Negligence Leads to Tattoos

Forgive me if I sound like I'm drunk or something ... I'm just in shock over yesterday's uber-awesome turn as the SITS Featured Blogger. I gained a hundred new followers, and a deeper appreciation for the ones who were already following. Seriously, if I could, I would hug each of you until it gets uncomfortable and stare directly into your eyes in a creepily smitten manner. Because I love you THAT much.

So since a full third of you are as-yet-unfamiliar with me - and since I know the rest of you are dying to know even more mundane details of my life - I've created one of those Formspring.me pages. You can go there and ask me anything, even anonymously and I'll answer. So ask away right here, peeps, or via the convenient little widget over there in the right-hand sidebar! → Anything goes! As far as I can tell, you don't even need to register to ask questions.*

*But I'm still new at it and kind of a computer moron to boot

Anywho, I was like deathly ill for a hot second last week. I spent the better part of three days looking like this:

Only, you know, more horizontal.

(And yes, this is unfortunately my real hair, y'all - not just some crazy wig I put on for giggles.)

The worst part of my illness happened to fall on my husband Curtis's two days off, so he was able to watch the boys. And by "watch the boys" I mean "let them play with my pots and pans, drag every last toy out of their toy box, and eat candy on demand." All the while, the puppy ran amok, peeing on every-damn-thing and setting us back in our potty training endeavors. Is it any wonder that the morning after a 104-degree fever, I was up and cleaning like a madwoman just to restore things to some degree of normalcy? I think it might've fried my brain a little. Like I needed that.

There was one morning during my illness when Colin woke up before anyone else, and decided to take advantage of his solitude. He pulled a chair up to the cabinet where I keep forbidden goodies out of reach for special occasions - goodies like the sheets of spider tattoos that my mother-in-law sent them (gee, thanks, Nana).

I woke up to a four-year-old who looked like a prison tattoo experiment. No fewer than nine (huge) spiders covered his body. And since Colin is generally naked, several of the tatts were in, um, creative places. Places where only the most adventurous (and pain-tolerant) of people have real-life tattoos. I hope you're pickin' up what I'm puttin' down, here, because it's not like I can post pictures.

Anyway, I'm pleased to report that I did get the stacks of dishes clean, the mountains of cat poo scooped from the box, the sticky fingerprints scrubbed, the towering piles of laundry caught up ...

... until the next day, when everything magically reappeared (what an effin' miracle!) and was awaiting my attention again.

At least my illness didn't stick around. Wish I could say the same for those tattoos ...