My house and the kids' faces are totally, horrendously messy, because we had literally just had taco night and cupcakes. And, I can make absolutely no excuse for my ensemble - as good as a leotard though, in terms of ridiculousness.
I heard people would pay money to see this, but I've decided to provide it gratis.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Replacing...
..."outfits" with jeans and shirts.
...grippy socks with shoes.
...soft blocks with puzzles.
...walkers with strollers.
...frantic points and wails with words.
...highchair trays with placemats.
And taking toothbrushes, crayons, beady necklaces, and crowns out of hiding.
I have to accept it...Josephine is a little girl.
She'll be walking any day. Could even be tonight. Really. As Bill reminded me today, when she's footloose and fancy free, our conception of her will change entirely. And, if you know Josephine, you know she'll be running as soon as she can walk. She will probably give me gray hair this summer at the playground, but I am ready for it - I got out the 18 month playclothes, the sunglasses, and the strappy sandals.
She is really changing too, with an arsenal of new words! It's hard to even remember them all. A quick list of what I can think of right now...duck, quack quack, dog, cup, milk, more, happy, hi, bye bye, Eleano(r), Daddy, Kitty Daddy, Momma, Geegee, Mimi, Pop, Pop Pop, backpack, Lila, Jackson, grape, apple, juice, cake, cookie, cracker, banana, sip, bite, thank you, please, dino, lamby lamby, doll, eat, me, bear, ball, balloon, clock, bath, fish, no, yes, book, read, this, that, nap, snack, up, cheese, baby, foot, hat, shoe, kiss, wipes, diaper, nose, teeth, tickle, bottle... Ugh, I'm exhausted. Time to stop making these lists. But, friends, this is my baby book. And, I have to write these things down somewhere!
...grippy socks with shoes.
...soft blocks with puzzles.
...walkers with strollers.
...frantic points and wails with words.
...highchair trays with placemats.
And taking toothbrushes, crayons, beady necklaces, and crowns out of hiding.
I have to accept it...Josephine is a little girl.
She'll be walking any day. Could even be tonight. Really. As Bill reminded me today, when she's footloose and fancy free, our conception of her will change entirely. And, if you know Josephine, you know she'll be running as soon as she can walk. She will probably give me gray hair this summer at the playground, but I am ready for it - I got out the 18 month playclothes, the sunglasses, and the strappy sandals.
She is really changing too, with an arsenal of new words! It's hard to even remember them all. A quick list of what I can think of right now...duck, quack quack, dog, cup, milk, more, happy, hi, bye bye, Eleano(r), Daddy, Kitty Daddy, Momma, Geegee, Mimi, Pop, Pop Pop, backpack, Lila, Jackson, grape, apple, juice, cake, cookie, cracker, banana, sip, bite, thank you, please, dino, lamby lamby, doll, eat, me, bear, ball, balloon, clock, bath, fish, no, yes, book, read, this, that, nap, snack, up, cheese, baby, foot, hat, shoe, kiss, wipes, diaper, nose, teeth, tickle, bottle... Ugh, I'm exhausted. Time to stop making these lists. But, friends, this is my baby book. And, I have to write these things down somewhere!
*Oh, and by the way, I do know that my header features full-on drool and a bad
angle on Josephine's hair. But you know what, at this point, that's just Jo. :o)
Monday, February 22, 2010
"So, do you think you guys are done?"
This is a question we have been getting a lot lately. Well, by lately, I guess I really mean since Josephine was born almost 14 months ago. And, some early outliers asked while I was pregnant with young Jo. However, I find that the queries have been coming with increased frequency as she moves out of babyhood. I was asked today - I was asked twice last week.
(If you are reading this, this post is most certainly not directed at you. Although I may not give you an honest answer, I do not begrudge the question - at all.)
