What are they going to arrest me for, being awesome?

Because I’m always striving to be a fun – yet educational – mother, I decided to step up the science experiments and make a rocket out of vinegar, baking soda, and a film canister. I will admit I wasn’t totally prepared for the kind of rocketing explosion that followed and ended with the film canister on my neighbour’s roof. Fortunately no one lost an eye, since my safety precautions consisted of me saying “Everyone stand back!” Maybe I should give them one of those chemistry kits from the 70s, they could blow the house up or something. That would be very educational. Explaining to my slightly deaf neighbour that she had a film canister on her roof was a bit awkward, filled with suspicious looks and a lot of “What?” questions. Then she finished with the question everyone I have told this story to has asked, “Where did you get a film canister from?”

Next time I’m going to try this in a soccer field or something. If I ever get another film canister.

Also on the awesome front, I have stubbed my baby toe violently approximately a dozen times in the past two weeks, and I am just about ready to END IT ALL. MY WORD PEOPLE, my baby toe is suffering. I now fear walking through the kitchen, as if the chair is suddenly going to attack me again. Maybe I have post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m starting to fantasize about taking an axe to the offending chair and then burning the whole thing. Then I – and my poor, poor baby toe – will dance around the fire, singing maniacally.

Speaking of singing, I cannot get the song Empire State of Mind out of my head. I keep singing the chorus with as much heart as Alicia Keys, but with much, much less talent. I sound like someone auditioning for American Idol, the type of contestant hopeful that leaves the audition room huffily saying things along the lines of I’m going to be a star, and you missed out, so take a good look at my face, I’m going to be famous, bitches, while the judges smirk and stifle hysterical laughter.

Just to add to this randomness, I can tell you with perfect authority that the two worst places to have mosquito bites are on a) the arch of the foot, and b) the butt. I have both right now and while I can figure out how I got a) – I have been wearing sandals – I cannot figure out b). Did someone slip me an Ambien and then did I sit nudely in the grass after dark? I don’t THINK so. However, between my mosquito bites and my sad, sad baby toe, and my sleep deprivation – did I mention that Mark’s been a bit anxious about full-day school and so has been somewhat of an insomniac? – I’m pretty much ready to call it a day.

So I’m going to blame sleep deprivation for this completely random and possibly TMI post. Zzzzzz.