I ain't got no business being this cheerful. I'm even starting to make myself a little bit sick now. If this was Monday morning instead of Friday, I might just have to punch myself in the face. So I've really got nothing to say, but I'm walking around the office whistling a Bob Schneider song. So here it is in all its glory just for you fine folks. If I was all technically savvy like MTAMM, I'd stream it for you so you could be (la la la!) happy too. But I'm not, so I'll just have to kick it old school.
If you feel the need to punch me in the face, I understand.
"Getting Better"
by Bob Schneider
from I'm Good Now
Well I'm driving downtown in my big red Cadillac
sipping on ice wine, mixing it with Similac
feeling the amazing flow
of centuries in the afterglow
Set my stereo for nothing but the big beats
windows open sound of the city streets
blowing through the night like a tiger in a movie
feeling kind of groovy
And it's la la la oh it's getting better now
can almost forget how( la la la) it's a big beautiful day
and nothing's standing in my way (la la la)
Oh its getting better now (la la la)
can almost forget how (la la la)
bees they all sing her name (la la la)
Holding in the world and the world is full of love
everything I feel is coming from above
feeling the amazing flow
of centuries in the afterglow
Widow weeds and crows and ice chests
stacked up to the tv - I don't want to forget
the way I feel whenever she's around
I've gotta sing it now I've gotta make a sound like
(la la la) Oh it's getting better now (la la la)
can almost forget how (la la la)
it's a big beautiful day (la la la)
and nothing's standing in my way (la la la)
Oh its getting better now (la la la)
can almost forget how (la la la)
bees they all sing her name (la la la)
it never gonna be the same (la la la)
One hundred forty thousand years ago
when I was a wild-eyed buffalo
sky up above breathing by
Calamity Jane my oh my
Nothing matters explosions in the eastern plain
jackhammers wrapped up in the novacaine
my what a girl -- can't forget about
all the angels -- they are singing with me now
(la la la) It's getting better now (la la la)
can almost forget how (la la la)
ah it's a big beautiful day (la la la)
and nothing's standing in my way (la la la)
oh its so better now (la la la)
can almost forget how (la la la)
all the birds sing her name (la la la)
and nothing gonna be the same
Friday, July 13, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Notes from the Back Yard
A tip for the homeowners out there: pathological cheapness and environmental awareness have their place, but if you're going to go with the 18" electric mulching mower, you might not want to let the grass grow for 5 straight weeks between mowings, through the rainiest summer in memory. And man, I'm glad now that I didn't do the Full Hippie and get the reel mower I was considering.
At least now the nieces and nephews can play in Grandma's inflatable pool in the back yard this weekend. When they come back in, they'll probably be coated knee deep in grass clippings, but that's OK. Mrs. Rodius can vacuum it all up on Sunday...
Kidding! I'm kidding! It's a joke, people!
At least now the nieces and nephews can play in Grandma's inflatable pool in the back yard this weekend. When they come back in, they'll probably be coated knee deep in grass clippings, but that's OK. Mrs. Rodius can vacuum it all up on Sunday...
Kidding! I'm kidding! It's a joke, people!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Gather, Ye Family, While Ye May
For as long as I can remember, I've had a powerful yearning in my heart for the closeness of family. I think it's because the blurry, leading edge of my memory includes moments of extended family, mostly of my uncle's fantastical house (did it really have a homemade sauna in the basement, or did I make that up?): sparklers and hotdogs in their gigantic, tiered backyard on the 4th of July; roaring around the block in the Fiat my uncle was rebuilding; my large, loud, deaf Grandma who taught me the sign for "milk and cookies," and of whom I was terrified, though every time we went to her house, she gave me a toy to keep; getting caught by my aunt at maybe 4 or 5 years old, in bed with my age-peer cousin, comparing her parts to mine, both our eyes wide in amazement. Ah, good times.
But we moved from Colorado to Texas when I was 5, and all of that was lost. We returned for visits, and a camping and fishing trip at Red Feather Lakes, in which the Colorado family ridiculed the Texas family's new accents, singing "Put another log on the fahr!" at us over and over again. I remember listening to "The Gambler," and "Coward of the County," and watching Breaking Away with my cousins and laughing at a man shaving his legs. I remember sitting in the back seat of my uncle's truck, driving through Denver traffic without a rear-view mirror, wondering who was following us as he turned to look over his shoulder again and again.