I've been pretty secure in my feeling all along that I do not want to go through another pregnancy. I know some people out there think that this feeling will pass, and I can acknowledge that I want to wait until I am at least a few years out to make a permanent, basically irrevocable decision. But, nonetheless, I am entirely certain that it would take a monumental change for me to want to become pregnant again.
Where before I was giving a rote "no" response, I've had to really confront my emotions lately. I have many friends that have had babies recently, are having babies any day or in the coming months, or are announcing their pregnancies. I am a young woman, with many potential childbearing years ahead of me. I had Sophie at 22, Eleanor at 24, and Josephine at barely 26. That makes me 27 years old. Hardly in my late 20s. But, close enough to my 30s to begin to think I know what I want. So, as friends years my senior are just beginning their families, it is strange to fear that I am possibly arbitrarily ending the growth of my own. Hence, the confrontation with my own psyche.
Why is it that I don't want more babies? Do I feel overwhelmed by the two children in my charge? Certainly not. Although I may have made it seem that way when asked, I am very comfortable with parenting -- it is just easier than getting into my feelings with a well-meaning friend. Do I worry about finances? No more than the average parent, with wonderful family, good jobs, health insurance, etc. Do I think I am physically unable to handle another pregnancy? No way. Despite how much I joke myself for being lazy and unathletic, I bounce back well from pregnancy, and I feel pretty fantastic health-wise. Nope, none of that.
I mean, sure, there are real-world, run-of-the-mill concerns that would be inconvenient about a pregnancy. Do I want to be up all night? Not really. Never, if not for sweet baby breath. Do I want to give myself daily injections of pig intestines? Not so much. Do I want to drive five hours a week to doctors' appointments? No joke, my car would not make it through another pregnancy. Do I want to pump for another year? My boobs would fall off. Do I want to endure the inherent dangers of another high risk pregnancy? When I am real with myself and acknowledge that 1/3 of my pregnancies ended in tragic loss, absolutely not. Do I want to put graduate school and my career on hold for another few years? Of course not.
But none of that is "it." So, again, I had to think about why I really do not plan to get pregnant again. I say "plan" because, of course, if it happened by "accident," it would be a blessing and I would do all of the above with pleasure, after the initial shock, anger, punching (of Bill's face), scheduling (vasectomy for Bill), and expletives. I digress. And, ramble.
I don't want another biological baby because I've had my share. Three is just right. I know, people say "Three throws off the dynamic," or "Someone can end up the odd man out." But, you know what, I love being the odd man out. I'll take odd man out any time. And, these kids are half my awkward, loner, introverted DNA. Chances are, they'll want some odd man out time themselves. I love the idea of three. Smallest. Smaller. Small. Big. Bigger. Biggest. A, B, C, 1, 2, 3. Three magical little blue eyed sisters - nothing could be better.
Now, of course, I am not totally insane -- I know, as much as I dream, I'll never get to deal with the reality of three kids. Whether people want to "count" Sophie or not, I "count" her. And, I'm never going to stop. I can't say "I have three kids," as people are wont to do when referencing money, school, busyness, etc. But, if you know me at all, you know I have three kids. I think about Sophie as much I've ever thought about anything. And, I love her that much too. She will never stop being part of me. Or of Eleanor. Or of Josephine.
I've had my perfect three. My little trio. I always thought I'd have three. And I do. Or I did. Whatever that means. Sure, I want three living children. I desire that more than even I can grasp or make sense of sometimes. I still weep for my sweet lost girl. It still isn't ever fair, or reasonable, or right. But, if I keep having children, trying to catch up, I will be doing all my children a great disservice. Not because I will be busy or broke - we parents can handle that. It's not about what it is to have and love more children - we can handle that too. It is about filling a need in me.
I would be looking for something I'd lost through the lives of future children. And that is selfish. And I could never stop. If I keep planning pregnancies, trying to get back to a place of having all my children here with me, I will always be one short. If I give in to that, I will never be complete, and I will drown myself in that need. If I stop now, where I know in my heart I would stop unhaltingly, if not for Sophie's death, I have a better chance of sanely balancing memory with love with energy. And, I think that is the best thing I can do - for all of my girls.
