!?! With this photo attached. Freaking CLASSIC. Regardless of your political affiliations, that is funny.

One good thing . . .

While I was griping in my last post I forgot to mention that one good thing did happen yesterday. Hughie actually wanted his MAMA instead of his Daddy. Finally. Also, Georgia is only calling me Amber these days. She's done it so much now, that I don't even notice any more. Everyone keeps laughing when she does it, but I don't evennotice it at this point. Apparently this is a phase. When I ask her why she's calling me Amber she says, "That's your name." Smartass.

Hit him while he's down . . .

So if 4 teeth at once and Lloyd Christmas bangs (Chris was at him again and this time it wasn't so pretty) were not bad enough for Hughie, he was socked with a high fever and cold yesterday. I had all sorts of lofty expectations for myself yesterday, including mounds of wash and cleaning out the kids' drawers and closets. Instead, I sat on the couch with Hughie moaning in my arms while watching daytime television all day. I'm extremely grateful that there was a marathon of America's Next Top Model, or I would have had to endure talk shows all day long. Do you know what the topic of The Tyra show was yesterday? CHILD STYLISTS. I shit you not. Because obviously I'm sitting at home thinking of stupidest ways possible to spend the endless amounts of money that my husband makes. Forget AIDS or cancer research, starving children and the homeless, I'm going to shell out $650 A DAY to get Georgia really styling. Dolce and Gabanna shirt, size 5T? Check. Michael Kors leggings, size 5T? Check. Jimmy Choo toddler stilettos, toddler size 10? Check. I mean, it's TOTALLY worth it for the five seconds that Georgia will be in those sizes. Now I won't have to be embrassed by her lack of style at that Hamptons barbecue. Whew.

And if you really want to be depressed, watch the Hottest Hooter pageant. I was flipping though the channels last night and this is on. There is sit, literally covered in snot from Hughie after holding him on the couch all day, supressing my gag relfex while watching these chicks strut their perfect shapely legs, tiny butts and big hooters. The absurd, plastic American ideal, browned in a tanning bed. Lovely.

And then, as I'm holding Hughie in bed with me last night at 2 a.m., I hear Georgia running down the hall to our room crying. She's so hysterical I can't get her to tell me what's wrong. Then, with a scream (and waking Hughie), she pees all over my (FAVORITE) king sized memory foam pillow and satin pillow case (which is on the floor to make room for Hughie). If anyone has any ideas on how to clean that, I would greatly appreciate. Just shoot me now. Well, at leat now I know what she was trying to tell me.