To fight against the forces of depressing poetry

So here's what I think:
Child out of control
Ex out of control
Work out of control
Life out of control
Blah blah blah blah blah blah
The Whine Tasting is over. The only way to combat this misery is by dredging up funny-assed stories that probably only I will laugh at but hey. I'm a selfish SBFH, whatdaya want?

If you have not taken a gander at Profgrrl's boots--you should.

When I was about 3 months preggers with the Girl, and the Boy was about 2 3/4 and potty training, I went in to get him up from his nap. I'd heard him messing around in his room for about 10 minutes, but he sounded happy, so it was all good. Until I opened the door. At which point, I heard the words that no one (especially no one with morning sickness) wants to hear:
"My poopie is socks!"