Well, Vincent had a neuro exam this morning. Why? OH, because I decided TO BE HONEST on his physical for daycare and on the line where it says "has your child ever in his entire life, even once, possibly, maybe, EVER had a seizure?" I checked "Yes" BUT added a note stating that it was a febrile seizure that only occurred because we were 25,000 motherfucking feet in the air and HAD NO TYLENOL. And the genius at the paperwork factory that fuels the entire goddamn military decided they had to have a neurological evaluation. For fuck's sake. Anyway he's fine; in fact so fine that he stuffed both pockets with bright red packages of condoms, unbeknownst to me, and after I'd dropped him at daycare decided to share them with his friends. Good times.
Vlad is awesome; loves first grade, and accidentally (yes, a total accident) scored a goal in his first soccer game. So now he's all "I AM THE BEST EVER IN THE WORLD AT SOCCER." He gets his modesty from me.
Vincent starts gymnastics next month, which should consist of running around sock-footed and screaming, and bouncing off walls, trampoline, and fellow gymnasts. We're excited.
And me, started my pre-med courses, which consist of math and SCIENCE, so no easy A's there fo sho. Work is awesome, occasionally sticky, but awesome.
And there's Bart. My 75 pound chihuahua, AKA lab mix. Thus far he is afraid of loud noises, quiet noises, the tv, the dishwasher, the front door, back door, and garage door, the Vs, my hair, the microwave beep, and ohmyfuckinggod the smoke alarm. I have to carry him outside, and then back inside, because the world is just too much for him and if he had thumbs to suck, he would probably just sit in a corner all the time and do that. Maybe he needs a blankie. I don't know.
Anyway it's pretty much all good in the hood. And by hood I mean my primarily caucasian suburb.