As I said before, I suppose my feelings on pregnancy could possibly change. And, as I've also said, I'd happily welcome more babies or older children into our family other ways, as in adoption. If that felt like the right decision down the line. But, for today and tomorrow, I will stay a mother of three, two sleeping in the room next door, one sleeping in my heart. Three, and done.
(If you are reading this, this post is most certainly not directed at you. Although I may not give you an honest answer, I do not begrudge the question - at all.)
I've been pretty secure in my feeling all along that I do not want to go through another pregnancy. I know some people out there think that this feeling will pass, and I can acknowledge that I want to wait until I am at least a few years out to make a permanent, basically irrevocable decision. But, nonetheless, I am entirely certain that it would take a monumental change for me to want to become pregnant again.
Where before I was giving a rote "no" response, I've had to really confront my emotions lately. I have many friends that have had babies recently, are having babies any day or in the coming months, or are announcing their pregnancies. I am a young woman, with many potential childbearing years ahead of me. I had Sophie at 22, Eleanor at 24, and Josephine at barely 26. That makes me 27 years old. Hardly in my late 20s. But, close enough to my 30s to begin to think I know what I want. So, as friends years my senior are just beginning their families, it is strange to fear that I am possibly arbitrarily ending the growth of my own. Hence, the confrontation with my own psyche.
Why is it that I don't want more babies? Do I feel overwhelmed by the two children in my charge? Certainly not. Although I may have made it seem that way when asked, I am very comfortable with parenting -- it is just easier than getting into my feelings with a well-meaning friend. Do I worry about finances? No more than the average parent, with wonderful family, good jobs, health insurance, etc. Do I think I am physically unable to handle another pregnancy? No way. Despite how much I joke myself for being lazy and unathletic, I bounce back well from pregnancy, and I feel pretty fantastic health-wise. Nope, none of that.
I mean, sure, there are real-world, run-of-the-mill concerns that would be inconvenient about a pregnancy. Do I want to be up all night? Not really. Never, if not for sweet baby breath. Do I want to give myself daily injections of pig intestines? Not so much. Do I want to drive five hours a week to doctors' appointments? No joke, my car would not make it through another pregnancy. Do I want to pump for another year? My boobs would fall off. Do I want to endure the inherent dangers of another high risk pregnancy? When I am real with myself and acknowledge that 1/3 of my pregnancies ended in tragic loss, absolutely not. Do I want to put graduate school and my career on hold for another few years? Of course not.
But none of that is "it." So, again, I had to think about why I really do not plan to get pregnant again. I say "plan" because, of course, if it happened by "accident," it would be a blessing and I would do all of the above with pleasure, after the initial shock, anger, punching (of Bill's face), scheduling (vasectomy for Bill), and expletives. I digress. And, ramble.
I don't want another biological baby because I've had my share. Three is just right. I know, people say "Three throws off the dynamic," or "Someone can end up the odd man out." But, you know what, I love being the odd man out. I'll take odd man out any time. And, these kids are half my awkward, loner, introverted DNA. Chances are, they'll want some odd man out time themselves. I love the idea of three. Smallest. Smaller. Small. Big. Bigger. Biggest. A, B, C, 1, 2, 3. Three magical little blue eyed sisters - nothing could be better.
Now, of course, I am not totally insane -- I know, as much as I dream, I'll never get to deal with the reality of three kids. Whether people want to "count" Sophie or not, I "count" her. And, I'm never going to stop. I can't say "I have three kids," as people are wont to do when referencing money, school, busyness, etc. But, if you know me at all, you know I have three kids. I think about Sophie as much I've ever thought about anything. And, I love her that much too. She will never stop being part of me. Or of Eleanor. Or of Josephine.
