Monday, June 18, 2007

A few peeps have asked me today why you have to have a Blogger account to post a comment on my blog. It's because I am a big fat wimp who is scared of creepy flamers posting mean things. For reals. This one girl, at band camp, had a flamer posting on her blog about how ugly her baby is. That was enough to scare me away from allowing anonymous posts. If someone called my baby ugly I would cry, cry, cry. (Even though that would be stupid. Have you seen her? She's gorgeous.)

So here’s where my head is after a lovely Father’s Day weekend. I’m like, freaking the hellout.

Well, ok. That might be a little drama. But I’m for sure nesting and creating a monster to do list for Mr. Golightly that he will no doubt ignore completely. He’s all, “I have to paint?” So now I’m afraid to tell him that he also has to build a desk, hang a new ceiling fan, and install a faux wood blind which will very likely have to be special ordered for the worlds oddest shaped window. He might run for the hills. My poor baby daddy. He’s so cute. He’s so capable. He has so many wonderful qualities. Home fix it projects are not, however, at the top of that list. Nothing domestic really. Except opening jars and killing bugs*.

He did plant some flowers for me yesterday. Because, you know. “HOW CAN I POSSIBLY HAVE A BABY IF THERE ARE NOT FLOWERS IN THE FRONT YARD???”

Maybe I’m not exaggerating after all, oui?

*So Sweet Pea has developed this total freak out phobia of bees recently. Last night we had a lovely BBQ** on our patio with lots of family, and this wasp was flying around her, and she was screaming and crying and had to go inside to eat her dinner. Which of course sparked much conversation among the adults at the table about “why would she be so upset” and “she hasn’t ever been stung” and “she doesn’t see YOU freaking out does she?” To which I am all, UM, YOOOOHOOO. It’s a wasp. She’s 3. WASPS ARE FREAKING SCARY. They sting you. They fly aggressively around your head. They look like mean little skeletons. I dunno. Personally I think if you’re going to freak out about something a wasp seems pretty rational to me. But yes. Sigh. We’ll work on it. Anyway. Brave Mr. G saved the day when he killed the wasp with nothing but a mere teaspoon. And Sweet Pea nearly swooned in admiration for her daddy.

**Father’s Day BBQ Menu that I am feeling very smug about: Spinach and strawberry salad, cedar plank grilled salmon with sun dried tomato glaze, roasted asparagus, wild rice, and triple chunk brownies/ice cream. Mmmmm….

Maybe I should go on a brownie run? Maybe I shouldn’t since I’ve already gained 22 lbs. and have 18 more weeks to go. Yeah, that’s right. A pound a week. I could squash you without breaking a sweat so don’t EVEN post a flame comment on my blog.

Ahem. So anyway. I’m also coming to the realization that prior to knowing that this baby was indeed a boy, I could sort of carry on like it would probably be another girl. And another girl is nothing new. So having this baby will be like nothing is different. Right? Hahahahaha. Hahahahaha. Ha. Heh. OH MY GAH. Everyone remain calm. It’s going to be fine. But you DO realize I’m having ANOTHER BABY. Right? And not only is it going to cry, and not sleep, and want to eat things, and poop, and make considerable amounts of laundry…It’s going to have a PENIS. I am so totally out of my league. Barbie I get. Dresses that twirl I get. Playing baby dolls and going shopping and having tea parties…I get that! Boys are a mystery to me. Boys are really busy, aren’t they? And I think we’ve covered that Sweet Pea comes by her fear of bugs and creepy crawlies honestly.

And then the other day I was driving my car when I had this sudden flash of realization – He is going to grow up and get married someday (maybe) and then I will have a daughter in law!! I already hate all his girlfriends.

Oh lordy. I need a brownie.
~ Clover

Thursday, June 14, 2007

I thought of something! I thought of something!

Tomorrow afternoon I have my 20 week ultrasound (Although I am actually at 22 weeks if anyone cares to know that detail.)

ANYWAY...We should know by tomorrow afternoon if we have a boy bebe or a girl bebe on the way. And if my new hair color has resulted in fins.

Sweet Pea still insists that there is one of each floating around in there. She's named them Allison and Mike. Did I already post that? Sorry. Baby brain is in full force.

If anyone cares to make a last minute guess you should do that now. I don't have any gut feeling either way. I've flipped and flopped between boy and girl so many times I was beginning to go with "tom boy" or extremely sensitive and well dressed boy who loves showtunes.

Tomorrow will tell! Right now I'm going to put in a guess for a heard of soccer playing octopus. Octopi? Octopusses? A whole bunch of the squirmy little buggers.

