waxing wordy

I guess this post could aptly be titled, "brain dumps like a truck .... truck truck" but less class and more trash isn't the theme of the post. Not that there is ever a theme. Especially this one. No cohesive theme to see here so don't try looking.

I would use the word random but that word got run into the ground circa the year 2001, don't you think? It did in my neck of America.

Enough.

Let's go.

Simon started the rotation that gives me cuticle chewing anxiety for a week prior and exhausting PTSD for a month after on Sunday night. I was going to be cool and brave about it this time and just not mention it because after all! this is our fifth month of this nonsense (I really wanted to say fifth month of this shit ... but I sort of refrained) and you'd think I'd just surrender to the awful and roll with the kicking and screaming but never. Ever. Everything gets all screwy and I actually get jealous of the sleep I got when Julia was a newborn and slept for approximately one consecutive hour a night. Basically if you were to Google, "despondency" during these months you would probably see my notsmiling face.

Like this but more brow furrowing and less bangs. I cannot do bangs.

I'll happily admit that I rely pretty heavily on my trusty babysitter by the name of Net Flix - you've heard of her? during these months. The kids can watch an episode of something super edifying while I make them dinner or zone on the couch or get all of their various formula/water/lemonade drinking devices ready to go visit Simon. But tonight ... our internet went out and let's just say that my exasperated little chat with tech support was seasoned with a lot of toddler screaming and fighting and attempted discipline via yell whispers and I can guarantee that the internet lady typed a line or six in her note about our call that was recorded and monitored for quality assurance purposes stating that Grace Patton should be put on hold for 68 minutes next time she calls because ....... she crazy and her chimpanzees? they crazier.

But there will be plenty of time over the course of the next several weeks to doom and gloom it on that front so let's move onward and upward by looking backward ...

our anniversary.

We used some Christmas gift cards from some super nice attendings at el hospital to go out to a reallllllly amazing Italian restaurant. And I don't even really like Italian food. I hate hate hate hate cold leftovers but I made an exception for these leftovers and I fear they've ruined me for all future dining experiences.

And other odds and ends ...

Sebastian sometimes goes on these smiley rants of yelling, "shut up!" but it sounds like, "shop puck!" and it cannot be taken seriously. But it has to be! I can't be letting him get away with that but ... I also can't take him seriously so it's a vicious cycle ...

I'm going to go ahead and blame his pronunciation skillage on his medicated birth.

Speaking of births, I've been getting a gross amount of spam on the birth story link-up about spell casting?! I try to delete them as they come but I have not succeeded and well ... wtf. It's very weird. Weirder than weird. But you know what? I still refuse to throw word verification up and at you. Never will I ever.

I was putting some bags of clothing in a donation bin today when I spotted a baby stroller in a trash pile across the parking lot and you better believe that plastic baby got thrown into the trunk faster than you can scream, "trashy". Dumb. That was realllllly dumb on my part because now the older two just fight over their new flashy toy and Julia hides it all over the house and then tells Sebastian, "I hid the stroller upstairs from you but DON'T go and find it, okay?!" and Bash is off like a shot up the stairs and Julia spirals straight into hysteric mode which always brings ALL the warm fuzzies to the yard on the parenting front.

And last and most certainly least. At the hospital yesterday I was walking around the courtyard with Theo and Bash waiting for Julia and Simon to return victorious from the cafeteria bearing donut gifts after Mass when a lady approached me in all my stroller pushing and Sebastian herding glory and asked if I smoked and if she could bum a light off of me. Mmmmm. I looked at the 88 signs telling everyone to, "¡no fumando!" and had to confess that I did not which seemed to shock her.

this is actually from hospital sojourn number two of the day but you get the general photograph. She stereotyped me good. God bless her.


And now back to my Katy Perry documentary which is embarrassingly interesting. Judge me hard.