5 pairs of underwear I have thrown out this week.
1 pair of pajama bottoms that have joined the underwear in the trash.
1,237 number of baby wipes we used in one day last week.
1 the number of double dosages of Miralax I gave Danny because I thought it would help clear up his constipation.
In case you're wondering, it worked. (Bill notes: I laughed, I cried, it was more disgusting than "Eraserhead.")
1 number of times Charlotte said to Bil, "Hey, Daddy, I'm going commando today."
You can see I have been busy teaching my daughter really valuable information, right?
0 number of hours I have spent teaching Charlotte something useful like how to spell her name or tie her shoes.
217 number of miles I traveled with the kids to get to Chicago. About an hour outside the city, I heard Danny smacking his lips noisily. I peered into the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of green construction paper and Froot Loops--the Christmas tree they made in school. I commanded Danny not to eat the Froot Loops.
He said, "Mom, I'm not eating the Froot Loops; they are glued on. (Like, Duh, mom!) I'm just licking them. And they are deeeeeelicious!"
He continued to exclaim over the tastiness of the cereal and then decided to share his treat with me, handing me a sodden mess of green construction paper, sugary starch material, and all manner of artificial flavoring and colors, all the while insisting that I partake of this delicacy.
I'm thinking maybe I should pack more snacks for our road trips.
11 number of times I have laughed to myself over the fact that the OT receptionist referred to Pulaski Day as "Roman Pulaski" day. I'm pretty sure ole Casmir Pulaski--who according to wikipedia, "was a Polish soldier, member of the Polish nobility and politician who has been called 'the father of American cavalry,'" who also saved George Washington's life--might take issue with being confused with Roman Polanski, child rapist and fugitive from law.
But what do I know?