days of youth.

Last night, we went to the county fair after celebrating K’s 5th birthday with my parents.  It wasn’t her first time at the fair, but it was the first time she rode real rides, including this roller coaster and a ferris wheel. We left hot and sticky and hopped up on sugar, but she was utterly satisfied.

Five years ago this morning, I was in a hospital, hooked up to a pitocin drip and rocked by contractions that eventually brought my beautiful and deliriously crazy daughter into the world. I’ll be there again soon, for the last time, to meet the boy who will be my son. K will be a big sister, a kindergartener, and closer every day to growing up into someone who can read, have math tests, go places by herself, drive a car, live her own life.

I’m terrified and excited for her all at once.

Happy birthday, kiddo. I love you, always.


shut up already.

About the New Yorker’s Obama cover. It was clever, it was over-the-top, it summed up all the misconceptions about Barack, and it was funny. Sure, it could have been misconstrued by some, but those kinds of people don’t read the New Yorker. Or, at least, they shouldn’t.

it’s come to that point.

My hips hurt. My back hurts. I’m out of breath. I don’t want to eat anything other than Little Debbie fudge brownies. I am tired of hearing “Oooh, you’re getting big! How much longer?” I am tired of being touched by strangers. My underwear does not fit. I have no patience, and my tolerance level for pretty much everyone has sharply dropped. Sleeping is a nice idea, but a difficult one to execute. I can’t shit, but I could pee all day. I have forty-seven things to do and the energy to do none of them. I don’t want to make small talk with you, co-workers in the breakroom/bathroom/hallway, unless you have Little Debbie fudge brownies. Again, please do not touch my stomach.  I am due in a little over a month. I know, I look bigger and lower than that. It’s a boy, and no, I am not telling you his name, because I barely even know yours.


killed a few trees in the process.

Because I’m both lazy and sentimental, for the past year, I would just throw the girls’ papers from school in a big box in the closet, thinking I’d go through them later. Well, Saturday ended up being that day. The box had overflowed onto the closet shelf, and it was a huge mess. But seeing it all together made me realize exactly how much paper is wasted by schools and kids – it’s quite a lot, and this is just about a one-and-a-half kid equivalent, too.


well i wonder.

  • Why do I have such a problem with short people?
  • Will I need my anti-depressants after the baby?
  • Why do I prefer emails and texting over actually talking to people?
  • Why can’t some people just get their shit together already?
  • Am I really becoming more of a Libertarian as I get older?
  • Why did I resist liking Firefly for so long?