Tag, I'm it!

I was tagged by Mandy (who did this for me!)

for seven random things...


Here are the rules:

1. Link your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

And awaaaay we go!

1. I was born with an extra pointy tooth in between my two front teeth. I had both baby and permanent. Sometimes I miss my extra fang!
2. I got pregnant 3 times while on birth control, but it took three years to get pregnant with LB once we started actively trying. Go figure.
3. I complain about how tired I am or how much my arms hurt because LB won't go to bed at night anywhere but in our bed, in my arms, but I love that THAT is what she needs Mama for. We have the best giggles rolling around on the bed before night-night and nobody else gets that.
4. I like to dip french fries into milkshakes.
5. I accidentally brought home a pair of shoes without paying last week. I called the next day, and the manager told me not to worry about it, but I spent that 24 hours or so in a sweat!
6. I own over 150 shirts. Not including sweaters.
7. I recently discovered that my favorite flower is the poppy. I don't even know that I've seen one in real life, but I've seen a lot of them represented artistically recently, and I really, really heart them.

And I don't know that I have seven readers to tag that weren't already picked by Mandy, so I'm gonna go

Mollydoll
Jenn
and Jess

Little weirdos...

Both my kids. Odd.

LB ate tomato soup and guacamole for dinner tonight. Both on my "Top Ten Foods I hate with a capitol HATE." She gags on bananas and green beans, and her favorite flavor of yogurt is barfy vanilla. I swear I don't see how she can belong to me.

The Boy is hanging out at his Pap's for spring break. Today he calls me to tell me he is currently in New York, as he flew his kite there. He told me about the "Empiral State Building" and about watching Hairspray on Broadway, and also, somehow, about the pyramids. No clue there.

Then he asked me if we could get chickens, particularly a rooster that he can chase around the yard.

Doubt it, kiddo.

Ain't nothin' better...

Welcome to the world, baby AJ!

Congrats, Mama--can't wait to hear all about it!!

Do I win a prize?

Crappiest week EVER. I deserve an award. A mud pie. Something. Just for surviving.

Single mom'ed it last weekend so Hubs could get some "me" time. He proceeds to throw his back out an hour after he gets home. Two trips to the ER later, he's an invalid, recovering just in time to go out of town again for a work convention thing. Babysitter issues, grumpy coworker week, two crankpot kids, I'm getting the respiratory funk AGAIN (I keep trading gastro funk for a nasty sinus/throat/hack thing), and then I lose my wallet.

Not just any wallet. My birthday wallet, the most fantabulous accessory I've ever owned. It makes me feel like a rock star. I cried. CRIED. I'm silly like that.

Thankfully today it started looking up, because in some stroke of genius, I thought to call the dollar store, as that was the last place I recall actually seeing my rock star wallet. Thank you lord, I'd dropped it there two days ago, and I ran over and got it back, fully intact.

So I'm taking that as a sign that things will not be crap forever.

The end.

2/3!

What a lovely fraction.

Even lovelier girly!



Happy 8 months, sweet girl!

A good thing indeed...

Talking to my darling Mollydoll recently, we shared some of those moments that we're starting to experience with those ever-growing bundles of personality known as our sweet daughters. You know those moments--the ones where you grit your teeth, find that little pocket of extra Mama love somewhere deep down, and remind yourself that you do, in fact, adore your child, to the moon and back ten thousand times, despite the frustration you're feeling right this very second.

We're calling these our "Good thing you're cute!" moments.

So why is it a good thing LB is cute?

1. Sleep is poison! Who needs sleep? Not me! Not mama! Wheeee!
2. See this hard thing in my hand? I'm gonna swing it! I'm gonna bang it on your knuckles! I'm gonna throw it! Wheeeee!
3. Ooh, I have hands! Hands make a funny noise when they smack against other skin! Especially face skin! Especially MAMA face skin! Wheeeee!

So yeah, she's a violent little insomniac.

Now, we've all got them. Please share yours--comment, blog, whatever your pleasure.

Why is it a good thing YOUR kid is cute?

The stuff I don't tell anybody...

Until I know it's okay.

Roaster's been having some diagnostic testing done lately. He's had some problems that I, unfortunately share (see: Dear Sickies--PLEASE GO AWAY!) and have shared since I was about Boy's age. Last week's first round had to go out for biopsy, with results ready by today's second round. Fortunately, everything came back just fine, a few preventative medications and some monitoring, but no big C, no exploratory surgery, nothing else major.

So now I guess I need to quit worrying about him and start worrying about LA.

Boo, hiss.

I'd just prefer that the Sickies PLEASE GO AWAY.

Dear Roaster...

If taunting Boy is your way of cluing me in that you've found yourself a lady friend, please be advised that you are making me far more uncomfortable than you would if you just told me outright.

Does it make me sad? A little. But I want you to be happy, and I know you can't be happy without someone to share your time with. I'll get over it, I promise. But there are things I don't want to hear about and things I don't want to know.

And I don't think it's funny.

So please, Daddy, please stop. Tell me whatever you want me to know, like grown ups. I'll be fine. I'll even be nice to the lady. Maybe I'll be friends with her kids.

But I can't laugh about it. I can't help you torture my kids with "Oooh, going on a date, smoochy smoochy!" goofiness.

Help me out?

Thanks.

Dear Sickies

PLEASE GO AWAY.

That is all.

Randomness

I had a box of those "feminine cleansing wipes" that my MIL gave me in a post-baby goody bag. Couldn't use them at the time, so I stashed them under the cabinet. Apparently Boy thought they were same as the Kandoo or Charmin wipes, and he has proceeded to use them all up. He really didn't understand when Hubs told him last night "I thought you'd been smelling fresh as the spring rain!"

Yeah, we're strange.

Time to dust off that trophy again...

Dear SD--

There is a reason I call you SD, and not, generally, "Boy's Dad."

When your son admits to faking sick at school on Friday in order to get to sign out early, and you call at the last possible minute to request your weekend (since you haven't taken one in, what, two months?), promising to administer some sort of discipline for what Mama considers a major, MAJOR infraction, I would expect you to deliver on that promise.

A pool party? Really? REALLY? Please explain to me how, exactly, that qualifies as discipline?

Thank you so much for backing me up. We won't even get into how I was told you wouldn't be home because you were going to be out running around "town," not "a town 100 miles away." (And without a booster seat, you champion fucktard! They're $15. BUY ONE.)

Now, please, go back to not calling so I can go back to raising my son.