Of Course

We ate hamburgers and chips for dinner tonight. Daddy gave the kids a special treat with Cheetos. I'm not entirely sure of the chemical makeup for the orange powder used to dust Cheetos, but I'm fairly convinced it has almost nothing to do with cheese. It does, however, have the irksome tendency to stick on all substances - fingers especially.

Leah decided this was not entirely acceptable. I'm not really sure why since she thinks nothing of any other foreign material sticking to exposed or even hidden surfaces of her body.

I glanced over at her during the end of our meal and saw her cupping an open napkin in her left hand while placing her horde of Cheetos into it with her right hand. After every single Cheetos neatly placed in the napkin she would wipe her right hand... onto her pants.

"Leah!"

"Huh?"

"What are you doing?" 

Blank stare.

"Am I seeing that you are taking your Cheetos off your plate and putting them into a napkin, and then using your pants to wipe off your fingers?"

"Um... well, they are getting dirty."

"Why didn't you just leave them on your plate, using your fingers to pick them up from the plate to eat, and then wiping them off on your napkin after each bite? You are just going to get your fingers dirty eating them out of the napkin."

"No I won't."

"Oh, are you planning on shoving the entire handful into your face?"

"No," she calmly replied. "I was going to use this." She proceeded to show me a small corner of the napkin that she had already torn off before beginning this adventure. She picked it up and demonstrated how she planned to hold it between her thumb and forefinger, like a mini potholder, to delicately hold each Cheetos. 

Of course.

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This Is Not Fair

I have decided, in all my wisdom and glory, that it is entirely unfair of God to allow pregnancy to become more arduous the more times you gestate. I mean, seriously, what's up with this? Have I not proven my deep resolve to be a human incubator in the previous SEVEN full term pregnancies? Is my quickly approaching 38 birthday not sufficient evidence that I value children over, say, retirement at 72? Do I really need to suffer... really?

I am nearing the end of what can, without a doubt, be called my most unpleasant pregnancy. Now, before I receive a plethora of gory pregnancy stories sure to shock me, or anyone who has more than 3 brain cells, let me gently preface all this by saying that I do not experience technically difficult pregnancies. I do not require profuse amounts of medical attention. I am not bedridden. I have never been diagnosed with hypertension, gestational diabetes or hyperemesis. In fact, with the exception of Bethany, I don't even get stretch marks. You could definitely say my complaints are simply run of the mill. But I've been running the mill without much of a break for 13 years. Doesn't that count for something?

I am tired. And I mean really, really tired. I gave the entire house a thorough vacuuming yesterday and about fell over from exhaustion. However, this shouldn't cause you to believe that I am sleeping. True, I may well be found in my bed 22 hours of the day, but getting a restful night's sleep is far more elusive than placing your body in the room assigned to this activity. My right hip hurts. My left hip aches. I can't sleep on my back or tummy. And when I do finally nod off for a moment or two my dreams are the stuff of a Stanley Kubrick film gone wrong... and frankly I'm one of those people who doesn't believe there is a lot of right to begin with in a Kubrick film. His films give me heartburn. Actually, I have heartburn all the time now. Heartburn when I eat spicy food. Heartburn when I eat bland food. Heartburn when I bend over to pretend I am tying my shoe. Heartburn when I lie down. Heartburn when I sit down. Heartburn when I drink milk, juice, chai or water. Then I gag down my Gaviscon only to find that my gag reflex is out of control. I have to use my crazy ninja skills to brush my back teeth in order to clean them before my throat involuntarily convulses into some wild chicken dance and I lose whatever was causing me to have heartburn.  

I used to proudly strut around with my baby bump perched effortlessly on the front of my body. I now waddle like an elephant with a hippopotamus strapped to the underside of her belly. It's not a very pretty sight - nor is the dry, flaking skin stretching from my forehead to my toes. Thankfully I have a total of two muumuus that I can rotate in order to feel pretty and fresh every day. Imagine if I had only one!

I mention this to you mostly because I am soliciting copious amounts of sympathy.

*sigh*

Yep, this is not fair.

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The Adventures of Evilo and Yoj

Once upon a time there was a world filled with terror and no limericks. Two young girls knew they were destined to right this wrong, and thus was born:

The Adventures of Evilo and Yoj

There once was a girl named Dean,

who always spilled on her jeans.

She tried to be careful,

but still was disgraceful.

So, she never was clean!

There once was a colorful mare,

who had very long hair.

When they went for the shears

she just disappeared,

and wasn't seen anywhere.

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