I think I need therapy.

Really. Because why else would I spend forty five minutes looking for a lost sippy cup? I mean, come on. Henry is the baby that hides credit cards in my car (see last post)... why wouldn't he hide a sippy cup somewhere totally reasonable... like under a blanket, under my bed?

Lost sippy cups are hardly a big deal. They are a little more of a big deal when they have milk in them. Because then they start to smell if you don't find them for a really long time. It's really bad if you find one in your car, in the summer time. So bad, you may even wonder for weeks and weeks what crawled in to your car and died, only to discover it's actually a once milky sippy cup. I wouldn't know or anything. I'm just guessing how gross it would be.

So anyway, what really got me about the lost cup is that I knew it had to be in the house, and it made me crazy to not be able to find it. I'm the same way about lost puzzle pieces or toys, or car keys. I struggle to let lost things go.

Which is why I think I need therapy. And also because I sometimes talk to myself.

In other news, Jordan starts the second grade a week from Monday. I think second grade seems really, really grown up. He's grown a lot this summer. He seems older. He's been reading The Phantom Tollbooth, and laughing out loud at the jokes, which makes him seem like a big kid, instead of a little kid.

Henry has fallen in love with the book, "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you See?" He carries it around everywhere, turning pages until he finds the one with the white dog. Then he woofs. At the book. Then he laughs at himself. I love that kid.

Lucy has two new swimsuits that haven't yet touched the water. She wears them all around the house (not both at the same time... though often both in the same day. She'll switch back and forth, and then switch again), and then takes them off when we actually go to the pool and swim. She says she doesn't want to ruin them by getting them wet. Okay then.

The other night, Sam came out of his room, whining and moaning and saying that he was so cold, he couldn't sleep. Josh turned and said, "Sam, two minutes ago, you said you were hot." Without skipping a beat, he collapsed in to my lap and said, "I mean I'm soooo hot, I just can't take another step!"

Yeah. Plays me like a fiddle.