Quick, while there’s still tiiimmmmeeee…..

The fancy amigurumi calendar my Chinese food place gave me has indicated by a show of neon-pink horses, frogs, and sheep farting heart bubbles that February starts tomorrow.  This means several things for the world.  Groundhog’s Day, Lincoln’s Birthday, President’s Day, Valentine’s Day, and HOLD THE PHONE… my flippin birthday!!

I’m pretty sure that Lincoln won’t mind if you forget to send him something, so you should concentrate all of your careful efforts on yours truly and disregard that dumb groundhog, too.  Nobody should get a gift (or even a news segment) for crawling out of a hole or not crawling out of a hole.  Except maybe Richard Gere’s hamster.  Somebody send that little dude a handi-wipe.

Here are a few ways you can make me happy to be turning the big THREE-TWO this year.  And some of them don’t even cost money!

I wish for the good citizens of Egypt to have their internets restored so that they may read this blog post and send me an e-card from some-e-cards-dot-com. Those shits are funny.  Oh, and maybe it’s a good idea for that Mubarak guy to resign.  Thirty years is a pretty good run for a king, no?  Tens of thousands of protesters are pretty pissed and they can’t even Twitter about it? Sounds dangerous to me.

A set of robotic, yet natural looking dog feet for old-lady dog.  It’s been almost six weeks since we changed her food from the only somewhat expensive kind to the uber-expensive “your eating ramen tonight, kids” kind of kibble that has no by-products or even by-by-products and has a wolf on the front.  And she’s still licking her feet till her eyeballs go all pinky and roll back into her head and it sorta looks like she’s having an extra-special moment.  Only that repetitive, wet, hairy dog-tongue noise is NOT extra-special for anyone else.  Especially me and hubs when we’re trying to make our own extra special, repetitive, wet, hairy dog-tongue moments. That came out all wrong. Two new dog feets please!!

 

A lifetime’s supply of THESE BAD BOYS:

 

A 55-200mm zoom lens for my Nikon D5000 so I can take photos of you picking your nose and eating your boogers without you knowing. And maybe doing other things.  Without you knowing. 

 

A bikini wax.  Scratch that.  A GIFT CERTIFICATE for a bikini wax.  Now that I’m 24 weeks pregnant I can no longer see my lady bits without a mirror.  And even then, I can’t get that curly-headed midget to get out of the way so I can see what I’m dealing with.  Just because I’m at my most womanliest right now does not mean I have the desire to get in touch with my natural-femininity “down south”. 

 

A non-stick, oven proof pan for making fritatata.  ta?  Because sometimes I want eggs, but fancier.

 

Lastly, but certainly not leastiest… I’d like for the true age of one of my former boyfriends ( this dude right here ) to be revealed to the world.  Since I’m pretty sure he’s still telling people he’s my age- which is twelve years too WRONG.  If you’re reading my blog, old boyfriend (which I am 100% certain you pretend you have no time for) YOU’RE 44!  Embrace that shit.  Pffft.

 

Now get busy, people.  You have only seventeen days to fulfill my every birthday whim.  Or send me a handmade card with glitter or a funny cartoon in it.  I’m old enough to know when to make sacrifices.  But not so old I will forget you didn’t remember my birthday.

 

* I’d like to congratulate myself on my very first screenshot.  It only took me an hour to create, capture, and paste that little pistachio comic. 

I don't have anything good to say. Don't read this.

Aw, you're a true bloggy friend. And you're just like my kids in the fact that you don't listen. Pshht.

I know you all miss me terribly since my weird, undeclared blogging hiatus. So I wanted to take a few minutes to explain. And since I'm too lazy busy to compose a real excuse post, here's a list of things I'm doing instead of blogging.

1. eating two potatoes worth of potato salad I made without egg or celery because I didn't have those things handy or was too lazy busy to add them

2. every day at about ten am I have to get the magic eraser out and scrub pencil off the kitchen table because there isn't a big enough piece of paper to adequately capture sam's creativity and he insists on using a standard no.2 just like his sister does to do his "homework".

3. spending wayy too many minutes trying to get up off of the floor after sitting on it for reasons such as the following: scraping cheese off the floor, reaching colored pencils under the table, pretending to be a cat, resting, hugging my dog, and changing a diaper.

4. taking photographs of the number one (and two and three) reason why i don't blog as much anymore:

5. possibly playing epic mickey on wii. Ladybug begs me to play so she can watch. I do it for the kids.

6. chucking poop bombs into the field behind my house so i step in them when i walk into the field instead of in when i walk in my yard.

7. reading and commenting on other peoples' fabulous blogs. i seriously should put a whole day's worth of comments on my own blog and see how much content i'd have.

8. stepping in dog crap. this type of accident really does eat up about thirty minutes of my would-be blog time. when you consider scraping the shoe, hosing off the shoe, then hosing off the kid that steps in the stepped in poo and his shoes. rinse and repeat...

9. watching the bachelor because i don't care what you think of me. that shit is whaaaack.

10. eating salt-n-pepper pistachios. oh lord these are good.

