I've finally figured out the reason that I hate vacuuming. The entire procedure just seems so unwieldy. First I have to pick up everything off the floor -including the endtable plastic storage tubs, to do a thorough job- and then I have to wrestle the vacuum out of the depths of the utility closet. Then it's the dance with the vacuum across the floor. That part isn't so bad. It's a good thing. I wouldn't hate the task so much if the vacuum could just sit in the corner of the room, always plugged in and accessible. Yet that would be insane, and clutter an already full living area, and the Boy would rip out what's left of his hair. He didn't become bald until after I moved in with him. Coincidence? I think not.

KittyCat has expanded her escape reportoire lately. I dressed her in a long sleeved onesie and a pair of pants yesterday. I set her on the floor to play, and five minutes later I looked down to find them kicked off and down around her feet leaving her chubby pink thighs waving in the air. I would have expected this from loose pants, but these had pretty good elastic around the waist. Or so I thought. After a day spent chasing after her in an attempt to keep her pants on the mailman delivered my answer in the form of my Netflix selections. About five minutes into the first episode of Red Green, it was so obvious that I could have hit myself.

Duct Tape. The Mother's Secret Weapon.

I'm so stocking up on this at Costco next week. I figure a roll a month should keep her pants on. Maybe this will also help keep her from escaping the pajamas, the diapers, and the socks? Why didn't anyone remind me about duct tape while I was pregnant?