Hey, it's junk guy!

Mo calls it the fruit cellar. I call it the place cats hide for days and do God knows what. Either way, it's that scary room that everyone has where junk goes to be forgotten and exotic strains of paramecium fester.

We're trying to become better at tackling lingering projects, so I spent Saturday afternoon sorting and detoxifying. Good thing. In addition to 18 cans of used paint, a make-it-at-home beer kit and several empty shoe boxes, we were reunited with the following basics for every responsible household.

Pet costume, left over from a regrettable, "Aren't we so cute?" decision to dress one cat as an angel, another as a devil for a Christmas card that resolved any doubts about loserdom.

Our backup fondue set. We have two. You never know when you need to call in reinforcements to melt cheese. Actually, we have never made fondue. But it looks nice next to the Magic Bullet, sake set, espresso maker, juicer, Showtime Rotisserie Grill and twin George Foreman Grills.

Fake chest hair. Just in case.

There's no joke here. This thing is awesome.

We're off Wednesday to the CdLS National Conference in Chicago. We're eager for the opportunity to meet other families with the syndrome, talk to doctors and further our education. But we're slightly nervous as well. I've never seen another child with the syndrome; Mo has met one.

We're not quite sure what to expect. I'm sure it'll give us a better understanding of what Hope faces, which is both good and a bit scary. Knowledge is always good, but ignorance is sometimes bliss as well. I'm sure we'll laugh, cry, learn a lot and be better for it.