My name is NOT Painter

So I told Ben that today I'm gonna have to do some painting, and he said, "Why would you do that, you're not very good at painting.  You just paint the floor.  Your name is daddy, not painter."

Touche.

We've been doing all the stuff you do to get ready for a baby.  The nursery isn't painted yet because the painter has some work ahead of us, but we do have the crib and changing table set up (need to find a flat mattress still) and have some diapers and our infant car seat.

The experience seems comparatively more tedious this time around however.  While "tedious" may have a negative connotation in this particular conversation, remember that it is linked to the word "comparatively".  With Ben, it was new and exciting and we weren't sure what to expect, so the preparation was also new and exciting.  We're spoiled now.  We know what the good part is, having the baby, and so getting all the details in line has been separated into the "another thing we have to do" category.  I'm not sure if it's the same for moms.  Probably not, but I am not in any real position to speak on that matter.

Beth would like me to finish the garage, like, now.  So I'll be attempting to do that while simultaneously keeping Ben busy with telepathy.  It will be amazing, trust me.

I'll have more pictures eventually, but I keep forgetting to bring the camera to key events, like Jeremy's cookout where Ben and Joseph were jumping between the pool and the slip 'n slide (or the "slippery slide" as the boys called it).  They couldn't figure out how to run and slide, so they ran down it until they slipped and fell on their bottom.  Over and over.  Finally, I stood at the top and basically threw them both down on their belly's.  Over and over.

We did nothing with fireworks.  The big ones were too late for Ben to be up, and I didn't really feel like going out and getting sparklers.  Next year perhaps.