Then Aunt Piggy (I called Peggy "Piggy" when I was younger, and it stuck) died of cancer, and Grandma died, and we went on with our Texas lives while the Colorado family shattered and the pieces drifted apart. I periodically missed them, particularly that cousin, so close to me in age, who had for the briefest sliver of my memory seemed more like a sister than anything else. I wrote to the uncle, with no response. I wrote to the cousin, and she replied, but the connection didn't stick. I found her again after she'd married, but again, there was too big a gap between us now to bridge.
In my immediate family, too, there were gaps I longed to fill. My oldest brother, 12 years older than I, was on a year-long exchange program in Germany when we moved. He completed his senior year in Texas when he returned, but then moved on to begin building his adult life soon after. I remember that he built towers of blocks for me to giddily kick over, and he patiently rebuilt them again. I remember the smell of the backseat of his station wagon and "Hell is for Children" on the radio as he and his girlfriend drove my other brother and me to a water park. I remember watching Eddie and the Cruisers on the television in his apartment.
My sister, too, is there, barely visible in the wavering images of my early memory. She, like my oldest brother, was a product of my father's first marriage. My clearest memory of her is walking in on her in the bathroom as she stepped out of the shower, and how she screamed at me. I was sure she hated me. Then she was gone to California to live with her own mother, another gaping hole in my picture of what my family could have and should have been, but never quite was.
When I married into Mrs. Rodius' large, Irish-Catholic family, I envied her the seemingly thousands of cousins she had. Every month, it seemed, there were weddings and wakes, birthdays and showers, and people to visit in the hospital. The aunts and the uncles seemed to be the core of the family events: the aunts organized and the uncles entertained. The wake and funeral for Mrs. Rodius' father was one of the first family gatherings that I was a part of, and I was overwhelmed by how many names there were to remember.
But this weekend, my family is gathering. We've had two or three "Family Days" a year since my oldest brother's oldest child was an infant. This year, for the first time, we're doing it at the Rodius house. My mother's house has always been the setting, because it's always seemed the most appropriate place, with a covered patio and a big back yard for inflatable pools and badminton nets and squirt gun fights, and within a short drive for about half the family. My sister has never been a part of Family Day, though. There were bad feelings around the time that she left and before that, feelings that I didn't understand or even know existed at the time. Now, though, she has moved from California to Florida and seems ready to come back into her Texas family again. She's coming, with her two teenage boys. My older brother and his wife are coming, with their two kids. My oldest brother is coming, too, with his wife and youngest child, a tennis-playing teenage boy. His middle child is an Air Force cadet, and she's flying directly from the academy to Austin. His oldest daughter, 21 now, may not come, beginning as she is now to build her own adult life. We'll miss her if she doesn't come, as she has been a part of these gatherings for as long as she's been alive.
I think my mother's thrilled to have another venue in the rotation. She's always expressed her willingness to have Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Family Days at somebody else's house, but we've all been content to let her host. And I'm thrilled to be carrying on the tradition and to find that more and more family are including themselves in it. I hope they are all a cherished part of Thumper's memory when he is old enough to be sentimental.
But we moved from Colorado to Texas when I was 5, and all of that was lost. We returned for visits, and a camping and fishing trip at Red Feather Lakes, in which the Colorado family ridiculed the Texas family's new accents, singing "Put another log on the fahr!" at us over and over again. I remember listening to "The Gambler," and "Coward of the County," and watching Breaking Away with my cousins and laughing at a man shaving his legs. I remember sitting in the back seat of my uncle's truck, driving through Denver traffic without a rear-view mirror, wondering who was following us as he turned to look over his shoulder again and again.
Then Aunt Piggy (I called Peggy "Piggy" when I was younger, and it stuck) died of cancer, and Grandma died, and we went on with our Texas lives while the Colorado family shattered and the pieces drifted apart. I periodically missed them, particularly that cousin, so close to me in age, who had for the briefest sliver of my memory seemed more like a sister than anything else. I wrote to the uncle, with no response. I wrote to the cousin, and she replied, but the connection didn't stick. I found her again after she'd married, but again, there was too big a gap between us now to bridge.
In my immediate family, too, there were gaps I longed to fill. My oldest brother, 12 years older than I, was on a year-long exchange program in Germany when we moved. He completed his senior year in Texas when he returned, but then moved on to begin building his adult life soon after. I remember that he built towers of blocks for me to giddily kick over, and he patiently rebuilt them again. I remember the smell of the backseat of his station wagon and "Hell is for Children" on the radio as he and his girlfriend drove my other brother and me to a water park. I remember watching Eddie and the Cruisers on the television in his apartment.
