Playgroup
I hosted my first playgroup today. My house looked awesome. Right before going to work Dave suggested we host playgroup every week because the house looked so good. Then I kicked him on the butt and slammed the door in his face because I spend most of my days picking up little piles of his discarded clothes that he leaves in every corner of the house. For example this morning he comes out of the shower with his nightclothes tightly rolled up in a ball and starts to throw them upstairs to the second floor. I stop him to ask if he's going to put them in the dirty laundry basket in the upstairs bathroom *hint-hint* and he says "Yah, that's what I was about to do!" then proceeds to chuck them upstairs. I'm willing to bet he would've walked away if he wasn't such a lousy shot; he didn't clear the top steps. It also solves the mystery as to why I'm always finding dirty socks and other nefarious items tucked away in the back right corner of our second floor hall.
Playgroup was a lot of fun. Everyone showed up late which led to the usual "I'm getting stood up!" panic, which was followed by the "even if everyone shows up they're probably all going to throw eggs at me because I'm such a dork" panic, a sentiment which may or may not have been influenced by my having watched "Never Been Kissed" last night on ABC Family. Henry handled having a bunch of kids playing with his toys very well, although he wigged out a little bit after everyone left. Right now he's upstairs napping peacefully, probably dreaming of driving the real Lightning McQueen car, which is something he unexpectedly informed us he was planning on doing someday. Kids say the strangest things at dinner time. And every other time of the day.
Right now I'm going to collapse on the couch with a plate full of tuna casserole and maybe unwind with a little Hannah Montana if it's on. What? That show's hilarious!