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 |  Breaking the laws of blogging, one entry at a time. |
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Wanted: For repeated blog faux pas, including, but not limited to: Obsessive ranting - guilty on 92 counts. Repeatedly beating a dead horse - guilty on 17 counts. Unnecessary use of curse words - guilty on 142 counts. Boring daily recounts - guilty on 45 counts. Pointless entries - guilty on 214 counts. Contradictory statements - guilty on 72 counts. Recounting toilet actions - guilty on 15 counts. Overdramatization of insignificant things - guilty on 152 counts. Overreacting to meaningless gestures - guilty on 22 counts. Unnecessary temper tantrums - guilty on 75 counts. Cruelty towards animals, superiors, peers, and inferiors - guilty on 146 counts. Repeated bad grammar, spelling, and opinionations - guilty on 214 counts. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Do not confront directly, instead call the authorities and slowly back away. Do not provoke suspect, as she is easy to agitate. The best action to take is to smile and nod. Any other response could lead suspect to rant and rave for days without ceasing. REWARD OFFERED FOR CAPTURE Dead or alive. Offending evidence: ![Merit Badge in Journaling
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Given for penning the favorite response entry in the Follow the Leader contest with "Come Again?"](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Journaling-2180.gif) (Exhibit A) ![Merit Badge in Variety
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Because I never knew what to expect from your Follow the Leader entries, but I'm oh so glad you played!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Variety-2500.gif) (Exhibit B) (Exhibit C) ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Feed me peanuts and call me "dumbo." Not really. I know it's all in my head, but my God am I craving a Wendy's Frosty. I've been settling for Carnation Malted Milk, which is healthier because I'm using 1/2% milk, but for crying out loud, it's way too early for any kind of "symptoms" to show up. We've been trying to decide how best to break it to his parents and we're not sure we can wait until Christmas. It feels odd keeping a secret of this magnitude from anyone, especially his Mom. I looked on the Chinese gender chart, which I don't believe, but I did it for fun, and it said I was going to be having a girl. When I was pregnant with Ethan, it said I was going to have a boy. When Kelly was pregnant both times, it accurately predicted both Natalie's and now little Jack's genders. I still don't believe it, though. I've already got a boy name picked out. After thinking on it, I've decided not to come up with a girl name at all, at least not until one is needed. We also aren't going to tell the names until the birthday, if we are able to get that far. I can't keep thinking that something is going to be wrong because something has been wrong all the other months. I can't believe that the test was right, either. I might just have to take another one tomorrow morning before my doctor's appointment. Speaking of doctor's appointment, that was a difficult situation for finding a babysitter. I finally resulted in asking Jason's Mom, even though I don't want to tell her exactly why I need to go to the doctor. I just told her I was having a blood test done, which isn't a lie. She asked if it was for my hormones, and I said yes, which also isn't a lie. The due date that I figured out is sometime on or after August 8. I know I'm thinking too much ahead for only being 4 weeks pregnant, but a lot of this was already decided prior to conception. |
| Apparently I'm not very good at being cryptic. I'll tell the story, now that I've told my husband. Yes, I woke up this morning, and decided, for the hell of it, to take a pregnancy test. I don't know what possessed me to take said test or why I thought it was a good idea, but I did it in a good natured manner. I didn't expect anything to come back with flashing lights that said I was, indeed, pregnant. I just wanted to do it because... I don't know something inside me told me to. Anyway, I peed on the stick and set it on the counter in the bathroom. It blinked back at me that the test was working. I was using a digital so I wouldn't have to decipher any strange lines or symbols. It can't get any clearer than "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant" so that's why I did digital. Anyway (again with the anyway), in the meantime, Ethan had awakened so I went in and changed his diaper and got him breakfast and then remember, "Oh yeah, I took that