clean floors, dirty paws

The past few days I have been working on a long, hearfelt blog about young children saying, "please," "thank you," "I'm sorry," and sharing and I was nearly done, but when I came back to edit it today it was gone.  I could be pissed off, I really am.  I could cry, I kind of want to.  But I'm going to just let it go into the internet graveyard with other posts of mine that were not properly saved before my computer decided to "back" itself up.  What about my words, computer!?  Forget something!?  Sigh, it's par for my day thus far that's for sure.  Can I go back to bed now?   Damn Anyway, if you are interested in my opinion on the matter, just ask me in person or message me and I'll be happy to tell you in words that can't be lost forever in bullshit internet land!!  I'm not mad, I'm not mad.... So as it is,  you don't have to read my ranting and raving about things like "manners" and you can just

Remember when I said I was going to post pregnancy updates and pictures every few weeks like I did with Cache?  Yeah, apparently I actually meant every 10 weeks.  Oops... Everything pregnancy related is going fine, and other than a brief hospital stay due to a kidney infection that presented itself like pre-term labor it is fairly routine around here.  I feel HUGE, MASSIVE, like I swallowed a 20lb bowling ball.  In the morning it isn't bad, but by the evening, like right now, it is a little ridiculous.  I don't remember feeling like this ever when I was pregnant with Caches.  Oh well, mark it down as one more way this pregnancy is different than the last. Another difference is the movement.  I remember feeling Caches move every day, but nothing like this.  This kid is out of control.  At 28 weeks she still flips back and forth from breech to head down frequently and I can literally feel her squirming all over the place.  Huge, hard kicks and jabs that just didn't really

I miss writing.  I miss having quiet opportunities each day to jot down silly happenings and little rants.  I miss the over sharing, the offending, and the venting, but I have stopped beating myself up about it.  I used to get really upset that I didn't write for a week or that I couldn't get my thoughts together when I actually had a moment to do so.  And while I have stopped the upset, I still miss it. So many nights I sit, rocking in the still of the night with a finally sleeping boy, blog posts and interesting ideas dancing in my head almost writing themselves.  But as soon as I emerge from the darkness of his room into the light of the kitchen, my eyes squint, ideas float away and the only thing I can think about is getting an hour of sleep to myself before he awakens again. So no, I haven't shared the silly bulldog vomiting story, or our Christmas adventures, or developmental milestones, struggles or joys.  I haven't completed the letter I started writing for

After months of researching and humming and hawing over a large purchase, I decided that there was no way I could rationalize buying it.  Flash forward to Christmas and guess what is under my tree...a vitamix blender. Now, I know a lot of women who would be offended if their Christmas gift was a household appliance, but I am not one of those women.  By the way, my other Christmas present was a chicken coop but that is a WHOLE different post coming soon.  Anyway, I tore back the paper and before I could find my filter I said it.  I said the one thing you should never, ever say when someone buys you a gift.  "We can't afford this!  Why did you buy this for me?"  Ahh, romance.  But Ryan knows me well enough to let it go with a smile.   So, where am I going with this story?  I'm sure you don't care about my fancy blender or the fucking GALLON of margaritas I'm going to make once the baby is born, or do you?  ...my story.  Upon receiving the blender to

If you walk into a restaurant and pass a brightly colored gumball machine without a second glance, you do not have a toddler. I do. Once you have a toddler all sorts of seemingly innocent things become, well, a huge pain in the ass.  Walking down the street I'm distracting him from brightly colored spit out gum that is begging to be poked with a stick.  Driving home and suddenly I'm taking a sharp left to avoid having to sit for 20 minutes while he watches a tractor dig a hole.  Entering a restaurant and I'm really selling the picture of the fish on the wall in hopes he won't turn around and see the damn gumball machine. I am fairly good at dodging prospective time drainers, germ fests and candy tantrums as we tend to frequent the same haunts, but sometimes I am caught off guard; this week I was cornered.  While waiting for a table at brunch we happened to sit right next to a two level, bright toxic shit storm of a candy machine beckoning my son. "Marbles!&