I've had my perfect three. My little trio. I always thought I'd have three. And I do. Or I did. Whatever that means. Sure, I want three living children. I desire that more than even I can grasp or make sense of sometimes. I still weep for my sweet lost girl. It still isn't ever fair, or reasonable, or right. But, if I keep having children, trying to catch up, I will be doing all my children a great disservice. Not because I will be busy or broke - we parents can handle that. It's not about what it is to have and love more children - we can handle that too. It is about filling a need in me.
I would be looking for something I'd lost through the lives of future children. And that is selfish. And I could never stop. If I keep planning pregnancies, trying to get back to a place of having all my children here with me, I will always be one short. If I give in to that, I will never be complete, and I will drown myself in that need. If I stop now, where I know in my heart I would stop unhaltingly, if not for Sophie's death, I have a better chance of sanely balancing memory with love with energy. And, I think that is the best thing I can do - for all of my girls.
As I said before, I suppose my feelings on pregnancy could possibly change. And, as I've also said, I'd happily welcome more babies or older children into our family other ways, as in adoption. If that felt like the right decision down the line. But, for today and tomorrow, I will stay a mother of three, two sleeping in the room next door, one sleeping in my heart. Three, and done.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Training Under Billy Karolyi.
This is about to get so freaking real.
Sometimes...I watch ABC Family's Make It Or Break It.
Sometimes...I watch it in a leotard. Or tank top and underpants. Whatever. Just so I can pose and strut when I drag my lazy bones out of bed to pee or get another cup of coffee.
Sometimes...when the episode comes to an end, I feel rather hyper-obsessed with gymnastics.
Sometimes...I feel the urge to vault.
Always...I realize I neither have access to a vault, nor could I vault if I tried.
Always...I decide to use the kitchen sink as a pseudo-vault. At that point, I stand at the top of my stairs (in above specified attire).
Always...I go up on my toes, serious-faced, and prepare.
Always...I run full force to the sink. Plant both feet. Spring!
Sometimes...the planets align. Hands placed just right. Superb straddle jump or sideways kick or just a magnificent spring.
Sometimes...I stick the landing!
Sometimes...my body goes all haywire. Legs akimbo, as Karolyi says, "The grace of a jaunty robot tortoise."
Never...do I get more than four inches of air.
Sometimes...I stumble on the landing. Which Karolyi seems to think is particularly infuriating, given the low possible point total of my vault.
Always...I do this about 25 or 30 times, until my head is pounding and my wrists are sore from the level of athleticism and exertion.
Always...Bill is on alert for a call from Eleanor that Mommy has collapsed in the sink in her underpants in a feat of gymnastic brilliance.
Sometimes...I watch ABC Family's Make It Or Break It.
Sometimes...I watch it in a leotard. Or tank top and underpants. Whatever. Just so I can pose and strut when I drag my lazy bones out of bed to pee or get another cup of coffee.
Sometimes...when the episode comes to an end, I feel rather hyper-obsessed with gymnastics.
Sometimes...I feel the urge to vault.
Always...I realize I neither have access to a vault, nor could I vault if I tried.
Always...I decide to use the kitchen sink as a pseudo-vault. At that point, I stand at the top of my stairs (in above specified attire).
Always...I go up on my toes, serious-faced, and prepare.
Always...I run full force to the sink. Plant both feet. Spring!
Sometimes...the planets align. Hands placed just right. Superb straddle jump or sideways kick or just a magnificent spring.
Sometimes...I stick the landing!
Sometimes...my body goes all haywire. Legs akimbo, as Karolyi says, "The grace of a jaunty robot tortoise."
Never...do I get more than four inches of air.
Sometimes...I stumble on the landing. Which Karolyi seems to think is particularly infuriating, given the low possible point total of my vault.
Always...I do this about 25 or 30 times, until my head is pounding and my wrists are sore from the level of athleticism and exertion.
