Raising children is exhausting.

Scott was up at the crack of dawn moving furniture, getting ready for the baby.

What baby, you say?

Rose, are your eggs not too mouldy and decrepid for fertilization?


I’m talking about making room for the grandkid.


Why Wheels?

I saw a segment of The United States of Tara, sadly the now defunct series, and Charmagne and Neil decided to call their child Wheels. I thought it was hilarious.

So I’m nicknaming the grandchild Wheels in anticipation of it being a zoomy baby. Just like my son Nick.

Nick had jaundice when he was born and he was peaceful and quiet. Then we discovered he didn’t have a thyroid. Then we fixed the problem. Then Nick turned in a wholly, Holy terror. He didn’t stop moving — ever.

We called him Nicholas Bumblebee because he was always bumbling from one place to the other, getting into all sort of trouble. Let’s see: nearly cut his finger off with a soup can; nearly broke his front teeth after falling into the bathtub; consuming an entire bottle of Triaminic while I was bathing his brother, Stef; riding his bicycle looking backwards; pulling the speaker over on his head when he first started to walk; nearly getting his sister killed by a bus while distracting her.

I could go on.

So given Wheels comes from the seed of Nick, I am anticipating a speedy little gaffer who doesn’t have a brake.

Hence Wheels.

So Nick and Shyla and Wheels (still in utero) will be moving in and Wheels will make an appearance sometime in January.

Getting the house baby proofed.

If Wheels is anything like Nick, baby proofing can’t happen soon enough.


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