pregnancy test." So I go back to the bathroom and check the test on the counter. It said "Pregnant." "What? No, that can't be." I picked it up and read it closer, making sure that I wasn't missing a tiny little "NOT" that was supposed to be there, but there was only "Pregnant." Of course, I'm weird, so I went and got my camera and took a photo of it, just in case I did read it wrong. I've kept going back and checking the picture all day, to make sure that's what it actually said. I planned on waiting until Jason got home from work to tell him, but I couldn't hold it any longer. I broke the news to him about 11:12 this morning. He took it... OK... he had the typical guy reaction, really. He did the same thing when we got pregnant with Ethan. Anyway (I had to add another anyway), I'm very excited, given the circumstances of the past six months. I've told my Mom, but we're going to wait to tell Jason's family and anyone other than my parents until after Christmas. With as much problems as I've had getting things to stick in the past 6 months, I just don't want to get everyone's hopes up to have them let down. OK. I'm done with my excited rambling now. I'm still scared that something's going to happen and it will turn out the test was wrong.  |
| Yes! I don't have to change the litter box anymore! Yes! I don't have anything wrong with me! Yes! I'm so looking forward to next summer! |
| And I'm too tired to expell any energy in order to entertain myself. I keep hitting "My Portfolio" link to see if any new emails pop up. Of course they don't. Someone should send me an email so I can get excited about there being one there. And then maybe I'll actually get around to cleaning out my inbox after I read said email. Probably not, but at least I thought about it. Someone send me an email so something changes. If you send me an email, I'll send a response so you can have an email, too. I don't have energy to promise much else today. |
Here's some of the photos from Ethan's train indoctrination:   And then, we went to the Nature Center toay. The first time all year, after paying the $50 membership fee. I'm torn as whether or not to get another because we had so much fun that I want to keep going, but it took us until nearly December to use it and it expires in March, I think. I took a ton of gorgeous photos, though. Lot of Ethan, of course:    And then there were Ivan and Stosh, who were equally adorable. Stosh won't sit still for long, though. Ethan thought he was hilarious. Everytime Stosh was in Ethan's line of sight, squeals and giggles echoed through the prairie. Lots of photos as we went. Quite a few of Ivan:   And then scenery:    And then Stosh, the boy with happy feet:  Now we're home, and Ethan is sleeping. I had to bribe him to stay awake on the ride home with a Happy Meal, something I wasn't planning on, but was nevertheless necessary. We got home, ate lunch, and then Ethan laid down to take a nap. Now I'm sitting alone, in the nearly pure quiet, trying to soak some energy back up. I generally like to have some kind of noise in the background as a white noise, but I don't even have the energy to deal with it. My thoughts are so soft that it's taking all I have to hear them. |
Leading entry: "Invalid Entry"  I really don't drink as often as I sometimes feel like drinking, and I rarely drink to get drunk. I'm a girlie-girl drinker; not so much one that likes fruity drinks, but one who likes sweet drinks of various ingredients with vodka or Bacardi rum. My favorite, as most conventioneers know, is the white russian. Pretty much anything with kahlua suits my fancy, really, but I can down a lot of white russians and not feel any pain. Literally. After about three, you stop being able to feel your toes. I take pride in saying that I've only ever gotten so drunk that I threw up twice in my life. The first time was my first drinking experience. One week past 17, and I had no idea what pacing myself meant, or that mixing is a no-no. Buttershots, peppermint schnapps, Cap'n Morgans and coke, puke, puke, puke. I got what I deserved. Drinking slowed down between 17 and 21. Not enough time and not enough money. My 21st birthday was spent at the bars, though I didn't get so drunk that I was ill. I didn't really mix, either. A lot of Schmirnoff Ice's and a single Schipley's Sunrise (just a tequila sunrise with something extra that I've still never figured out - it was delicious!). The entire week was spent in a mild state of intoxication, but never enough to puke, puke, puke. After moving back to Michigan, I hadn't had much alcohol for a few months. On New Year's Eve, we had a party. Joe made really good sours. Apricot sours, amaretto