Always...Bill is on alert for a call from Eleanor that Mommy has collapsed in the sink in her underpants in a feat of gymnastic brilliance.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Drew's Day.
We know the days surrounding Drew's birthday will always and should always be emotional for you, and we are so appreciative of your kindness in allowing us to share it with you. I know that nothing ever feels like enough, but you do a beautiful, courageous, and amazing thing to allow Drew to live through your energetic giving. Thank you, Cox Family!
It's been this kind of day.
E: I'm NOT happy! I'm so ANGRY!
CAGB: Why, Eleanor?
E: Jojo hurt my FEELINGS! She HURT my HEART! She said I'm BAD! She not listen a ME!
J: BAD! BAD! (Thrusts socks into the air triumphantly.)
E: NO! I'm ANGRY! I NOT WANT ONE OF YOUR PBJs! I HAVE TUNA FISH! (Dashes socks to the ground.)
J: BAD! BAD!
E: I tell Jojo to NOT open these doors. You open the doors. You mess up the puzzle pieces. You pull out the wipes! I'm ANGRY at these fancy clothes! I WILL GRAB YOUR FACE!
CAGB: Eleanor. You must absolutely not touch her skull like that.
E: YOU! STINKER STINKER!
J: HI!
E: You may NOT go to the mall! Your FATHER will take you to your new HOUSE! Oh my GOSH...
CAGB: Why, Eleanor?
E: Jojo hurt my FEELINGS! She HURT my HEART! She said I'm BAD! She not listen a ME!
J: BAD! BAD! (Thrusts socks into the air triumphantly.)
E: NO! I'm ANGRY! I NOT WANT ONE OF YOUR PBJs! I HAVE TUNA FISH! (Dashes socks to the ground.)
J: BAD! BAD!
E: I tell Jojo to NOT open these doors. You open the doors. You mess up the puzzle pieces. You pull out the wipes! I'm ANGRY at these fancy clothes! I WILL GRAB YOUR FACE!
CAGB: Eleanor. You must absolutely not touch her skull like that.
E: YOU! STINKER STINKER!
J: HI!
E: You may NOT go to the mall! Your FATHER will take you to your new HOUSE! Oh my GOSH...
In her efforts not to walk...
...she takes cruising the next level.
Josephine has been mobile for six months. We thought she'd walk early, because she crawled so early. But, at this point *even* Eleanor was walking. So, what's a girl to do? Other than crawl at least 100** miles an hour, and use a 35 lb piano bench as her own personal walker.
*Eleanor, like me, is pitifully inept at all things physical.
**1
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Josephine does not like...
cold,
sledding,
sitting in snow,
being pulled on the sled,
touching the snow,
eating the snow,
looking at the snow.
But, like any self respecting kid,
she does like snowpants.
We got some snow.
So, in honor of Snowmageddon, I've changed my header. Until the snow clears at least.
Friday, February 05, 2010
This just in!
Along with the cold weather system laughingly termed "Snowpocalypse DC" by the media, I am also predicting an influx of language skills for a certain 13 month old. As of today, five new words.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Snow Angels.
I spent the 19 months between Sophie's day and Eleanor's birth grieving. Every weekend, I was angry. I resented that I had to make plans with Bill, or with friends, or by myself. I felt the unfair lack of Sophie on those Saturdays and Sundays.
And, then Eleanor was born. She brought life and laughter back to my days.
Then, we would go to birthday parties. And, Bill and I coddled and juggled Eleanor. I felt the absence of our first child. It never felt "easy" just having Eleanor, but it felt too weighty and too important, if that makes sense. There was too much care to go around. No child needs that much parenting at a birthday party.
And, then Josephine was born. She brought a full family of smiles and hugs, and we all breathed a little easier.
