Let's Get Ready to Gruuuuumble . . .

I hope the song that the title is parodied after is now stuck in your head. Hope hope hope.

Will this weekend ever end? It's just so painfully long and blessedly cheery, isn't it? Simon is back at the hospital for another 25 hour stint with his laboring ladies and I'm here to laboriously type about it. I think the kids and I just might tire enough of hair pulling (them: each others, me: my own) that we'll have to venture out into the great land of evil consumerism and the not reason for the season with all the other bloodhounds. And I think the kids and I just might find it enjoyable ... even if we hit up crazytown. We can only go on so many walks around the neighborhood ... admire the diligent folk that are stringing outdoor Christmas lights, find so many ginorm blow-up turkeys (you people with the yard ornaments are nuts and I love you for it) and stop to stare and say "turkeys say ... 'gobble, gobble' " before we start to zone out and graffiti the street ...

they really should've nailed those cones to the asphault or maybe put up 78 more. I take only partial blame for defacing mother nature's pristine canvas. I think this was when Julia had run out of body parts to complain about "huwting" and had moved onto telling me about Sebastian's ailments ... which he appreciated.

I've never had an anxiety or a heart attack but I think after Thursday's 25 hours-o-joy I started to get a little itchy and thinking I just might have one at the thought of today's joyous shift. The wind was howling and shaking the doors and the windows at the alarming rate of "I know it's just the wind but it sounds oddly similar to a predator" around midnight on Thursday but I took it in stride and only moved my freak out meter to a 3 but then when I heard actual scratching at the kitchen door I nearly fainted by way of petrification. Turns out it is was nothing to worry about ... just overreact over: two lone beady-eyed mice (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). I was in the middle of emailing Jen (oh, you don't creepily email reality stars in the middle of the night? that's odd) and am too embarrassed to go back and look at the outgoing message I pelted her way because it probably most definitely contains some totally inappropriate language. I camped out on the dining room table until I could talk myself down from the crazycliff and sprinted upstairs where I could put a safety barrier of Sebastian between me and the monsters.

I'm tempted to type about the molars the size of what Goliath's first born would've weighed that Julia is in the middle of cutting but I think I've thrown enough feel-goody fuzzies your way for today.

Thanks for letting me Dear Blog it, yet again. It's always nice to go back and read about the holidays that Simon works and thank the good Lord that those holidays come but once a year and these rotations do eventually come to a welcome end.

Toothy (and topless but with molars!) grin.