done. el fin. the end. peace out, nf.
Well, notsofast Pollyanna.
Let's consult one of Grace's handy dandy visual aids here ...
I really hope I got that complicated math right ... I think I did. I used a website meant for elementary school students so ... let's hope real hard that I did.
So. Last night was the last night of the float for Simon's third year of residency. Praise all the sanity saving gods.
Simon told a real knee slapper this morning when he got home and said, "wow, that month flew by!!" and even Julia couldn't conjure up one of her borderline obnoxious faux laughs .... because .... not funny. Not funny at all. We still have to chug through numerous call weekends and the two remaining night float months of chief year but ... we're getting there. Don't tell me that we aren't unless you have a hankering for a knuckle sandwich. I don't know why I typed knuckle sandwich - my name is Grace Patton not The Fonz. Never again, I promise.
I know I'm super obnoxious with my pathetic night float monologues and I appreciate the two of you left in the nosebleed section that are still occasionally reading the blog by the end of these months. I think I took the post down (because it was such a downer even for ME) detailing why exactly night float is so terrible (Simon leaves at 5pm and comes home at 8am or later and the sleeps during the day - REPEAT, repeat, repeat, repeat, AWFUL) but it's just the perfect storm of awful with the no sleep and the solo bedtime routines and the no sleep and the nonsensical paranoia that a predator is going to break and enter and kill me every minute of every hour of every night. But ... we're done for now.
So now? We sleep.
Or Simon plays basketball while I type for a few more seconds ...
I'm not even going to think about potty training Sebastian until he is using complete sentences to beg me to potty train because I learned that lesson with Julia .... you wait until the toddler is ready. Oh ... please don't tell me how much more dificult boys are to train because everyone has told me that and I know. I do. Hence .... the waiting. And I've read enough of exactly one potty training book to know that I hate them all so .... just let me do my parenting thing all wrong here. But tonight he was desperate to wear underwear and he wore me down so I let him and ye of little faith Grace ... guess where I found him a few minutes later?
Sitting on the toilet. Triumphant. Oh so very triumphant with a grin and his feet dangling having hurdled the hurdled that is labeled "2" ... if you catch my drift. But there was just one teeeeeny tiny little snag of a detail.
In his haste he had sort of forgotten to remove his freshly broken in underwear.
So. We'll call it a half victory and pour one out for the soiled Toy Story unders that are having a nice little permanent sleep in the big trashcan outside.
And there. Right there ends all the excitement for tonight.
Except!! Thank you thank you thank you to anyone that generously cast their vote in the Camp's direction for the Sheenazing awards. You're the best. Every last one of you.
And goodbye January.
You won't be missed.