Don't mess with the Crazy Eyes. (3 Good Things From 4/8/10)

Yesterday began and end with chilling visions, as you'll see from my 3 Good Things.

1. Mr Bunches at least left his shirt on. Mr F and Mr Bunches slept horribly the night before last, and as a result, were supertired when I got them up yesterday morning. Mr F took getting up badly, crying and complaining through the process of getting dressed and then promptly going back to bed.

Mr Bunches took it worse. He yelled and hollered through the whole process, then, when released (fully-clothed, for the moment), he stood up, and howled at me, and gave me the Crazy Eyes -- wide-eyed, all-pupil angry eyes almost like his expression in the picture here, but with more crazy. While he stared me down, Crazy-Eye style, he very deliberately took off his pants and underwear, and stood there, half-naked, daring me to do something.

I did: I went downstairs and ate breakfast. I don't mess with the Crazy Eyes.

2. I finally got to make GIANT bubbles. All my life, I've been jealous of those kids who got the big bubble wand that made really big soap bubbles while all I ever had was tiny bubbles like a sucker. Yesterday, I picked up a new bubble set for Mr F (to celebrate his Excellence In Pottying), and it had a big bubble wand in it, so after dinner last night, we had an Excellence In Pottying Giant Bubble Celebration.

3. The movie The Collector was really good and really creepy. Almost as scary as the Crazy Eyes, that is. Sweetie got The Collector on Netflix yesterday, so we watched it after the Babies! went to be, and it was really good -- the kind of gross-out, gut-wrenching tense movie I didn't expect it to be. The worst part? The box guy. If you haven't seen it, watch it.

Then do what I do: put on something funny afterwards and watch that, or you're going to have freaky dreams.

112 Down, 10,633 to go: Another way to avoid bad dreams? Listen to the lighthearted, multiethnic, peaceful musical stylings of The George Baker Selection, "Una Paloma Blanca."




That lead singer is, I'm pretty sure, Swedish, thereby blowing every Swedish stereotype I've ever had. And I had lots of them. (I used to collect them.)