sours, apple sours, champagne at midnight, puke, puke, puke. Those five sacred words, "I'll never do this again," were uttered from my hung over lips. For the most part, I haven't ever done that again. At least not the puking part. I learned to guage when I was done and to not mix. If I'm going to have a vodka drink, I only have vodka drinks. If I'm going to have a tequila drink, I only have tequila drinks. Sticking to that creed has helped me keep my cookies many-a-times. It isn't a bad thing to be a late bloomer anywhere in life, especially where drugs, alcohol, smoking, and other vices are concerned. People who brag about their alcoholic conquests, are, to me, silly. Who cares about how drunk you got? It just makes you look like a fool. But, if you are going to drink, there's always a few rules to remember: 1. Do not mix alcohols. But, if you insist upon breaking this rule: a) Beer before liquor, never been sicker. b) Liquor before beer, never fear. 2. Do not mix liquors. There are no exceptions to this rule. 3. If you feel like you're going to puke, you probably will, but if you stop drinking, you might be lucky enough to keep your cookies. 4. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever drink and then get behind the wheel of a vehicle. That concludes my public service announcement. I have to work off all these convictions somehow. |
| Leading entry: "Living in the Slow Lane" Don't worry, Diane  , I hate your driving, too.  Not really. I rode all the way from the suburbs of Baltimore to Allentown, Pennsylvania with you and didn't feel in any real danger. Even driving to the airport, which I thought would've been pretty scary, wasn't that bad. I hate driving, and I'm a bad passenger, to boot, though. As long as I don't pay too much attention to what the driver's doing, and to the road, I'm fine. Once I start paying attention, though, I become the passenger-seat driver. If I think you're going to run a stop sign, I'll usually say something. I learned a long time ago that not saying anything is worse than having an annoyed driver rolling his eyes at me. When I was about 17 or so, I had my driver's license, but my parents weren't very forthcoming in letting me take the only vehicle the family owned out for my weekend carrousings with my friends. Generally, I ended up riding with my friend Betsy, who had her own car and no curfew. The second day Betsy had her driver's license, we went over to visit our friend, John. It started snowing while we were at John's, and the roads became a little slick. I always remember Betsy was short on the brake pedal, but didn't say anything as we approached the stop light. I figured she would allow extra stopping distance. I was wrong. She didn't give herself extra stopping space and ended up swerving into the rear end of the car in front of us. Two days with her license and already her first accident. I should've learned from there to not ride with her. Her second accident came a couple of months later. I wasn't in the car with her this time, but Doris (the foreign exchange student staying with her) was. Someone ran a stop light. Betsy says it was the other guy. The two cars collided on the driver-side front. The front of Betsy's car was looking pretty bad by then. Damage on both sides within six months! About four months later, or so, all of the drama kids were hanging out at John's house. Or maybe it was Milham Park. I think it was a little bit of both because at 17, we weren't supposed to be out and driving around past 12 am. And if the cops would've seen us at the park at 2 am, we'd have had our parents called. Anyway, Betsy's taking everyone home. Her car is packed. I'm in the front middle, Peaches is in the front passenger. Leah is behind Peaches. Kelly is in the middle. Ziggy is behind Betsy. I wasn't wearing a seat belt because, well... there wasn't one in the front middle. We're driving along. It's been a long day. I can't remember why, but it was. As we head down Kalamazoo Avenue, all of the lights are turning yellow just as we drive underneath them. I remember thinking to myself, "I bet that last light at Westnedge is going to turn red before we get there." I had that thought approxamitely 3 seconds before it turned red. We were still at the previous block, so I figured Betsy would start stopping a little further down the road. As we approached the light, she still hadn't stepped on the brake pedal. I remember thinking to myself, "I don't think she's going to stop," and then, "Oh shit! I'm not wearing my seat belt." As we approached the intersection, I saw a car getting ready to cross on his green. I braced myself, grabbing onto the dashboard as hard as I