Oh yeah.  I was supposed to blog.

But after a whole day of… let’s just call them "toilet training adventures", I’m quite whipped and feeling bereft of something.

Something I like to call, "the ability to look upon a surface and wonder if it’s been touched by a small bottom with the taint of poop about his cheeks."

Let’s just say that my hands ache a little from all the cleaning and washing and scrubbing and  washing again.

And let’s just say that despite my greenest of efforts, I might have caused an ozone hole right above my house today.  There is just something about poop that makes me lose all the faith I could ever muster up for eco-friendly products.  Plant-based botanicals?  Screw that: give me quaternary aluminum and as much caustic crap as you can muster, STAT.

In case you haven’t yet figured it out, I am a little paranoid at times, with a delightful hypocritical chewy center.  Bad, bad me.

And now, if you’ll pardon me, I’m off to sleepytime and to rub in some vegan hand lotion, in hopes that it will take away the sins of the day.