The text read: “Let’s do dinner Saturday night?”
Never has a simpler suggestion filled me with such dread.
Why? Because of the immaculately-planned moving parts involved in such a loaded question.
Always someone of the, shall we say, fashionably-late variety, my time management skills have improved exponentially after having a baby because I have to time everything in reverse.
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We walked at snail’s pace past the nursing station on our way to the exit. Why were they letting us just walk out? On our own! With a new baby! Didn’t the nurses want to come home too?! How could we be trusted?!
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Yesterday, I told of how we moved the baby into our bedroom. This comes with a new set of master suite rules:
1.) If it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown...let it mellow
You heard me right.
My environmental science professor at school insisted we practice sustainable human waste disposal, best remembered by her mantra "If it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down."
If it's brown and the flush is going to disturb the baby's ridiculously short sleep cycle, let that thing disintegrate. You are in trouble if you flush it down. Just think of the good you're doing for the New York City Waste Management system.
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