But, today, I felt a loss that only time can change. And I felt it for Eleanor. Of course, she doesn't know the difference, so I guess it never really was for her. But, I cried a bit as I watched her play alone in the snow for over an hour. She is focused and went about making her snowmen and snow angels with intensity and diligence. Just like she tackles everything she does. I watched her talk to herself and all of her imaginary friends. I watched her carefully use Lizzie (her left hand) and Brother Bear (her right hand) to wipe the snow from all the chairs and from the table. She had a blast, but she did it alone.
But, just like the loneliness above, this too shall pass. Next year, Josephine will be two. She will be old enough to turn loose on our giant deck. To let roll in the snow. And, to watch make snow angels through the glass doors.
It will hurt less, and something else will hurt more.
First days of school.
Freeze tag.
Ear piercing.
Bike riding.
Tree climbing.
First periods.
Junior Prom.
Each time Eleanor goes it alone, it will remind me that Sophie should be there to show her the ropes -- to guide her through her childhood journey.
And, of course I will cry.
And, each time, Eleanor will untangle those moments for herself; and she will show Josephine the secrets of being a kid.
And, of course I will smile.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Oh, how they change.
Ok, I promise, just one more post from me for today. I've been a little out of control with the posts lately.
But, I was just looking back at my posts from the summer. The things I thought were so unbelievable or even unthinkable then now seem so commonplace. How bizarre?
I thought Josephine was so big. I thought she was the "big" one and Eleanor was the "little" one. And, at that point there were 7 lbs between them. Now, the gap in size (and style of play) is so rapidly closing. By this upcoming summer, they will both be real, serious, all-business kids.
Josephine has wild curls and absolutley no interest in books (as I speculated back in the summer that she would) or tv. She likes the iPhone, dancing, puzzles, scarves, food, plugs (ahem), and rearranging all the kitchen chairs in two minutes flat.
The biggest thing was my post from Eleanor's two-year check up. Something about "Doctor, touch my blue shovel." I was so proud on that day of my little spark. But, now, just a few months later, that seems so elementary. Now it would be more like, "I want to talk to the doctor. Oh, yeah, umm, it is a blue shovel. It matches the wall! I need a sticker on my shirt -- ok, yes mommy, I want a sticker on my shirt. Is Jojo getting a shot? I want to see Jojo get a shot. I need the doctor! Oh, this sticker has Dora on it. I want to watch Wiz-Oz. I want to read about horses. Blue what?"
I just can't believe how big they are getting...Oh my.
But, I was just looking back at my posts from the summer. The things I thought were so unbelievable or even unthinkable then now seem so commonplace. How bizarre?
I thought Josephine was so big. I thought she was the "big" one and Eleanor was the "little" one. And, at that point there were 7 lbs between them. Now, the gap in size (and style of play) is so rapidly closing. By this upcoming summer, they will both be real, serious, all-business kids.
Josephine has wild curls and absolutley no interest in books (as I speculated back in the summer that she would) or tv. She likes the iPhone, dancing, puzzles, scarves, food, plugs (ahem), and rearranging all the kitchen chairs in two minutes flat.
The biggest thing was my post from Eleanor's two-year check up. Something about "Doctor, touch my blue shovel." I was so proud on that day of my little spark. But, now, just a few months later, that seems so elementary. Now it would be more like, "I want to talk to the doctor. Oh, yeah, umm, it is a blue shovel. It matches the wall! I need a sticker on my shirt -- ok, yes mommy, I want a sticker on my shirt. Is Jojo getting a shot? I want to see Jojo get a shot. I need the doctor! Oh, this sticker has Dora on it. I want to watch Wiz-Oz. I want to read about horses. Blue what?"
I just can't believe how big they are getting...Oh my.
Sloth (me), Meet Stupid (me).
Lately, Josephine falls asleep around 10:15 am and sleeps until about 1 pm. It's her main nap of the day, so I want to make sure it's extra restful. And, because she eats breakfast around 8, I give her a snack right before she goes down. That snack is almost always a fig newton-y-type thing. So, today she was wandering around (firmly tethered to the furniture of course, because the child flat out refuses to walk-walk). Eating a newton. Whimpering. Playing with my iPhone. Grabbing for my computer. Exhausted. Wailing in agony when I closed the computer.
