The mom hole

So, as a mom, you often find yourself in the midst of rediculous (sp?) situations. Eating smushed banana off of your son's bib, for instance. Or, say, answering the door with your pants undone and hanging off your ass because you were breastfeeding and had to pee so incredibly bad that you had to do it with the baby attached to your boob and couldn't get your pants up in time for the dishwasher repairman. Just as a for instance, mind you.

Tonight I found myself singing (perhaps singing is the wrong word - let's say, intoning operatically) the word "socks" in various pitches, keys, volumes, speeds, tones, voices and with a variety of zany facial expressions. Sooooooooocks! Dylan thought I was hysterical. His giggle is worth a million bucks. But then, he totally stopped paying attention - he was trying to eat the protective foam corners I put on the coffee table - and - here's the insane part - I just kept singing. Soooooockkkkkkkkssssssssss! I even did a little dance. That's a different kind of silly singing and dancing from what happened earlier in the evening, which is that Larry came home to find me dancing up a storm and singing along at top volume to Skip to my Lou. But that's acceptable, because it's on a CD and I was practicing real dance moves (kind of).

Oh, who am I kidding. I've fallen down the mom hole. Where are my sweatpants?