Yesterday I was commiserating with another mother about the temperament of our infants who are close in age, although her son doesn't seem to have as much trouble as Marlo does with teething. I've mentioned this before, but when a tooth starts to poke its way through her gum she is inconsolable and sits on the floor screaming like someone stole the Oompa Loompa she had on layaway.

Another woman was in on our conversation, but she doesn't have kids, and she asked if it was really that bad. And I held out my arms to signify hours and hours and hours of bad. And she was like, wouldn't that be kind of fun, though? To have permission to sit in the floor and just scream all day long? And I could totally see where she was coming from, and wanted to extend that to having someone feed me grapes and wipe my bottom while cooing.

But then I thought about it for a second, and I don't think I could sustain a scream for that long. Even though I work out every day, I think I could maybe make it five minutes. Maybe. Think about the stamina it would take to scream for over and hour. And then think about how boring and monotonous it would get. Unless you're into death metal, then I guess it would be a total party.

Is that what I'm raising? Someone who is going to grow up and growl lyrics about violence and Satanism and necrophilia? Because I think my dad would prefer she turn out that way rather than vote for a Democrat.

There's hope yet, Dad!

This should surprise no one except for maybe the two people who just googled CONSTIPATED WALRUS BALL and pulled up this website for the first time that Jon has spent the last ten days researching the gravy out of how to use all his new video equipment. Also, we've been to therapy since the last video, and so this episode of our office remodel doesn't have the I REFUSE TO THANK YOU FOR UNLOADING THE DISHWASHER WHEN I HAD TO ASK YOU TO DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE kind of tension going on.

However, I've heard that kind of tension is good for make-up sex.

(Skip that part, Dad. Mom, you know what I'm talking about.)

I think you'll like the improvements, including the surprise at the end. And yes, without giving too much away, that is photographic evidence of the mustard yellow pajamas and dead bird on my head from the weekend. Who loves you?

Click here if you are having trouble viewing the video. (Give it a moment to load before you click this link!)

If reincarnation is true, I want more than anything the ability to dance when I come back as another being. I don't care if I'm a frog or a piranha or a rock inside a cave. LET ME BE ABLE TO SAMBA! I could watch people dancing for hours. Forever, maybe. And when it's done right I get goosebumps and start to cry and feel like calling my mom to gush about the beauty of the earth because I know she won't go twitter about what a nitwit I am.

(plenty of Internet strangers already have that job covered)

I saw this on Kottke today and have watched it several times. And then I got goosebumps so badly that I had to go put on a coat. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but I am so envious of people with this talent.

Just, DAMN!

(also, seeing Patrick Swayze doesn't help the tears)