Allow me to bitch for just a moment
My poor blog has languished, alone and unloved, for what? like a month now? There’s so much I haven’t written about here, like the entire holiday season. And don’t get me started about my poor neglected photos sitting all SOOC and unedited on Lightroom. How far behind am I, you ask? Well, please enjoy this photo of our fun trip to the apple orchard. IN SEPTEMBER.
Have you looked outside today? We have come to the point in winter where I want to hibernate in a vat of Aquaphor until April.
Steve Jobs took another medical leave from Apple and I am overly worried about the health of someone I don’t even know. But considering that my iPhone sits next to me as I type on my iMac that’s on the desk next to my circa-2000 iMac while a Macbook is in the next room, Steve Jobs is pretty much even more important than Diet Coke in my daily life.
I think my daughter is never going to poop on the potty. Potty training is going to drive me insane if it doesn’t kill me first. You want to know where I’ve been when I’ve not been blogging? In a bathroom, probably.
And now for the rainbow and unicorns portion of this post
It’s well established that my iPod (GET WELL, STEVE) playlists resemble those of a 12-year-old. So yes, of course I’m fired up over Britney’s new single released this week. DUH. And I’m currently rocking out to Kanye’s “Monster” (don’t worry, Mom, not when the kids are around). Have you seen the Monster video featuring the Muppets? It’s genius and mesmerizing. It’s what I think being on drugs would be like. Which I might be on before pottytraining is over, so I’ll let you know.
I’m loving the little “embrace wild hair” print I bought on Etsy last night. What a great thing for Eleanor and her curls, right? Also framed and ready to hang is my “Midwest is best” postcard. Soon my house will be a veritable treasure trove of profound statements.
I married a boy who a) made sure I came home to a clean house after my trip to Carterville last week, b) can make Eleanor laugh so hard she can’t breathe, and c) knows a considerable amount of lyrics to “Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman.”
And not only is Henry pooping on the potty, when my parents took him shopping to pick out some celebratory presents, do you know the first thing he chose? Flowers for his mom. Excuse me while I go mop up my heart that apparently just melted all over the floor.