The secret lives of boys and why I hate doing laundry

Still working through this blasted cold. Baby's got it, kids both had it and now seem to have another one. Hoping and praying this is not a foreshadowing of the upcoming winter season. And today I did laundry and little else. Lots and lots of laundry. I'm not certain where it all came from and I'm pretty sure half of every pair of Isobel's socks fell through some worm hole in the space/time continuum and may have ended up in someone else's washing machine. If you happen to find an assortment of mismatched pink, purple and otherwise very girlie baby socks, they might belong to us.

On a high note, last weekend I reunited with my long lost childhood pal John and his lovely wife Michelle. We met through my cousin Mike when we were wee little children, growing up on the mean streets of pseudo rural Massachusetts. Because my parents always sent me over to my aunt's house (my aunt had two boys and no daughters at the time, so I think she was ok with it) I was always surrounded by my two cousins and their friends. So essentially it was me and a bunch of boys. But Mike and John were fun and always included me in their play or discussions, even if I wasn't up for Dungeons and Dragons or engaging in their "Star Wars" debates. Mostly I was just happy to hang out- a change of pace from my two older sisters. I got an inside glimpse into the life of boys. I learned that they aren't very mysterious and they won't let you win at anything, just because you are a girl. But they WILL insist on being the hero and rescue you during a re-enactment of an episode from "The Hulk".

Well, John and I are no longer kids and it's nice to see that our adult selves aren't too old and crabby just yet, and our memories are not so riddled with holes that we can't reminisce properly. Ernesto, the kids and I all had a great time visiting with them and can't wait to do it again. I meant to write about this sooner but with all the noses to wipe and laundry to do I didn't get to it when I would have liked. Both John and Ernesto beat me to the punch.

And since I haven't give her a plug in a while, Isobel is now crawling with great might and swiftness which means the house is officially unsafe. She has also whacked her noggin on more than one wall or bookshelf or something hard during her newly discovered mobility. I am considering buying her one of these for Christmas.

I know. I'm a terrible mother.