Since I am too boring to post about anything in my life, I thought I would briefly regale you with a conversation I overheard in the hair salon today. (Yes, I got my hairs colored. Sue me. I figure if the 9 months pregnant owner of the salon has been willy nilly putting the stuff in people’s hair for the duration of her pregnancy, then my child will likely not have fins based on an hour’s worth of exposure. Plus. I’m huge, yo. Indulge me some cute hair. OH! And I totally figured out today why when I flat iron it doesn’t look the same as when Cute Cassie the stylist flat irons. Because my flat iron cost $20 at the Wal Mart. And her’s was like $200 at the beauty supply store. Damn.)

So here goes:

Girl one: “I so remember the first time I met you. I was totally intimidated.”

Girl two: “I remember you saying that, but why?”

G1: “I think I had it in my head that you and Paul had dated at some point. Maybe Lindsay told me that?”

G2: “She would say that. She talks smack about me all the time. That girl is such a bitch.”

G1: “I know. Total bitch. (then cheerfully) So is she going to be at your wedding?”

G2: (equally as cheerfully) “Of course!”

Hahaha. Ok. Maybe you had to be there.


Friday, June 08, 2007

Today’s musings are about maturity. Or, the lack thereof. Specifically, mine.

Yes, today is the day that I completely out my 8th grade sense of humor. Or maybe that’s degrading to 8th graders. Well, political correctness be damned, because here goes.

These are two things at my house that are currently making me giggle like a hyena. May I present Exhibit One:

THAT, fair readers, is a butthole. A sphincter. A big ol’ purple starfish. And I work with enough of the artsy fartsy types to feel fairly confident in stating that it is not by accident. Methinks that the illustrator, Mr. David Catrow, is a bit of an 8th grader hisownself.

Heh. Still funny.

Next, I’m going to offer up what I think is a perfect example of “too close to the forest to see the totally inappropriate for children and yet hilarious sexual innuendo.”

Snort. Bahahaha. MAN, that one just cracks me UP something fierce. I mean, of COURSE it’s Two Headed Monster. Nothing naughty about a singular being going nigh-night. Unless of course that singular being is drawn in such a way that he appears to be two nekkid dudes blissfully drifting off in their big comfy bed. NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT. Unless it’s available for download on the Sesame Street Web Site.

Heh. It’s not anymore. By the way. Available for download that is. I searched high and low for it the other day. Maybe they took it off line to draw some jammies on Two Headed Monster. Or, you know, a cigarette.

There is actually a third thing at my house that has hit the “things as funny as fart noises and the word boobies” list. It is a plastic cup with a bust of Cinderella on top. Sweet Pea Lah-HOVES that cup. And the other night she was cradling it everso when she announced at the dinner table, “Mommy, you’re strong. Daddy is big, but he’s not strong.” And Mr. Golightly’s reply to that was, “Oh yeah, well your Cinderella cup has an Adam’s apple.”

Which of course led to further inspection of the cup, and a new name for it which is “the tranny tippy cup.”

And because I am like 12 I think that’s way funny.

Dude, who farted? Heh.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Hello? Hello…hello……hello…..

Quite the echo. It’s dusty and cobwebby in here too. Oops. Sorry about that.

Some good news though! The magic pregnancy fairy sprinkled me with glowy dust, and I am feeling 100,000,000 percent better. Phew. Now we can get on to the business of having normal aches and pains and bladder control issues. Praise the Lord.

So. Um. Has anyone read the newspaper lately? Are you as freaked out as I am? So are we officially back to the cold war, or just unofficially trying really hard to start WWIII? It’s extra fun to think about all that when you have a baby on the way, let me tell you. Oh, the future is bright my little one.

I have decided that I need one of those bumper stickers that says, “If you’re not outraged you aren’t paying attention.” I’m going to slap it on my car and then park every day next to Butthead Bill Sali’s right hand guy. His truck is covered with bumper stickers. And even though I shouldn’t be surprised, every day when I read The Stupidest Bumper Sticker Of Them All, I rather want to key his car. Are you ready? Ok, here goes: “Guns Don’t Kill People. Abortion Clinics Kill People.”

Um. WHA?? I mean, Ok. Let’s pretend for a moment that we’re all Pro-Lifers of the most passionate sort. GUNS STILL KILL PEOPLE. Idiots. Maybe as long as your gun is pointed squarely at someone who doesn’t agree with you it doesn’t count?

My head hurts. It’s the outrage.

So in other news. While I have been obsessing over whether or not my child will be born into a nuclear winter, Mr. Golightly can't decide if he's upset, or delighted by the new title sponsor of our hometown Humanitarian Bowl. (That’s WAC Football for those of you not paying enough attention to be outraged.)

Roady’s Truck Stops.

As a Vandal he's dying laughing. As a WAC football fan he's annoyed. But overall he's really hoping that they give out appropriate souvenirs. Mr. G is pulling for tire irons and trucker hats. I suggested microwave burrito’s and strong coffee. But we both had to concede to Tom the Employee who recommends porn and switchblades.