My sister, too, is there, barely visible in the wavering images of my early memory. She, like my oldest brother, was a product of my father's first marriage. My clearest memory of her is walking in on her in the bathroom as she stepped out of the shower, and how she screamed at me. I was sure she hated me. Then she was gone to California to live with her own mother, another gaping hole in my picture of what my family could have and should have been, but never quite was.
When I married into Mrs. Rodius' large, Irish-Catholic family, I envied her the seemingly thousands of cousins she had. Every month, it seemed, there were weddings and wakes, birthdays and showers, and people to visit in the hospital. The aunts and the uncles seemed to be the core of the family events: the aunts organized and the uncles entertained. The wake and funeral for Mrs. Rodius' father was one of the first family gatherings that I was a part of, and I was overwhelmed by how many names there were to remember.
But this weekend, my family is gathering. We've had two or three "Family Days" a year since my oldest brother's oldest child was an infant. This year, for the first time, we're doing it at the Rodius house. My mother's house has always been the setting, because it's always seemed the most appropriate place, with a covered patio and a big back yard for inflatable pools and badminton nets and squirt gun fights, and within a short drive for about half the family. My sister has never been a part of Family Day, though. There were bad feelings around the time that she left and before that, feelings that I didn't understand or even know existed at the time. Now, though, she has moved from California to Florida and seems ready to come back into her Texas family again. She's coming, with her two teenage boys. My older brother and his wife are coming, with their two kids. My oldest brother is coming, too, with his wife and youngest child, a tennis-playing teenage boy. His middle child is an Air Force cadet, and she's flying directly from the academy to Austin. His oldest daughter, 21 now, may not come, beginning as she is now to build her own adult life. We'll miss her if she doesn't come, as she has been a part of these gatherings for as long as she's been alive.
I think my mother's thrilled to have another venue in the rotation. She's always expressed her willingness to have Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Family Days at somebody else's house, but we've all been content to let her host. And I'm thrilled to be carrying on the tradition and to find that more and more family are including themselves in it. I hope they are all a cherished part of Thumper's memory when he is old enough to be sentimental.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Sympathy for the Bedeviled
For a couple of weeks now, I've had a pain in my lower back that runs straight down into my right butt check. It hasn't been that bad, but yesterday morning, I almost fell over when I got out of bed to hobble-hop to the bathroom, and this morning, it took me an inordinately long time to make it from the car to the desk.
"Aha!" the more astute and experienced of you may be saying now, with that smug little grin on your face. "Right butt cheek. Sciatic nerve. Pregnant wife. He's got sympathetic sciatica! Isn't that cute?"
No, it's not cute. It's a pain in the ass. I know I'm not supposed to complain about anything, what with the wife who's got a giant trump card brewing in her belly, but: Oooowwwwww!
What's the deal with this, anyway? Is it the running? And by running, I mean walking and jogging? True, it seems to be worse right after a workout. But when I get into a good rhythm and really feel like I've got a proper ChiRunning form going on, the pain goes away entirely. That's got to be a sign that I'm doing something right, doesn't it? Of course, it comes right back as soon as I start walking again, but, you know, baby steps. Maybe I should've started with ChiWalking. But I imagine ChiWalking must be a lot like ChiRunning, but slower. Part of the ChiRunning form is visualizing that there are bars sticking straight out of your ankle bones, so that you have to lift each foot high enough not to trip on the bar sticking out of the other ankle. I just can't bring myself to do that when I'm walking through the office.
And OK, maybe it's so bad yesterday and today because I drove to Houston and back on Saturday to pick up baby furniture. My brother-in-law helped me haul the bigger- and heavier-than-expected dresser and changing table down the stairs and into the rented van. He was kind enough and manly enough to take the bottom end on the stairs, which gave him all the weight, but it meant that I got to walk down the stairs hunched over to keep my end low enough. And there was the part where we grunted it into position in the van, which doesn't exactly have a cargo space tall enough to accomodate my 6'3" of rippling muscle.
So you see, it's not some kind of sympathetic pregnancy thing. It's not in my head, it's in my butt. I earned my back pain through manly pursuits. Don't look at me like that...
"Aha!" the more astute and experienced of you may be saying now, with that smug little grin on your face. "Right butt cheek. Sciatic nerve. Pregnant wife. He's got sympathetic sciatica! Isn't that cute?"
No, it's not cute. It's a pain in the ass. I know I'm not supposed to complain about anything, what with the wife who's got a giant trump card brewing in her belly, but: Oooowwwwww!
