Just Another Day

Hubba-hubba works in the line of public safety. One day he was interrogating someone, apparently in a more aggressive manner than usual. Truly, my husband is an easy-going kind of guy. Which explains why we are still happily married. Anyhoo. His co-worker looked at him in amazement and said, "What, did your wife let you check out your balls today?" Now, this co-worker is a woman and a lesbian, so I forgive her for not knowing how the whole thing works. You see, balls are to be checked out every weekday at 8am, and returned promptly at 5pm. Check-out on the weekends is prohibited. And the late fees? You don't even want to know.

Yes, yes, I know. I cannot pull my head out of my ass and post here, can I? I don't know why but putting up a post on this particular blog is one of the last things I think of doing during the day. Compare that to the heady days of 2006-07 when I was so wrapped up in this blog I couldn't stop thinking about it. Well, I'm thinking that I have a healthier attitude about this blog compared to then, but even the crickets are getting lonely around here. What have I been doing with myself? Well, chasing a toddler around, for one. You know, when I was raising the toddler version of Mr. P, I thought he was fairly challenging. He was clingy and a high needs baby. So I was full of woe is me and my god, my life is so damn hard. So when we found out Ms. P was coming along, we thought to ourselves, finally! Our easy baby! Well, the joke was certainly on us as this little girl is quite frankly hell on wheels. As underweight and tiny as she is, she DOES NOT STOP. She is constantly, ...

If you are amongst my peeps that send me an Xmas card, and assuming you still want to, email me for my new address. I will be somewhat late sending mine out this year. AND, if I know you well and we haven't yet done the card thing for whatever reason, send me your addy! It will be your only chance to see Ms. P as I do not post any pics online. Ever.

You know, one of the few perks of being a blogger is the fact that sometimes, you get some fantastic swag, and even though many people wouldn't necessarily consider tickets to Disneyland swag, I do. I'd take an experience at Disneyland over cereal or detergent samples any day, even if I got free cereal or detergent every month. I was lucky enough to be invited to Mickey's Halloween Party , this year happening at Disneyland proper rather than California Adventure, where it has been held for the past few years. Being the traditionalist that I am, I was very happy to be at Disneyland. One of my very favorite rides at this time of year is of course the Haunted Mansion, all done up Jack Skellington style. Seriously, I could go on that ride ten times in a row and not get tired of it, or probably see everything. I'm sure you're thinking, but is there candy? Why yes, Virginia, there is candy! Good candy, too. Throughout the park they have trick or treating "trails...

I spend a lot of my time worrying about Ms. P and her sleeping habits, or lack thereof. She is not a great sleeper, and I am a big believer in the power of napping, so I can get a little anxious at times when she hasn't slept enough. Because when she doesn't, it is a big can of fussy that gets opened up on everyone for the rest of the day. So at one point I wanted to try and put her to sleep, but the gardener across the street was making a lot of noise, and it was too hot to close the window. I kept hovering around the window, trying to gauge when he would be finished. I kept muttering rude things under my breath, mostly for him to hurry up already. Hubba-hubba heard me and said, "Why are you telling that poor one-armed gardener to hurry up? He's going as fast as he can!" And because Hubba-hubba is often quite the bullshitter, I told him to shut up, that there was NO SUCH THING as a one-armed gardener. "Oh yeah," he said, "Just go ahead and look ...

It is seared into my memory forever. I will not forget.

Erm, this is awkward. How does this thing work again? It is sad that days go by before I even think about updating this blog, and you've got my daughter to thank for it. My freakishly tiny daughter. You see, we took her for her six month checkup (uhhh, late, as in she was seven months and three weeks old) and they did the whole measurement thingy dingy, what with the body length, head circumference, and weight. And guess what? My daughter should apparently be joining the preemie gang. She is sixth percentile in weight, ninth percentile in height, and thirteenth percentile for head circumference. Now the funny thing is, if you were to see myself and Hubba-hubba, you would think there would be no way such large people could in any way be related to such a tiny child, much less be the parents. Mr. P? He was in the ninety-fifth percentile or above for everything his entire life, so it seems my daughter is a statistical anomaly of sorts. Maybe it is because she is still being breastfed?...