Head 'em up, move 'em out

I'm absolutely antsy today. Dunno why.

Evil Genius Husband will be late from work again as he's putting the finishing touches on his National Boards stuff. (It's simply baffling to me why he can't just come home to work. I mean, goodness ... roosters crowing outside the window; wife yelping at kids; kids screaming, running, snatching, falling, laughing ... uh, OK ... nevermind.)

Keep him and his success in your thoughts.

My disquiet is exacerbated by it being bloody cold and rainy and generally nasty outside so I can't finish my various projects, (all of which are outside the house. Heaven forbid I should actually clean my house) uppermost of which is painting my front door cobalt blue.

I'm miffed.

I think I'll scrape the worst of the crud off of the brood and toss 'em in the HMS Behemoth and toil into Newberry (Woohoo! Bright lights, big city!). Problem is, what do we do when we get there? My Salvation Army thrift store is closed (insert curse words here). Too disgusting out to go to our newly discovered park. I need bread ... we could hit the BiLo.

Gah!

It's sad when the most exciting thing you can think of doing is walking around the grocery store.

Say, speaking of walking ... the Incredible Bulk decided arbitrarily today to begin pulling up. He only started crawling two days ago, the lazy thing. Now, he has been doing his own version of army crawling for a bit. This involved kind of slugging around (seriously, he looked like a big, pink grub) and when he wanted to get across the floor fast, he would simply throw out one arm (the Right Hand of Doom!) grab the rug, and drag his 23 lbs 8oz of sweetness forward.

The boy is strong.

Apparently he's decided that while crawling was an improvement over slugging, it wasn't getting him high enough. High as in: able to reach the buttons on the telly, the DVDs on the lowest shelves, and any unsuspecting Diet Coke that had been foolishly left on the end table.

He's also obsessed with getting up the steps. It has dawned on him that he might be able to follow his herd of siblings when they leave the family room. Golly bob howdy!

So, as of today, I can no longer leave the room for a second without returning to find him trying to heave his Bulk into the hall.

His brother and sisters move like mercury throughout the house, occasionally apart but always coalescing back into a solid blob of destruction. Of course, it's just the opposite when there's trouble. Every time I go to investigate a scream and a crash the effect is exactly like turning on the light in a white trash kitchen: children scatter like cockroaches. And no one ever knows precisely what happened or who did it (although they offer up their siblings as potentially guilty parties).

Do I dare inflict this rowdy crowd on the BiLo?

Heck yeah.