What up, Baby J?

I think I lost my will to blog. It's not anything bad, really. It's just that I realized the other day that no matter how hard I try, not matter what I say or do, nothing will ever be funnier than this.

Please, check it out. Put a diaper on first. And maybe grab some tissue.

Just try to crack this code....

Today, I asked the baby what she wanted for breakfast. Yes, this was my first mistake. The day is young; I assure you, there will be more. Her answer, though...oh, her answer.

"Momma, I wan crack!"

(5 points to the first person who correctly guesses what crack is)

Stupid Dumbsh%@t God%#* Mo@!$%fu*#%r!

I know, three posts in one day is a bit excessive.

Yesterday was day one on NaBloPoMo as well as NaNoWriMo, which I have been very excited for. I actually managed to tell my husband what I was doing, wiggle in an hour last night to sit at the computer, and I typed. And typed. And typed. The goal is to write 1667 words a day. I made is straight up to 1415.

I was terribly proud of my old self.

And just now, while I had nothing going on, I thought I'd get a head start on tonight's writing. My file? Looks like this:

ÐÏࡱá

That's 1415 words in Typist font. Of course, in Works it's an entire PAGE of that crap, but if I copy and paste it, that's all I get. What? The? You-know-what?

Discovery

I believe in scientific exploration. I am driven by the endless pursuit of knowledge. I stand for hypothesis, for theorems, for causes and affects. I agree with weighing and measuring and calculating and observing. Bunsen Burners are sexy. So are Bunsen Honeydews. I want to understand the mysteries of life, from birth to death to the meaning of it all. I believe that true learning is a slow, arduous process and that you should never rush it or you'll miss something. Something key. You know, key to your theory.

It is for this reason and this reason alone that I have left this horrible, disgusting, rotting corpse of a fish on my kitchen counter for 3 weeks straight now.

I'm not forgetful or lazy; I'm practicing science, bitches.

Flammable

Ok, so I'm just going to say this and then I'm going to bed, but if you don't hear from me tomorrow, someone call 911.

I just went down to turn all the lights out for bed and I realized that the pilot light on my gas fireplace is out. I checked to see if I'd turned it off, but nope; it's still set on high. The further back I think, the more I realize that it's been out all day, since just after the boys got home.

I swear to god we're all going down in a blaze of glory tonight.

Of course it's Josh's late night at work and he won't be home until after 1 and the biggest big-wig of all his big-wigs is at his place of work right now so I can't even call him to ask him what to do and the house doesn't smell like gas but I am groggy tired the same way I was the last time we had a carbon monoxide problem and I am freaking the fuck out.

Tell me it's ok. Please.

The baby's side

(Shhhh....I'm supposed to be sleeping right now, but what that old hag don't know won't kill her...)

Hey guys. My mom's been talking some smack about me and I think it's my turn to get my 2 cents in. First, the stroller. She's raging on and on about how I snuck some lipstick and she couldn't see me because I was in the stroller. Well, I didn't even want to be in the stroller. She put some stupid belt around my waist and buckled it, and I had to attempt a jail-style prison break. I really did! I even managed to get one whole arm free, but a leg got stuck in the loop instead. Hey, I'm short; it happens. It's not my fault she made me sit in that thing.


And let's talk about that stroller. I did not want that stroller. We went to the baby store for one and I found the stroller OF MY DREAMS. It was HOT pink and had Dora the Explorer all over it. It was beautiful. She found this piece of crap.

Look at it...it's HUGE. I mean, she can strap my 7 year old brother into it, too. And no trace of Dora anywhere. Dumb, huh? I told her not to buy it. I said no, I grabbed at the Dora stroller, I hollered and pointed, I tried to climb the display rack. What part of me throwing myself on the floor screaming doesn't this chick get? The Dora stroller didn't even have a canopy on top, so she totally would have seen me getting her lipstick if she'd only bought the right stroller. Not. My. Fault.

And the lipstick? Pink. Pink is MY favorite color. Hers is orange. If she buys pink things, I naturally assume they are for me. What, does she want me to ask nicely? Um, please is for candy. Period.

And what grown woman takes a toddler shopping? For UNDERWEAR? There is nothing shiny in that store, there was not one puppy for me to look at. No one offered me a lollipop or a book to read or anything. The last thing I want to do on a perfectly good Monday afternoon is look at old women's knees while they buy black pieces of string sewn together that they call underwear. People, I know underwear. I have underwear. This is what underwear looks like:

That junk was NOT underwear. And to top it all off, Brainy Smurf over here gave me chocolate ice cream. Um, I'm one. You may as well hand me a 6 pack of Red Bull and a White Cross. Of COURSE I needed an apple. She gave me mall lunch and then ice cream. Duh. Apples make my teeth strong and make me poop in one big turd instead of that goo she's always bitching about. Woman, I suggest you start picking your battles better.

And thank you, blog readers. for hearing my side, too. We all know you just come here to look at sweet pictures of my beautiful face anyway.

Your Loving,

3of3

Manic Monday

I like to tell stories. It's sort of my thing. Almost anything is funny if you look at it from the right angle.

As a mother, though, there are just some stories you really don't want to tell. Because they're unexplainable.

For example, I'd really like to tell you how, after dinner, the kids were playing in the basement and after I heard the thud *Thud!* and the scream *Bwahhh!*, I went running down to the basement to find my little baby girl in her cute little pink outfit and her sweet little ponytail standing in the middle of the floor with her hands over her face and so much blood oozing from in between her tiny little fingers that I figured her eenice little nose had to be broken. I'd like to tell you how, as I pried her fingers away from her face, that I saw more blood than I thought her whole body contained smeared up her nostrils and in her mouth. I'd like to tell you about wiping away the blood and watching her baby lip swell up to the size of, well, honestly, a big grape, but it seemed more like a baseball at the time. I'd love to explain that I finally, after a fudgesicle and a bottle, got her to let me look in her mouth and realized that her perfect little razor sharp baby teeth had made a grand entrance into her little upper lip at a shockingly bold sort of angle, and how she fell asleep right after all this, at about 7 o'clock, and has been asleep ever since, leading me to believe that she may very well have sustained the first of what I'm sure will be many concussions.

But, see, if I tell you all that, then you'll ask me how it happened and I will be left with no choice to tell you the answer, that answer that I will, myself, never fully understand.

Her brother, very unintentionally, dropped a mattress on her.

Longest. Sentence. Ever.

Don't you just hate it when you've known for a long time that you want something, like, say, a fancy new purse or a hot pair of red shoes, but you can't quite figure out exactly what it is that you specifically want until one day when it's just, like, it's BAM, right there in front of you, and is the most totally obvious thing ever and you can't even believe it took you so damn long to put your finger on it but then you realize that time and age and perhaps, in some small way, the prejudices of others are, now that you've got it, defined it, named it, going to keep you from it even just temporarily and now that you know with all your heart, with perfect clarity, what it is and that you must have it the thought of waiting for it is sheer agony as every slow, long minutes passes by without it, that ONE thing that's going to fill your heart with true joy?

Yeah, I hate that, too.