What's the deal with this, anyway? Is it the running? And by running, I mean walking and jogging? True, it seems to be worse right after a workout. But when I get into a good rhythm and really feel like I've got a proper ChiRunning form going on, the pain goes away entirely. That's got to be a sign that I'm doing something right, doesn't it? Of course, it comes right back as soon as I start walking again, but, you know, baby steps. Maybe I should've started with ChiWalking. But I imagine ChiWalking must be a lot like ChiRunning, but slower. Part of the ChiRunning form is visualizing that there are bars sticking straight out of your ankle bones, so that you have to lift each foot high enough not to trip on the bar sticking out of the other ankle. I just can't bring myself to do that when I'm walking through the office.
And OK, maybe it's so bad yesterday and today because I drove to Houston and back on Saturday to pick up baby furniture. My brother-in-law helped me haul the bigger- and heavier-than-expected dresser and changing table down the stairs and into the rented van. He was kind enough and manly enough to take the bottom end on the stairs, which gave him all the weight, but it meant that I got to walk down the stairs hunched over to keep my end low enough. And there was the part where we grunted it into position in the van, which doesn't exactly have a cargo space tall enough to accomodate my 6'3" of rippling muscle.
So you see, it's not some kind of sympathetic pregnancy thing. It's not in my head, it's in my butt. I earned my back pain through manly pursuits. Don't look at me like that...
Thursday, July 5, 2007
In Which I Abuse Italicized Foreign Phrases
I've been loathe to breathe even a single political word in this space, because, well, I'm an attention whore, and I'm afraid of alienating the few people who do come here and feed my need. Y'all seem to be such kinder, gentler souls than I, and I didn't want to out myself as an auslander.
But now that I've been voted a sensitive, albeit Rockin', girl, I think it's time I admitted it: I voted for George W. Bush.
I'll wait for the gasps to die down.
I only did it the first time, I promise. I won't defend the decision, because I'm sure most of you consider it indefensible. At least the second time I voted Libertarian.
I don't know what to think about politics anymore. When I was in high school, I was oblivious. When I was in college, I was indoctrinated into the affirmative action outrage, animal rights outrage, pro-choice outrage. I've kept most of that last one.
When I got out of college, I did a lot of independent reading, some of it about the Civil War, and began to think more about states' rights and large, centralized federal bureaucracies. It's not the lesson we're supposed to draw from the slavers/liberators morality play that the Civil War story has become, but I began to believe that the larger a bureaucracy became, the less effectively it was able to manage the problems for which it was created. A large bureaucracy with coercive power has a built-in motivation to grow ever-larger, and corruption and abuse are inescapable side effects.
So conservatism, here I come! And which of the two major political parties pretends to be the fiscally conservative defender of the Constitution? Well, they both do to a degree, but I bought into the Republican hype because the Democratic hype doesn't have that much "limited role of government" rhetoric to it. And then there was Bill Clinton. I spent the end of the nineties whining, with much exasperation, "He's the chief law enforcement officer in the nation, who committed perjury and asked others to commit perjury in order to avoid personal liability in a civil lawsuit brought by a private citizen! Of course he should be impeached!" And the answer was always, "It's just sex. Everybody does it!" And so I swore off the Democratic Party for all eternity, amen.
But a friend made it his personal mission to liberalize my conservatism. His particular bent is environmentalism, and there is some truth to the idea that there is no other entity in the world with the authority to protect our natural resources from selfish misuse better than a large, federal government. So there's that.
And then there's the fact that the Bush administration, those fiscally conservative defenders of the Constitution, have grown the federal bureaucracy and mutilated American civil liberties more than any other administration ever, Republican or Democrat. So there's that, too.
Oh my, I just received an office-wide email about building security. It has the subject line "Back Door Entry." Must. Resist. The urge. To reply. Must! Resist!
Sorry, I got distracted for a second there. Where was I? Oh yeah, what's a fiscally conservative, socially laissez-faire boy to do?
I was thinking about this guy, but he came across as a total goofball with virtually no political savoir faire when I saw him on The Colbert Report. Of course, how can anybody come across as anything but a goofball when they're on The Colbert Report? But then I also read that while he doesn't think the Federal government has the authority to regulate abortion and gay marriage (they are more appropriately left to the individual states to legislate), he is personally strongly opposed to them. So that takes him right off the table. I can't vote for a guy who, upon becoming President, might suddenly feel the call of his moral imperative.