In an effort to sate her while I checked the hours for the bookstore online, I pulled the chord off the laptop and handed it to her. (Hey Sloth!) Of course, I forgot -- again -- that she loves to suck plugs. And, usually, of course, I don't like her to suck plugs. But, usually if she is sucking them it means they are...unplugged. But, in this case, I didn't think that said plugged was, in fact, plugged into the wall. (Hey Stupid!) So, poor little Josephine, so trusting of her mother, immediately popped the plug into her mouth. Zap. Shocked. Pain to the tongue. Screaming follows. I guess that's fair when you're 13 months old and your mouth gets electrocuted.
So, in my best parenting move of the day so far, I took the plug from Josephine. I looked at the plug, and saw that some wet, slobbery newton had become lodged in the adaptor. So, I thought, Well I will need to dislodge that newton. But...with what? The paper towels are 12 feet away in the kitchen. And, the q-tips? It's at least 15 feet to the bathroom... (Hey Sloth!) So, in a terrifically genius turn of events, I stick my own 27 year old tongue directly into the plug. Zap. Shocked. Pain to the tongue. Cursing follows electrocution. (Hey Stupid!)
(It is of note that at that point, Eleanor was sitting across the room, watching the scene with her left eyebrow arching nearly beyond the parameters of her face.
Also, of note, my tongue is still tingly. And, for some reason...I have to fight the urge to lick the plug again...)
In an effort to sate her while I checked the hours for the bookstore online, I pulled the chord off the laptop and handed it to her. (Hey Sloth!) Of course, I forgot -- again -- that she loves to suck plugs. And, usually, of course, I don't like her to suck plugs. But, usually if she is sucking them it means they are...unplugged. But, in this case, I didn't think that said plugged was, in fact, plugged into the wall. (Hey Stupid!) So, poor little Josephine, so trusting of her mother, immediately popped the plug into her mouth. Zap. Shocked. Pain to the tongue. Screaming follows. I guess that's fair when you're 13 months old and your mouth gets electrocuted.
So, in my best parenting move of the day so far, I took the plug from Josephine. I looked at the plug, and saw that some wet, slobbery newton had become lodged in the adaptor. So, I thought, Well I will need to dislodge that newton. But...with what? The paper towels are 12 feet away in the kitchen. And, the q-tips? It's at least 15 feet to the bathroom... (Hey Sloth!) So, in a terrifically genius turn of events, I stick my own 27 year old tongue directly into the plug. Zap. Shocked. Pain to the tongue. Cursing follows electrocution. (Hey Stupid!)
(It is of note that at that point, Eleanor was sitting across the room, watching the scene with her left eyebrow arching nearly beyond the parameters of her face.
Also, of note, my tongue is still tingly. And, for some reason...I have to fight the urge to lick the plug again...)
Jumping rope?
I don't know where Eleanor learned to hold anything rope-y in the jump rope position. But, there are myriad possibilities and that is not my question. My question is what it means when she faux jumps rope and yells "I'm doin' a Honey Show!" or "I'm doin' a Berry Shape!" What on Earth?
Monday, February 01, 2010
Do you ever post something...
...after reading it two or three (or four) times? You are sure it contains no errors. Then later (be it hours, days, or months) you reread -- and swear, just swear, that blogger has created a typo?
I swear, just swear, that this happens to me about every third post. And, this is not to say that I don't make legitimate errors frequently, but the ones I find on this blog are uncharacteristic of my type of mistake!
Am I the only one?
I swear, just swear, that this happens to me about every third post. And, this is not to say that I don't make legitimate errors frequently, but the ones I find on this blog are uncharacteristic of my type of mistake!
Am I the only one?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