And when you take into consideration that this is just a portion of my day all in one big post, you'll really get the bigger picture. Blogging is just that thing I think about doing a hundred times a day, but it's never handy enough to get done. I miss it, I do. I miss having thoughts typed out into the world for people to read or not read and comment or not comment on. Maybe when my kids are three. Four? I'll get some time. You guys will be around still, right?

In the mean time. I'm reading. I promise. You know who you are.

Boobie traps and pig-backs. That’s what I said.

Sundays around here have never been eventful.  The most momentous thing that has ever happened on a Sunday is maybe once we all put on pants without drawstrings. 

This morning was pancake morning. Blueberry for the little dude and chocolate chip for Ladybug.  I had one plain, one chippy, and half of a gnawed on blueberry.  Because I was hungry and I’m pregnant so I can have as many pancakes as I want right? Right? And there was bacon.   Which, can’t we all agree is the best meat ever made?  Unless you’re a vegetarian and then you eat “facon” and that stuff’s not the best ANYTHING ever made so I don’t wanna hear it.  Everyone’s talked about how good bacon is.  I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like it unless they’re a vegetarian and even some of them say the one thing they miss is bacon.  So that settles it, no?

So it’s pancake AND bacon Sunday and we were (are) all in our pajamas and I had orange juice which turned out to be a big mistake since every time I bent over even one degree for the rest of the morning all the OJ came back up by the mouthful and then quickly went back down.  Ug.  But there was bacon, did you hear, so back to the good stuff.

My daughter’s dad is a vegetarian.  A “since the sixth grade” vegetarian, so it’s pretty serious you see.  We’ve been open about sharing our views on animal consumption with her and we always tell her what everything is that she’s eating.  He’s not they type to force her into any beliefs and  lets her choose her own items off of  a dinner menu weather it be meat or not.   She’s been known to finish off a meal and then ask what animal we just ate.  And we never lie like my mom used to do when she cooked liver (as if) and called it special steak.  Nothing special about that stuff, people.

Chicken is chicken, beef is beef and hamburgers etc.  (I think we’re lucky she hasn’t asked us what a hot dog is…)  She’s not fond of fish unless it’s in “popcorn” form and one whiff of tuna will make her pretend barf and eye-roll simultaneously.  But bacon… is her favorite.  And this morning was bacon morning, have I mentioned?  And she snapped into a crispy bit dipped in a little maple syrup and asked,

What’s bacon again?

Me: It’s pork, honey. Pig.

Her: Oooh, yeah. *crunch crunch.  And how do we get the bacon?  I mean, pigs?

Me: Well we buy ours at the store because it’s ready to cook.  But the pigs are raised on farms.

Her: I think I’d like to live on a farm.

JG: You know, Mama Betty lived and worked on a farm when she was a kid.  I don’t think you’d think it’s as much fun if you really lived on a farm.  There’s lots of work to do on a farm.

Me: Yeah.  Like waking up really early to feed the chickens and shovel poop and feed the pigs.

Her: (whispers) And cut off their backs.

:::BLINK::::BLINK:::

Her: You know. For bacon. *crunch.

Hysterical laughing, oj out the nose style and then we have to explain why what she said was funny and the little dude is even laughing like he knows what’s going on and we’re all crunching on our crispy, greasy, delicious pig backs wearing stretchy-waist pants on a fabulous Sunday morning before the OJ eruptions start and we put Goonies in the player and convinced her to look at Sloth because he’s just a nice guy who happens to have Burt-head and wonky eyeballs.  And she watches and she loves it and we love her and we all love bacon!

 

Yay for bacon?

eh hem.

Hope you have a monstrous weekend, people. I have my hands full, but I'll be back.

Don’t put your cheese on the cat…

and other stuff I never thought I’d be saying.

In a few long months there will be a new person tipping the balance of our lives here at the house.  And although I use the word “balance” loosely, I know that life as we know it will again change drastically and what semblance of order I have established here might be in danger.  The halfway mark of this pregnancy came and went and my new analogy for this life is a hike.  I know you’re version of a hiker probably involves more fitness and less “gut”, but stay with  me.  I’ve reached the the apex of my journey into motherhood with two kids and I am looking at the rest of the path with a little trepidation and a lot of hope.

On one hand, I’ve made it.  With a butt-load of support from a few friends and family and maybe a few milligrams of legally prescribed assistance from Dr. Quiet.  I am comfortable here.  I know what I’m doing most of the time and can successfully fake it to fill in the gaps.  So now is the end of my trek with these two sweet babies and the beginning of the long trip back home.  With a little extra in my pack I will begin a new path.  Destination: rest-of-life.  With an armload of children and no regrets. 

I’ve missed blogging.  A day doesn’t go by when I don’t catch myself  saying,  I need to write again.  There are plenty of excuses and I’m fine with any and all of them.  This page is here.  And when something ridiculous or miraculous happens, I think of the space and the cursor and “life” and I start putting things in order of importance.  Some day I’ll get to those notes I made about the little dude pinning my nipple in-between the pillow-top mattress and his unbelievably sharp elbow.  When the time is perfect and quiet, I’ll tell you about my fears of losing the Old Dog.  Or how my sister-in-law and brother-in-law are getting their second chance. 

For now,  the little dude is standing on the coffee table holding a flashlight and I can’t be sure, but something smells poopish.