Number of names given to our cat, Mr. Dash, (who meows incessantly at Sacha’s door when he is sleeping) on any given day: dozens, including but not limited to:
- jackass fuckface
- Idiot! (think Napoleon Dynamite)
- ass bandit
- fucking cat
- stupid cat
- ass hat
Number of train and/or train related toys in our house to satisfy Sacha’s obsession with all things train: 0
Number of pool pumps sitting in our storage room that Sacha thinks are trains and insists on riding: 1
Number of Thomas the Train videos viewed on YouTube: infinity squared
Number of socks designed and intended to fit a Winnie the Pooh doll: 0
Number of socks Sacha thinks are rightfully Winnie’s: 2, my newly finished knit Thistle Socks, which Sacha took off my warm feet and put on his Winnie.
Number of soothers hacked up, destroyed and garbaged in the last week: 10
Number of soothers still remaining in the house: 5 (we think, although Sacha has been known to stash them for future dry spells)
Number of soothers that are actually fully intact: 3 (the other 2 have teeny holes pierced in them)
Number of soothers required by the little dude to go to sleep: 2 (an improvement from 3, which was the standard until last week).
Number of times I wish I had taken the fucking thing away a long time ago: the integral of infinity raised to the power of x.
Number of child-mullets waiting to be rectified by a competent stylist: 1 (but a very important 1)
What’s your number, baby?