• The envelope please: I've decided not to update my header until Wednesday, when a certain state of affairs shall become known - i.e., we're having the gender ultrasound and I feel I should update said header accordingly. I don't think the pregnant thing is really clicking in my mind yet, although I did make a special trip to the Ikea in Philadelphia to buy these lampshades, on the off chance that Spawn is in fact male and we have to depinkify Norah's room.
  • Like a fat kid loves cake: We went to my parents for Christmas, which was awesome as usual - my mom even managed to stick to the "seriously, one or two toys for her and that's IT" rule. This is Nono's favorite:

    She looks a little drunk and disorderly, but I think that's just her hangover from all the cake. My mom asked Norah what she wanted to eat when we got there, and Nonos said simply, "Cake." Whereas a sane person would have laughed it off and said, "Uh huh, right after we eat actual people food," my mother went directly to the kitchen and made the kid a cake, complete with rainbows of food coloring and Christmas tree-shaped sprinkles (or "sparkles" in Norahese). The next day, there was another cake. And then a pie. And then I think cookies, but I was splayed out on the floor, unable to do anything but roll around like that kid in A Christmas Story crying, "I can't get UUUUUUP! C'mon you guys, I can't get uuup!"
  • Rockin' the Philthy: A week after we returned from Indiana, we drove up to Philadelphia to see Rob's family, a long and less-than-fun trip, which ended up to be less than fun overall, since his dad had a heart freakout and ended up in the hospital the entire time. But Rob's mom went all ape-crazy and bought a new car, which was fun - she and Rob went out "just to look," and came home three hours later in a shiny new rig. Beats the pants off our rig, too, because it doesn't have the big dent in the side like ours.
    (Did I tell you about the dent? Some girl backed into Rob in the Blockbuster parking lot, barely cracking her taillight and busting the crap out of our front fender. She then chose not to report the accident to her insurance, and neither did her dad, which was upsetting because her dad was the policyholder. And since her dad would not reveal to their insurance company whether or not the girl was authorized to be driving his car on his policy, said insurance company would not give us any money. SIX WEEKS LATER, after calling literally every day and watching the dent turn into bare flaked-off metal turn into a big old rusthole, Rob mentioned that maybe we should have our attorney (who is very hard to reach by phone or email and is actually invisible, since s/he doesn't exist) work with them, and BOOM, we got a check the next day. As much as I hate people who play the lawyer card, it sure does work. Take THAT, Allstate.)
  • We're gonna have to amputate: Here's my favorite of Norah's Philadelphia presents: the plastic doctor kit which is already in several small, dead-battery pieces on our living room floor... except for these:

Yeah, that's hilarious. It is. Just admit it and move on.