What does that leave? Where does someone turn when he wants a small federal government that doesn't interfere in social issues like gay marriage? Libertarians, I guess. But that seems kind of like voting for your little brother's video phone footage for Best Picture Oscar: it could be a gas, and it might even be true, but I can tell you right now, he won't ever have to worry about writing that acceptance speech. Anybody got any better ideas?
But now that I've been voted a sensitive, albeit Rockin', girl, I think it's time I admitted it: I voted for George W. Bush.
I'll wait for the gasps to die down.
I only did it the first time, I promise. I won't defend the decision, because I'm sure most of you consider it indefensible. At least the second time I voted Libertarian.
I don't know what to think about politics anymore. When I was in high school, I was oblivious. When I was in college, I was indoctrinated into the affirmative action outrage, animal rights outrage, pro-choice outrage. I've kept most of that last one.
When I got out of college, I did a lot of independent reading, some of it about the Civil War, and began to think more about states' rights and large, centralized federal bureaucracies. It's not the lesson we're supposed to draw from the slavers/liberators morality play that the Civil War story has become, but I began to believe that the larger a bureaucracy became, the less effectively it was able to manage the problems for which it was created. A large bureaucracy with coercive power has a built-in motivation to grow ever-larger, and corruption and abuse are inescapable side effects.
So conservatism, here I come! And which of the two major political parties pretends to be the fiscally conservative defender of the Constitution? Well, they both do to a degree, but I bought into the Republican hype because the Democratic hype doesn't have that much "limited role of government" rhetoric to it. And then there was Bill Clinton. I spent the end of the nineties whining, with much exasperation, "He's the chief law enforcement officer in the nation, who committed perjury and asked others to commit perjury in order to avoid personal liability in a civil lawsuit brought by a private citizen! Of course he should be impeached!" And the answer was always, "It's just sex. Everybody does it!" And so I swore off the Democratic Party for all eternity, amen.
But a friend made it his personal mission to liberalize my conservatism. His particular bent is environmentalism, and there is some truth to the idea that there is no other entity in the world with the authority to protect our natural resources from selfish misuse better than a large, federal government. So there's that.
And then there's the fact that the Bush administration, those fiscally conservative defenders of the Constitution, have grown the federal bureaucracy and mutilated American civil liberties more than any other administration ever, Republican or Democrat. So there's that, too.
Oh my, I just received an office-wide email about building security. It has the subject line "Back Door Entry." Must. Resist. The urge. To reply. Must! Resist!
Sorry, I got distracted for a second there. Where was I? Oh yeah, what's a fiscally conservative, socially laissez-faire boy to do?
I was thinking about this guy, but he came across as a total goofball with virtually no political savoir faire when I saw him on The Colbert Report. Of course, how can anybody come across as anything but a goofball when they're on The Colbert Report? But then I also read that while he doesn't think the Federal government has the authority to regulate abortion and gay marriage (they are more appropriately left to the individual states to legislate), he is personally strongly opposed to them. So that takes him right off the table. I can't vote for a guy who, upon becoming President, might suddenly feel the call of his moral imperative.
What does that leave? Where does someone turn when he wants a small federal government that doesn't interfere in social issues like gay marriage? Libertarians, I guess. But that seems kind of like voting for your little brother's video phone footage for Best Picture Oscar: it could be a gas, and it might even be true, but I can tell you right now, he won't ever have to worry about writing that acceptance speech. Anybody got any better ideas?
In Which I Abuse the Exclamation Point Key on my Keyboard
We went to our 34-week ultrasound appointment this morning, and I haven't been able to stop smiling since. Can I bore you with some pictures of my son?
First of all, everything looks great. One potential problem is no longer even close to being a problem. Yay! And even though we did the "anatomy screen" six weeks ago, the doctor still went over a few parts and said, "heart's great, kidneys are great." Great, great. Great great great. Great!
But there are two things that just fill me with idiotic, grinning pride, and shouldn't really. One, they estimate his weight at 6 lbs, 5 oz., with six weeks still to go. I put the size chart that the ultrasound tech gave us into a drawing program so that I could blow it up and measure with pixelated precision, and I calculate that he's bigger than 74.29% of his peers. That's my boy! Let the competitive child comparing begin, even in utero!
Two, did you see that foot? Now, I know it's hard to judge relative size in a grainy ultrasound picture. Looking at those things is kind of like seeing shapes in the clouds. (Hey, look! A foot! No, it looks like a rabbit to me... ) And I didn't, but should have, ask the tech to measure it in centimeters. But, that's a foot, and those are two hands, and man! That's a big foot! That's my boy!
