Harley and Bindi Balls

Yeah, I needed to post this, if only to remind myself of how funny anything can seem on a four-hour sleep cycle. Carly, my little cupcake, is a noise machine, with auditory ruptures emanating from either end of her at any given hour of the day, causing small children to start from their play and compelling adults to wonder aloud if the crank heads down the street have invited their motorcyle gang friends over for another speed fest. Hence, her nickname: Harley. Kane's nickname is a little more obscure. What happened was, I had a mole I had removed soon after giving birth to Carly because it had grown pretty large pretty quickly, and the doctor was concerened it might be cancerous (it wasn't). but for a week or so there, I was obsessing over every freckle on my skin, which took up a considerable amount of my time, I can assure you. Put on top of that the fact that we are attending a fundraiser this week for a two-year-old boy with liver cancer (Phil is hosting - the parents are old school friends of his, and he tells me heartbreaking details until I warn him to stop). With the thought of malignant multiplying cells repeating in my brain, I stumbled on a dark spot about the size of a pen dot on Kane's - ahem - guy parts. What are you implying? I was merely cleaning the kid up after another of his famous explosive diapers. Anyway, when I saw it, I flipped out and made Phil come in to check it out, which led to the conclusion that it was nothing, a mere teeny tiny mole. The nickname wasn't anything more than us - in a fit of giddy relief - trying to come up with catchy new blog titles that would surely embarrass the kids. I plan to show them this entry while they are roiling thorugh the wonders of adolescence, with bonus points to me if I can produce this in front of thier little friends...