She asked me if this made her a Mommyblogger.

My response?

“No. Mommybloggers write as themselves. Not as their babies.

“Also, they swear.

“A lot.”

(Oh! You all know it’s true. Frighteningly true.)

So… how’s about y’all head on over? Say hi. Mess up the joint. Give it that “lived-in” look.

(No. You don’t need to take your shoes off. They’re cool.)

The adorable no-named sock monkey is no more!

We have a WINNER!

May I present… NOODLES!

Or, “Mr. Noodles” to the more formally inclined.

Or “Field Marshall Noodles”, if he is your commanding officer in the Prussian army.

Either way… good work, peeps!

Grilled cheese ahoy!

WELCOME TO THUNDERDOME, BEETCHES!

Let the voting begin!

[poll=2]

Pssst! Don’t like any of these options? Leave yers in the comments!

I present you with Exhibit A:

clicken to embiggen

Items of note:

• One nephew, resembling a 1920s speakeasy bouncer, sleeping
• One sock monkey, resembling a 1920s speakeasy sock monkey, sleeping (with eyes open, like some sort of freaky wizard)

All in all, rather similar.

However, the sock monkey is lacking in one single regard — IT HAS NO NAME!

My sisterwhoeatspoofortwo has asked me to not use my own singular talents to come up with the perfect name for the sock monkey.

No… she asks YOU for YOUR help.

In this, her hour of darkest need, you can do no less.

You… can do no less.

[Genuflects out of room.]

Mmmm. Appetizing.

My Father has hogged Command Central Monkey Pants all day — before and after supper time — hence the late hour and and my propensity to burp atomized meat particulates onto the monitor. My bad.

Please allow me to mollify your desperate yearnings for my concise and heartrending reflections on life in contemporary society (quick taste: “fluffy kittens = good; blood-drenched gila monsters = depends on situation”) with a brief glimpse into the world of competitive thumb tasting:

I think he’s winning.

The wee Nugget has Sweeney toes.

I dare say they may rival mine.

That word you are looking for?

“Prehensile”.

My Lovely Wife will be so horrified.

(As will any woman he ever dates.)

At 10:20 last night, the world’s supply of natural resources — e.g., whipped cream, pencil sharpeners, the racing cars in Monopoly sets — was further impinged upon by the arrival of Clarke John Sweeney Adams.

10 fingers, 10 toes.

No flippers.

(I guess we can’t have everything.)

As I was picking the wee Nugget up for the first time, mysisterwhoeatspoofortwo said, “Say hello to your Uncle Monkey Pants.”

I can live with that.

What’s the point of having your freaking water break if you don’t actually go into stinking labour?

WHAT’S THE POINT??

[Simmer.]

Why… NO! There is STILL no news on the whole frickin’ mysisterwhoeatspoospawningsometimeinthenearfuture front.

And YES! You are CORRECT! There IS the distinct possibility that the Nugget-To-Be is actively striving to STEAL MY FRIGGING BIRTHDAY!

AAAAAAAUGH!

The 13th is mine.

Back off, squirt.

Then the phone ran.

My sisterwhoeatspoo called to give me a quick heads up that her water just broke and she’s moseying on over to the hospital.

So please excuse my diminished capacity to make wurds fit sum gud lik smurt talkinfnagus

In fact — as evidenced by her progressively expanding belly region — it seems that she has executed Plan: Sweeney Incrementation 2007.

Damn. Now I have SO MUCH TO DO.

I better start making a list.

Things to Teach Impending Sweeney Nugget

• Tree climbing.
• Tree falling-out-of.
• What words are always funny (“poo”, “pee”, “bum”) and what words are only funny some of the time (“audit”, “colonoscopy”, “ringworm”).
• DIY archery.
• The sublime joy of permanent markers.
• A bad Cockney accent.
• How to reformat a parent’s hard-drive. With or without their permission.
• The Rhino Song.
• Vacuuming. (What? Someone has to do it.)
• Rules of comedy.
• The proper use of stage directions in a blog post.

Oh… this list has just begun…

Man. This is going to be HARD WORK.

…

Psst.

Sis?

[Looks side-to-side.]

I can’t wait.

[Jumps up and down in gleeful anticipation.]