Oct
26
October 26, 2007
Show of hands, how many of you find those widget boxes in the righthand sidebar to be useful? If you don’t read those other blogs, I promise my feelings won’t be hurt, I’m just trying to figure out if they’re handy for the folks who are interested in seeing when I’ve updated—or if, as I’m starting to suspect, they’re just cluttering up the page and also triggering random crashes in some Mac browsers.
Speaking of other blogs, I posted the pumpkin-chocolate muffin recipe over here. Warning: your eyes may become stuck at the top of your skull in orgasmic delight as a result of eating those things. Also, I take no responsibility for what might happen to your ass (I’m pretty sure mine has grown three times in size, just like the Grinch’s heart).
Oct
24
October 24, 2007
For some reason I had it in my head that once the remodel work was finished and the contractors were out of our house, we’d be AH DONE, as Riley likes to say—we’d just seamlessly move into our new spaces like expanding blobs of protoplasm, or something. Sadly, this isn’t the case, despite the fact that I am continuing to embiggen in an impressive manner, something I’m sure is the fault of the massive 20-pound fetus I am carrying and has nothing whatsoever to do with the pumpkin-chocolate muffins I have been shoving into my food-hole at an alarming pace.
The old office must be packed up and re-strategized (the new office is smaller), Riley eventually needs to be moved into that room and thus we’ll have to toddlerize it, the new family room needs furniture, and our living room is a wreck. I need to go through Riley’s old baby clothes and basically send his current room back in time by two years, and I’m guessing by the ominous groaning sounds coming from the over-jammed hall closet, it’s about time to purge its contents of the useless stuff it constantly accumulates (an enormous, crumpled pile of non-matching cloth place mats: WHY?).
It all seems a little overwhelming. Thank god for pumpkin-chocolate muffins, which not only offer the benefit of improving one’s mood through elevated blood sugar, but are also so wonderfully dense, they render a person incapable of movement immediately after consumption. You can’t clean out hall closets if you’re in a muffin coma, is what I’m saying.
I have been talking about Things Related to the Remodel for so long on this blog I can’t believe anyone is still reading. This shit is boring as hell, I KNOW. But look at it this way: I could be talking about the unholy union between a human and a marine mammal. Things could be worse.
In other news, JB is still sporting the ‘hawk. He’s trying valiantly to be ballsy about it, but I can tell he’s counting the minutes until he can shave the whole thing off. Whenever he catches sight of himself in the mirror, he has the same hunted expression Dog did a few summers ago after JB attacked her fur with clippers, ostensibly to help her “cool down” in the hot weather—it’s a mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness (“What the fuck are you looking at?”). I think he looks sort of cute, personally, but it may be giving him a bad attitude. Last night I exclaimed over how our new oven releases this massive blast of heat when you open the door, enough to steam off your face if you eagerly stick your face down there to see how your fattening baked goods are doing, and he reacted as though I was the dumbest dumbass who ever watched a dirty dolphin video.
“Gee,” he said, sarcasm dripped from his words and splattering all over my nice clean kitchen floor. “I guess ovens can get pretty hot sometimes.”
(By the way, this is the same man who, twice a year, has to have the concept of Daylight Saving Time laboriously explained with short, easy-to-understand words and a napkin diagram, so I’m not sure he has room to mock.)
Lastly, I bought Riley the cutest damn pair of pajamas you ever did see, with the vague idea that he could be Hugh Hefner for Halloween. JB has informed me they would need to be silk pajamas to pull this off, and also what kind of mom encourages her kid to objectify women? (I laughed so hard at that I nearly lost control of my pelvic floor) but I maintain that if we attach a couple of Barbie dolls to each arm, the kid could have a smokin’ hot Hef outfit going on.
He might need to lose the bear and blankie, though.
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