Thank you, George Bush.

First, I must say that my last blog has been haunting me a little bit. Not because I wish I hadn't written it, but because of how it may affect others. Because of Blogger's new thing where you can put links to people on your blog page and it shows their title, my blog put the word "breast" on other people's blogs who have links to mine. And maybe that makes some people uncomfortable. So in order to move it down in the cue and move the topic of "breast" out of sight, I figured I should blog again. Plus, my son turned one week old yesterday. And that is a momentous occasion--I just have to share a picture. Even though the whole photo shoot didn't turn out quite how I envisioned. I wanted his naked little bum, but I was just too scared he would pee everywhere. So the ugly diaper stayed on. Oh well--he's adorable even with that diaper on.

But now for the main point of this post. Andrew and I have a running joke that comes up frequently these days. I think there are alot of people in this country who like to blame President Bush for things that they are upset about and don't know exactly where to place blame. Not to get all political or anything, but sometimes I just think it's funny. So whenever there is something that is making us mad and is totally out of our control but is really nobody's fault, we just blame George Bush.

Last night was our first night with both children by ourselves. My mom is here, but I thought it would be better just to let Eva start adjusting (she had been sleeping in Andrew's mom's hotel room the last week) to our new family situation. The problem is that we still only have one bedroom. Now that was hard enough with one child, but with two...it's just downright annoying. We put Eva to bed at 8pm (of course, since she was thrown all off, she didn't go to sleep until about 10pm) and then when we were ready to go to bed at about 11pm, we moved Eva's pack'n'play into the living room. With us getting up in the night, there is no way we could keep her in there with us. It's not that Leighton would cry and wake her up (he never cries), but mostly just when I jump into my role of mother cow and turn on the pump. It beeps like a heart rate monitor and makes a humming sound that would be sure to wake her up. We were lucky that in moving her, she stayed completely asleep.

But really, I'm just not excited about having to do that every night for the next 4 weeks until we finally get the heck out of here. I'm bugged about my housing situation, plain and simple. I want my own room back, I want Eva to play in her crib in the mornings like she used to, I want a real place to change diapers, I want my king-sized bed with my own bedding, I want two bathrooms, I want a quiet dishwasher, and I want to feel settled with our newly-acquired two children family and our brand new house.

So, for lack of anyone else to blame my frustration on, I want to blame our dear president. Thanks for nothing, George. Thanks alot.

P.S. SYTYCD commentary: Is there really anyone in this country who likes Comfort more than Kherington? I'm totally confused. Comfort, get off the stage.