So I have this thing about the Muppets
Two nuggets of awesomeness while I decompress from our whirlwind Memorial Day. (one-arm sunburn! sick baby! hours and hours and HOURS of driving! whee!)
- Nostalgic Sesame Street DVD set coming in October
- Fraggle Rock “theatrical release” AND sequel to The Dark Crystal are in the works.
Thanks, Amelia, for the news tip!
Most _adjective_ road trip evar!
Bored? As the Beastie Boys once said, You got two choices of what you could do.
- Choose an adjective to fill in the blank, Mad Lib style, for my impending drive.
- Tell me a story: worst/best/smelliest/scariest road trip you ever took.
I don’t have any pictures to give away, but maybe I’ll think of something.
Boy, am I glad to be shot of THOSE guys
Today’s reason to party:
I HAVE PAID OFF MY CAR.
Let me say it again: MY CAR IS ALL THE WAY PAID OFF. All the way! No more car payments! I have this flimsy, five-year-old piece of paper to prove it! Woo hoo! It’s like I’ll be making $253.27 a month now just for driving it around.
Hasta la pasta, lenders! This piece of crap is all mine!
P.S. Dear Piece Of Crap, please do not die en route to my parents’ house tomorrow.
A couple two-three things Owen does that just kill me
- The way he sings out “uh-oh” when I drop something.
- The way he carefully lays aside his binky at mealtimes, as though he were a sixth grader placing his retainer beside his cafeteria tray.
- The way he pats my belly after I burp.
Viral, self marketing
The viral is my husband. Sick! In pain! Miserable! Poor guy.
The self-marketing is Blogads! I made one for myself using my promotional code-word, “banana.” You could do the same, y’know. Or you could sign on for the low-low price of $10 and guarantee yourself the spot.
Mama C-ta’s post Sell Your Soul made me think about doing Blogads and Mama C-ta herself helped me get started.
It’s kind of a good exercise for me, y’know? Taking things lightly. Forcing myself to pitch myself, and my blog, in a good light. To get a little creative. My internal monologue is typically full of dark self-loathing, so to make something self-promotional I had to put that on hold for a second.
And I’m thinking I maybe need to try to put that internal monologue on hold a hell of a lot more often.
And I’m thinking that maybe I shouldn’t keep dismissing Supafine as a stupid timewaster, but acknowledge how much enjoyment and satisfaction I get out of it. And let myself be proud of it.
It’s hard. I’m like constitutionally unable to take pride in this, or truly be honest here when I need to be, or truly work hard at making it very good because what if I try and I fail? Or people laugh and point and snicker? Far easier, and safer, to never try, or to try minimally so that if it doesn’t work out, it’s because I did not try. I have the potential, sure, but making the effort, and seeing how it does not measure up — well, that hurts. And who likes pain?
Not me. But sometimes I wonder what I could do if I just let myself be OK with the possibility of failing.
600 mg of ibuprofen for him, a big fat anxiety attack for me
Awwww, dudes. Remember when Iain was in the hospital?
Yeah. He’s sick again like that. Fortunately he was able to see the doctor instead of having to rely on the E.R., like last time, but the basic diagnosis is the same: Some sort of virus will continue kicking his ass, hard, for the next 7-10 days.
Poor guy. Right now he’s just a miserable lump of misery, and this particular roller coaster usually dips pretty low into Pain Lake before climbing back up again.
Also, it looks like I may have to make this Memorial Day Weekend eight-hours-one-way road trip without him. Just me and Owen. Eight hours. In the car. Without him.
Anyone fancy a beer?
You bet I do it every day!
Flickr group: We do it everyday.
Here are some of mine for the last week:
And yeah, there’s a set.
Second Thoughts
So, OK. We were thinking about moving to Pittsburgh in the summer of ‘07. His folks live there, and it’s a great town, and it’s only three hours from my parents, and everybody in the Burgh drinks “Arn City” and roots for the “Stillers,” and it’s just two hours from our camp-land up in the north country up there. It’s good people. It’s a nice place to live.
And it has jack shit in terms of jobs, apparently.
On top of that, certification for Pennsylvania schools is apparently a 27-step process involving hundreds of dollars for Praxis tests and whatnot. And so.
And so.
And so it doesn’t look like Our Great Plan is going to pan out so great after all. Which, you know, is OK; we have good jobs and a house and an acceptable neighborhood to live in and some truly great people around (hi, Heather! Thanks for the kitchen! And the wine! And the stuff and things!). We have enough money at the mo’ to splurge on Drumsticks.
And we live rather close to a really excellent hospital that has an awesome obstetrics unit.
Which leads me to Second Thoughts Part Two: Second Kids.
I seriously, earnestly and somberly am considering getting knocked up again. Intentionally. Folic acid and everything.
The prevailing plan chez Us is to put off getting a dog and another child for at least another year, probably two or three. But it crossed my mind that I could become with child sometime around September and deliver around June-ish. (Can you tell I’m a teacher’s wife?). And boy, how cute would a new baby be? And how awesome would it be to see Owen with a younger sibling? And how fun would it be to go shopping for newborn onesies again?
So. These are the overarching thoughts. I want a dog, I want to move, I want another kid. I don’t think any of these things are in the cards for the next, oh, 18 months or so AT LEAST, but I’ve been thinking about them all the same.
Monday’s boot on my ass
Everything sucks. I was going to make a list titled Things That Are Depressing Me but the thought of that depressed me.
•••
So I’m going to link to IzzyMom’s take on blog commenting. Good comments on commenting. Am possibly rethinking my stance on commenting. Usually I at least try to respond here to comments which you, my three and a half readers, so kindly make. But I am noticing that the more socially adept bloggers visit and comment on the blogs of their commenters instead, which, now that I think about it, is obviously a better solution.
Now, if we possibly needed more proof of what a thoughtless social reject I am, here it is. Just in time to make it onto my list of Things That Are Depressing Me, subset: Things About Myself Which Suck So Bad.
Trust me. It’s a very long list.
I write this while the baby’s in the playpen watching Elmo
Mama C-ta took the words right outta my mouth.
The only time I have to get anything done is in the evenings and weekends. This is where the stress comes in. And there is only stress because there is guilt. There is only guilt because I can’t figure out how to balance everything. So Cricket is in bed, great now I can get some things done. But what about that lonely man sitting in the living room, you know, YOUR HUSBAND. You haven’t seen him all day and as soon as he gets in the door he’s now on baby duty. When does he get your attention? So I try to work but I feel crappy because I can hear Sloth sigh in the other room as he aimlessly flips through channels because he has nothing else to do.
I haven’t figured out the balance yet, either. Sucks.
recent flickr
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my sewing tutorials
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