So I guess that's why I've been grinning like a Transformers junkie all day: it's all starting to feel a bit more real now. There's a person in there. At one point, the tech said, "Those spiky things are his hair." The kid's got hair! Of course, she did have a heavy accent, and she may have said "ear." But I don't think ears show up in an ultrasound as "spiky things," so I'm going with hair. The kid's got hair! And a big ol' foot! And if you kind of squint one eye and turn your head to the side, you can make out a face, and hey! He's kind of cute!
At another point, the tech froze the image on a perfect circle and said, "That's his belly." That's my boy! He's got a basketball belly and big ol' feet! Just like his old man!
I do feel kind of guilty about being so happy about all of this, though. I haven't had much of a chance to talk to Mrs. Rodius about it yet, but somehow I bet she's just not nearly as thrilled as I am with the "6 lbs, 5 oz, with six weeks still to go" part.
But have you seen that kid's foot? That's my boy!
First of all, everything looks great. One potential problem is no longer even close to being a problem. Yay! And even though we did the "anatomy screen" six weeks ago, the doctor still went over a few parts and said, "heart's great, kidneys are great." Great, great. Great great great. Great!
But there are two things that just fill me with idiotic, grinning pride, and shouldn't really. One, they estimate his weight at 6 lbs, 5 oz., with six weeks still to go. I put the size chart that the ultrasound tech gave us into a drawing program so that I could blow it up and measure with pixelated precision, and I calculate that he's bigger than 74.29% of his peers. That's my boy! Let the competitive child comparing begin, even in utero!
Two, did you see that foot? Now, I know it's hard to judge relative size in a grainy ultrasound picture. Looking at those things is kind of like seeing shapes in the clouds. (Hey, look! A foot! No, it looks like a rabbit to me... ) And I didn't, but should have, ask the tech to measure it in centimeters. But, that's a foot, and those are two hands, and man! That's a big foot! That's my boy!
So I guess that's why I've been grinning like a Transformers junkie all day: it's all starting to feel a bit more real now. There's a person in there. At one point, the tech said, "Those spiky things are his hair." The kid's got hair! Of course, she did have a heavy accent, and she may have said "ear." But I don't think ears show up in an ultrasound as "spiky things," so I'm going with hair. The kid's got hair! And a big ol' foot! And if you kind of squint one eye and turn your head to the side, you can make out a face, and hey! He's kind of cute!
At another point, the tech froze the image on a perfect circle and said, "That's his belly." That's my boy! He's got a basketball belly and big ol' feet! Just like his old man!
I do feel kind of guilty about being so happy about all of this, though. I haven't had much of a chance to talk to Mrs. Rodius about it yet, but somehow I bet she's just not nearly as thrilled as I am with the "6 lbs, 5 oz, with six weeks still to go" part.
But have you seen that kid's foot? That's my boy!
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Wow, That's a Lot of Stuff
Mrs. Rodius' sisters threw a baby shower Saturday. Mrs. Rodius shed a few tears that day, and I think every day since, thinking about the generosity of our friends and family. Indeed, it is a giant pile o' stuff. And her co-workers are throwing another shower for her next week. And this weekend, I'm driving to Houston to pick up the crib, dresser, and changing table Mrs. Rodius' brother and his wife are kindly giving to us now that their youngest has graduated to the "big boy bed." It's gratifying to know that Thumper already has developed such a large entourage of groupies and admirers, and he hasn't even arrived yet. I think we may have to move the kid into the master bedroom and move ourselves into the nursery, just so he has enough room for his stuff.
I am looking forward to blogging about our use of all of these items, and posting pictures of Thumper in every one of those outfits, particularly the hat with the panda ears that my mother gave us. I even welled up a bit myself looking at the Snugli and thinking about all those days upcoming when I'll get to walk all over the greater Austin metropolitan area with the boy strapped to my chest. I'm even looking forward to sucking snot out of his nose, and putting the Butt Paste to use.
So thank you all so much, and I'm sorry I ever called you a cheap bastard.
I am looking forward to blogging about our use of all of these items, and posting pictures of Thumper in every one of those outfits, particularly the hat with the panda ears that my mother gave us. I even welled up a bit myself looking at the Snugli and thinking about all those days upcoming when I'll get to walk all over the greater Austin metropolitan area with the boy strapped to my chest. I'm even looking forward to sucking snot out of his nose, and putting the Butt Paste to use.
So thank you all so much, and I'm sorry I ever called you a cheap bastard.
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