Nov
28
Avoiding entropy
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Hey, thanks for voting in the handy dandy poll thing yesterday. That was way easier than tallying up comment votes and creating an Excel pie chart, although I do find it mildly questionable that the polling website flat out says “poll results are subject to error and are for entertainment only.” Maybe that’s how Bush got re-elected.
Today is one of my days home with Riley and I’m typing this while he’s studiously involved with placing the mouth, eyes, and nose in all the wrong places on Mr. Potato Head. It’s a good thing Mr. Head doesn’t come with physiologically correct bodily orifices because he would definitely have some interesting below-the-waistline anatomy.
It’s a gray day outside and our backyard is a sodden Raisin Bran mush of wet leaves and trampled dog poop. My little vegetable garden is in complete disarray, dying tomato vines hanging in tortured loops from the various hoists and pulleys that kept them upright during the hot summer months. Dog’s muddy pawprints are smeared up and down our sliding glass door and all my container plants are an unruly mass of weeds, puddled water, and piled-up fallen leaves. The pretty, tiny magnolia tree in the corner of the yard has transformed into an ugly skeletal brown hand, stuck frozen, held up towards the flat sky.
I feel I should do something about all this entropy but it’s warm and dry inside and some of us are in our pajamas. Okay, all of us are.
Riley gave me his cold and I’m tired of hacking and snorting and wheezing (even more than usual) but on the upside he politely tells me “Bless you Mommy” every time I cough up a lung.
It sort of breaks my heart that this is the last two months where it’s just him, you know? Where on these days it’s just the two of us, rattling around the house playing with crayons and reading books and making sock puppets and building Lego towers and listening to that oddly wistful “This is how it rains” song on Blue’s Clues. Soon there’s going to be a baby brother and life will be bigger and richer and everything about this is a wonderful thing, but still. Still.
Okay, I need to help my boy put some lips on Mr. Potato Head’s left ear, but I thought I’d show you this:
Ignore my goofy pose (and loud Target attire) and check out that big old belly. JB told me that when he picked Riley up from daycare yesterday, a couple of the teachers asked him if I was pregnant. I would have guessed this was a total no-shitter, but I guess when the alternative is making a presumption that is in fact wrong, it’s best to err on the side of caution.
Nov
27
I mentioned this recently at The Other Blog: The Other Blog is going to be no more as of the end of the year. Which is kind of a drag, because in addition to the handy payment that gig dished up on a monthly basis (one thing I’ve really come to appreciate in the world of freelancing: predictability. In my experience, it tends to be a feast-or-famine situation where I’m either drowning in assignments or sitting around trying to word one of those Oh hiiii, just checking in, reminding you of my presence and availability and dirty, dirty love for your sweet, sweet checks emails) I’ve really enjoyed writing over there. It’s been nice to have a specific place to put the All Mommyblog, All the Time stuff, not that I’ve exactly kept it out of this blog but you know what I mean.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking of what to do with Purple Is a Fruit, and I’d love to get your feedback. Look, I made a POLL:
If you have an “Other” (Lair, Cave, etc) type of answer, hit me up in the comments. Cool? Cool.
In other news, JB recently told me he thought I seemed more “complainy” with this pregnancy. This he said to a woman the size of a African rhino with heartburn, the Jimmy Leg, chronically demented sinuses, and a need to visit the bathroom approximately 829156 times per night.
And so with that in mind, I will tell you, despite being EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN to do so, that JB is a man who gets choked up during “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition”.
Ha. So there.
Lastly, if you haven’t already seen these great WoW ads, please enjoy. The first one makes wonder just why I haven’t had more Mr. T in my life in recent years.
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