I'm so freaking sleepy!

I’m so sleepy that I actually found myself watching – and ENJOYING – a Julia (gag) Roberts (puke) movie yesterday. Under normal circumstances, the title alone would have been enough to keep me miles away from this giggly-girl's sleep over hit – this film was called “Mona Lisa Smile” and it reeked of Hollywood liberalism (groan), romantic ideals (barf) and the coming of age stories of the young women involved (kill me now). I still can’t believe that if someone asked me, I’d actually have to admit watching it…I’d have to say “yes, I watched a movie called “Mona Lisa Smile” about some all-girls school and their art class”.

How weakened must my soul be to have found joy and inspiration from such a film? How low my stamina, to cause my mind and body to lose the will to fight and let something like this in? Normally, I won’t even touch a piece of film that has Julia in it…I can’t stand her and wish she’d take up residence in the bathroom/cave of the polar bear exhibit at the nearest zoo. But yesterday, with my defenses considerably lowered, I found myself engrossed in this penultimate “chick flick” – the worst came when I “woke up” about 45 minutes into it and turned to my wife and said “You know, this movie is actually pretty good. I’m interested in how it will turn out.” WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME???

On another new parent note, why does my son give me a smile just before taking a crap on me? What's so enjoyable about unloading on your dad? I know that some people say that he's not smiling but rather making a "gas face", but I'm beginning to question that line of thinking. I'm starting to think that he actually enjoys the fact that he's pooping on me...how else would you explain his timing it just perfectly for when I've just picked him up? It won't be 2 seconds and then here comes that grin...followed by what sounds like paint being slung on a wall at great speeds. Then, as I look back at him, he gives me an evil little grin that says "You weren't planning on wearing those pants anymore, were ya?" or "Oh, did I just accidentally let loose of that poopy I've been saving up all day and coat your LSU shirt - your favorite LSU shirt - with a whole mason jar full of goopy, smelly, good-at-staining-your-clothes baby poo?" Then he goes to sleep with a satisfied look of accomplishment.

The next person that tells me he's just got his "nights and days" mixed up is going to get a bottle inserted where things are not supposed to go. Just because the kid doesn't know what time it is doesn't mean he should be projectile vomiting on my favorite chair.