could. Everything after that moved in slow motion. I think I vocalized my, "Oh shit!" statement from earlier, but that isn't clear. What is clear, though, is the other car hitting the back passenger door, where Leah's sleeping head leaned, and our car doing a 360 through the intersection. My knees slid out from underneath me, ramming into the dashboard. Thankfully, that was the extent of my seatbeltless journey. When the car came to a stop, and it was clear that we were out of danger of being hit by another car, we all let out a breath. I checked to see if Peaches was OK, and she was, so I started pushing her out of the car. "Get out. I haven't got a seatbelt on." Leah was obviously injured, so we didn't make her get out. Betsy was beside herself and got out to survey the damage to her friends and then to her car. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU BITCHES DOING?!?!" The screaming blindsided us. We were just trying to gather ourselves and get help for our injured friend. "What?" Betsy asked, groggy to the fact that the other driver had gotten out of his car. "YOU FUCKING RICH, WHITE BITCHES! YOU RAN THAT FUCKING LIGHT!" I listened to him scream and call us rich, white bitches for another minute or so. He started to get in Betsy's face, who was bawling and sobbing because she thought she'd just killed her friend. Then I stepped in between my best friend and this screaming banshee of a man. "Go sit down on the curb. Someone's hurt. We're just waiting for an ambulance." He would have none of it, until some girls in a taxi cab stopped and helped. They were heroes, really. I threatened to kick the guy's ass. All 130 pounds that covered my 5'4" frame was threatening this 200+ pound, 6' man with an ass kicking. When the girls stepped in, telling him they would let me give him a beating, he backed down and went and sat on the curb. My knees gave out about then. The adrenaline probably wore off. They had to cut my jeans off because they were so swollen. They were my favorite jeans, too. I was more upset about them cutting my jeans than my swollen knees. Leah was put on a body board and zoomed off to Bronson Hospital. She ended up having some kind of neck injury that I don't think has ever properly healed. Last I knew, she suffered from migraines regularly. I ended up having to tromp around in crutches for the next couple of months. They cancelled our spring show that year because just about everyone who was supposed to be in the play got injured in the accident. I've never neglected to say what I was thinking regarding a stop light since, though. If I think you're going to run it, I'll ask you to stop. And don't you dare fault me for it. I also learned that riding with Betsy was an easy way to death. I still rode with her after that, though not nearly as frequently. She did well with staying accident free, though the next winter she did a 360 on Gull Road on the way to school because she couldn't stop and almost careened into 2 cars. Instead, she hit a curb. That was the last day I let her put my heart in my throat like that. |
| Just so you know, in case you're curious, and you've never done it before: I decided to go all Martha Stewart this year for Christmas and make everything for the tree so that it's kid-friendly. We have a prestrung, fake tree, so I couldn't really do much about that. But I'm making paper ornaments, not using any glass whatsoever, and instead of sparkly, tinsel garland, I made popcorn strings. Seven hours of stringing popcorn. It was a real pain in the ass. Next year, I'm definitely doing something different. Still kid friendly, but different. Paper chains or something like that. I think I can still give Martha Stewart a run for her money this year, though. I even have a little train set installed underneath the tree. It was the source of multiple temper tantrums last night. |
Since The StoryMaster  and The StoryMistress  have decorated the site so beautifully for the holidays, and since terryjroo has been so great to me and made me a personalized animated signature, I have decorated my signature, as well!  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** OK. That is all. I have to finish my Christmas cards now. |
| Leading entry: "Invalid Entry" Pilgrims came to America. They met native Americans. The Pilgrims scoffed at the natives and their lack of modesty. Cold weather came and the Pilgrims had no food. They went to the native American, who provided. Later, the Pilgrims took further advantage, but I won't desecrate tradition with unsavory details. |
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Whatever you do, hang in there, he'll be sleeping like a big boy in no time!