Treading, treading, stay afloat
1. I can’t sew for shit, guys. Noah’s Boy Scout uniform is finally (5 months late) badged up and it is slapdashed together like you’ve never seen. Fortunately, it looks as though he’s only in the whole deal for the Pinewood Derby, so as soon as that little wooden car crosses the finish line in about a month, we’re in the clear. Membership renewal will not be happening next year. It’s a good thing, because that kid is all kinds of Eagle Scout material, and I would just bring him badge shame for years to come.
2. What’s up with the weather, ATLiens? One day it’s icicle breath frigid, the next it’s 65 and pouring like the world is ending. Let’s find a happy medium, shall we? Like, how about some nice Southern 40 degree winter temps with a bit of sun thrown in for kicks? Just a suggestion. L would like to ride his scooter again sometime soon. (Slash I would like for him not to have to pay $4 a day to park next to his building.)
However, if rainy weather means Rosie gets to wear her red striped galoshes and polka dotted raincoat, well, I can’t say it’s all bad.
Oh, who am I kidding. She would wear those in the middle of a drought. No more rain. The end.
3. For some reason I feel like it’s crap to link to my blog posts over here, but the thing is I have all these other words I wrote, and they’re just laying there! For people to read! So I will continue to link. (Except for when I totally filch content off this site to put there because I have had a very busy week getting ready for a seventh birthday party and have been working my fingers to nubbins sewing TROOP 134 onto a navy blue burlap sack of a shirt. Which has happened.)
So anyway! Here I talk about the boy things I have ready for the not-girl on the way. (None.) And here I explain the “abnormality” (I use that term loosely, because it sounds scary) that was found on ultrasound day. And today I’m asking all parents of more than three kids to lie to me good and tell me how going from two to three kids is like a vacation at the beach. In other words, I would like to be kept in as much dark as possible about the insanity that lies ahead. And I thank you.
4. Also, I am still pregnant, and slowly reaching hull breach levels of midsection girth, with more than 15 weeks to go. Noah, ever so kindly a few days ago, observed, “You know mom, really, pregnant people sometimes just look fat.”
And then I ate him.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to soak my bloodied, lame, pinpricked fingers in some Epsom salts to try to restore my humours before another one of my family members meets a grievous end.