Today's post is brought to you by Mel's neurotic tendencies

(If this is your print, tell me! I saved it and can't find the original source.)

The internal dialogue in my head is going at all times. Is that normal? Even as I'm typing this I can hear myself reading along, like my own little movie narrative. In fact, I'm always surprised when I hear myself on a recording because my head voice sounds so much better. Like a cross between Sarah Jessica Parker and Jennifer Aniston. All American head voice.

When I'm alone at night, my personal dialogue is completely taken over by my Dateline/48 Hours broadcaster voice. I'm always convinced that I'm in some sort of imminent danger and nights alone that danger is a break in turned murder. As I'm wandering around after Phin goes down, everything I do is part of the show.

Example: I'm doing dishes. Brain wanders. Cut to detective being interviewed. In my head.

“When we initially entered the house, there really wasn't anything striking. It was neat, dishes done. A little cluttered, but nothing you wouldn't expect from a house with a child and two full time working parents.”

Because if I'm going to imagine a detective, he's going to let me off the hook for a messy house.

Or yesterday it was,

“Upon entering the residence we were unable to move due to a large amount of cardboard boxes.”

Cut to host voice while showing picture of boxes from police file.

“Melanie's husband ran a business from his home. When he left town with orders half filled in the living room, he never imagined the role those boxes would play.”

Don't ask me what role they played. I didn't get far enough to work it out. I was distracted by the new Will Arnett show. Sorry to leave you suspended.

Actually impending doom is often the subject of a Mel daydream/day terror. Yeah, I'm switching it to day dream because that sound considerably less crazy. While I was still pumping in a closet at work I would try to imagine what I would do if a crazy student came into the lobby, shooting the place up. I worked out a whole plan on how to warn the rest of the building. And how humble I'd be when they interviewed me. So classy of me.

I'm incredibly lucky because despite this being just the tip of iceberg when it comes to the weirdness of Mel, Jared totally digs me. Actually, more because of it. Phew. Cause we would be sca-rewed if a little crazy freaked him out.

My internal self is totally telling me to hit the sack. I've been up twenty hours and am 50% convinced this post is going to make zero sense when I re read it in 6 hours. My bad. Happy Friday Eve!

It was ugly. So, so ugly.

I might have mentioned, I don't know, four thousand or so times that Phinny is not a sleeper. We have tried every single method in the universe (alien sleep technology anyone?) to convince him, train him, torture him into closing his eyes for more than a few hours at a time. Once I even compiled a beautiful graph showing him all the benefits of REM shut eye. He peed on it.

Ok, that didn't really happen. But I did make myself a chart chronicling my sleep loss. It was depressing so I peed on it.

Thousands of humans have asked us if we ever resorted to driving to calm him down. This usually caused Jared to curl up in the fetal position on the floor and mutter jibberish that might have meant "It never stops. Never, never stops!"

The screaming that went on from the second the car seat locked in to the second we killed the motor was enough to crack any terrorist. Hear that Obama? We will drive for our country.

It has become much better. He still has to be entertained or the peace ends fast. Yesterday I gave Phin a jar to play with on our way home from picking up take out.

"Mel, did you get a peanut dish?"
"Nooo. I got, oh crap."
"What?"
"I gave Phin a jar of peanut butter to play with, but he can't open lids."

This point Jared leans back to glance at Phin.

"He can open lids."
"Oh crap."

House Inspiration and a little dancing. Half naked.

Every single time Anna Maria Horner posts a picture from her home I fall in love. Like this one I've been staring at for weeks now. I have a total crush on her talent, her Tennessee life, her ability to manage a business and raise all those cute kids. I just don’t have the cool artist/fabric designer gene in me but I have tried to paint my living room in bold colors. Really tried.

When we first moved into our house I was convinced that sensual jade paint would be the key to a brilliant home. It was so much work that even though it made the room feel like you were in the middle of ocean week at an elementary school minus the cellophane jellyfish I pretended to be happy with it.

Then I did laundry.

I discovered I had a pair of underwear in the exact color of the wall. I did what any sane human would. I put on the underwear to see if my butt would disappear when I stood against the wall. And then I called Jared to come see. Then I strutted my camouflage derriere all over that room. It came to a point where I could not wear them without at least one "you can't see my butt" dance around the living room.

The paint had to go but I still shake it every time I wear the underwear in memory of my sensual, sexy wall.