Yeah, that was the Jaws theme song. Really.
Norah's got two whole teeth! Both of them are on the bottom, and she spends most of the day looking like a little barracuda, flicking her tongue over the sharp edges and pondering what part of my face would be the juiciest. It seems like she hasn't really been bothered by them, although we've had a few cranky evenings, but I attribute that to paint fumes.
Because Rob's painted the cabinets! They were heinous old oakish things with dirty potmetal hinges and no knobs, and now they are shiny white with nickel hinges and remarkably knobby knobs. Our house is sort of cavelike, and having bright cabinets makes a TON of difference. I no longer want to hibernate instead of cook, for one thing.
I'm sorry I've been a lousy blogger lately (as pointed out to me earlier by someone who deserves better. :) Obviously I survived my days with the three wild monkeys, but the weekend was still hectic with the painting and the biting and all.
So for those of you who are just DYING to know (shut up, you know you are), my lust object from last week is going to be an April purchase, if I've done my math and budgeting right and can count on those who said they'll get me gift certificates for my birthday. I have a new plan that will hopefully mean I don't have to be a nanny for the rest of my life, and it involves THIS. For the first time, I'm actually excited about an employment opportunity - I'm considering a job that I don't have to take because we need the money, and that I got to choose instead of being desperate and jumping at it like a hungry trout. I shall be a baby photographer! And I shall love it!
Quit your laughing, you. I will. You watch.
Yeah, that was the Jaws theme song. Really.
It's Sunday night, the night of quality Desperate Extreme television, as Rob calls it, and we've just finished watching Dateline... on which they profiled the Wal-Mart in my hometown. This profiling, it wasn't because the Wal-Mart is a top seller, or a great place for moms to work, or anything like that - it was because the Wal-Mart is apparently overrun with birds and they poop on the deli meat.
Birds! Pooping! In the deli! You wonder why I sometimes claim to be originally from Baltimore.
Wal-Mart in Madison isn't a totally bad place, and I hate the fact that millions of Americans are going to think it's a scary, bird-filled stinkhole. It's the largest grocery store, and the only place in town where one can buy lacy panties, a box of doughnuts, a trampoline, and a rifle at the same time. You think you know fun, but BOY HOWDY are you wrong.
Granted, it has its share of weirdness, namely that every time I go in there I run into my aunt and uncle, neither of whom I ever see at any other time. Seriously. I have a very large family on my dad's side - insert date to the family reunion joke here - and we just don't get together all that much. Wal-Mart, in all its bird-filled glory, makes a great meeting place, because when I get tired of small talking, I can always claim that I have to run away to the seafood counter and pick up steamed lobsters or a prescription or those panties. God bless those panties and their distractive qualities.
See? Wal-Mart has lots of good attributes. It's not all bad. Just remember not to buy the oven-roasted turkey. EVER.
PS - To the one person I still like in Madison: you tell your husband to make sure he closes his lunch box after breaks. :)
So Rob's sick. And by sick I mean "waking me up 13 times last night because he had to go throw up and wanted to discuss each occurrence in glorious Technicolor prose." Listen, Buddy, I want to be supportive, really I do, but I have to wake up before the sun to tend your offspring, and frankly I just don't want to know. NO PART OF ME WANTS TO KNOW.
However, he seems to be on the mend - although he was too weak to protest my watching Martha Stewart this morning, this afternoon he's laid claim to the remote, and it's been CMT since 2:00. Is that cute? My desperately ill spouse watches Trisha Yearwood on purpose. Why he bitches about Martha I'll never know - at least she showed us how to divide ferns.
Norah's really put on her big girl panties this week. She has her first tooth, which thanks to her father's dental genetics is growing in crooked and is thus extremely pointy. (Yes, I know you can't tell anything about a kid's teeth at this point. I also know you're not supposed to use it as a can opener. NOW.) She's also getting quite good at the flip-and-sit, a delicate maneuver wherein she rolls over onto her belly, scrabbles around with her meaty little paws, and eventually makes it into a sitting position. It's kind of funny and yet kind of sad to watch; she's gone from being my little baby to being my little Weeble, and I'm not sure I was ready for that.
Lord, it's windy down here. Are you freezing, wherever you are?
We're back. It was a trip. That is all I'm going to say, unless you email me and specifically request stories, in which case you are taking your eyes into your own hands and I cannot vouch for their health after reading such madness.
So! Have a peekie at Norah's six-monthers!
The smaller page, #4, has the two best ones on it. The tutu one is obviously a rocker, even though I thought it would be a little too gaglicious, and that last one with the hat! What IS that face? I love it.
Anyway, going to make dinner and pretend to be awake. Hope you guys had a great week!
Well, hi! Happy new year! Now I will write using lots of exclamation points so that it looks like I'm totally happy about our mad crazy life!
We've had a quiet weekend, which was nice, considering that the nutsness is about to crank up again. Dad and Kate left last week, bringing our resident-people count back down to four and our resident-dog count back to two (although one of the Dog Park Orphans came over Friday night for a visit, but she's gone now). We had yesterday and today to get the house back in order - which we did, more or less - and pack for our trip to Philadelphia tomorrow. It's now 3:18, and I can't make myself pack my own stuff. The baby I got, Rob I got, but me? I'm a'gonna have to go naked. They'll LOVE that.
I'm pretty nervous about this particular trip, and I will be first to admit that I'm being a dork, but I can't help it. The baby will be passed around like a plate of cookies to approximately eight thousand relatives, neighbors, and the mailman, none of whom will have de-cootied their hands and all of whom will immediately try to feed her cookies and a cheese steak. I'm being a total spaz, I know, but it's weird, the first "visit with the enormous family" thing. However, the sun shines at the end, because we get to stop by Baltimore and see our friends (and if you are in fact a friend in Baltimore and I haven't talked to you about a visit, please email me! I didn't forget, I've just had very important things to worry about. Like the entire population of Philadelphia.)
Anyway, moving on. Norah had two big milestones last week, which I know you were itching to hear about... First, she visited the pediatrician, who declared her fabulous yet again, and measured her up at 27 inches and 17 pounds. Second, we picked up the first set of professional photos from Lisa, our photographer, and OH BOY they're cute. She's got some skills, this chick. Check them out, iff'n you want, in our Flickr set.
And now, I have to quit slacking and pack. Seriously. For serious. And I am totally not going to watch Seabiscuit, even though it somehow found its way into the DVD player, and is now spinning merrily through the top menu...