Only the truly lazy need apply.

About a year ago, my mother brought us the Best Thing Ever Invented: a purple dinosaur (Triceratops, I think) that shoots bubbles out its mouth. No more huffing and puffing. No more dripping bubble wands. Just pull the trigger, listen to a slightly louder than necessary motor whirring, and wait for the magic of bubbles to begin.

For parents as lazy as we, nothing could be better. And just look at the joy on that baby's face.

In other news, bubbles photograph beautifully in our house in the early evening. Who knew?

Monday mornin' comin' down

I hate it when people write in their kids' (or worse, pets') voices. I'm becoming those kinds of people, I guess. Skip it: I would. But this is the true story of today so far:

8:45 am: Woke up. Demanded a bath by running to the bath tub and smacking it with hand. Drank some bathwater. Got dried, woke up Father, went downstairs, got dressed.

9:15 am: Ate a banana and a piece of peanut butter toast. As usual. And some peas. Drank milk and non-bath water.

9:45 am: Brought jacket to Mother. Mother put it on me and resumed talking to Father. Took jacket off, brought back to Mother. Said "Ah! Ah!" with excitement and urgency.

10:15 am: Parents finally get hint. Take me outside. Laugh at something called "plumber's butt." Climb up and down crumbling front steps. Play with potentially toxic bricks. Knock on front door and laugh hysterically at self.

10:30: To the back of the house. Climb up back steps. Knock on back door and laugh hysterically at self. Clap.

10:35: Get strapped into new wagon. Pretend I'm royalty and make Father pull me around like my servant. Laugh hysterically at self.

Peruse neighborhood/kingdom on wagon ride.

11:00 am: Return home. Remove jacket and shoes. Drink water. Eat animal cracker. Lay on the floor and play with hair. Cry a little.

11:20 am: Upstairs for earliest nap in life.

What we've learned today is that if you get your kid's heart fixed, you better be ready for a lot more activity and earlier naps.

Also, I have a great picture of the aforementioned plumber's butt, and I actually had it posted here, and then started writing a paragraph of apology to V. Then I remembered how vast the internet is, and how wrong some people are, and how much I hope V doesn't hate me when she gets older, and I deleted it. But for those of you who I know in real life, I'll gladly show you the next time we're together. It's really really lovely, albeit not appropriate for web posting.

All quiet on the western front

Just a quick evening post, with a promise of more in the next couple of days (including pictures, for a change...). The procedure went very well, and though all three of us were worn clear out by Thursday evening, Miss V was told at least 3 dozen times that she was "a real trooper!" and "such a cutie!" I'm afraid she'll want to return to the hospital more often. She was awfully adorable in her tiny little Tasmanian Devil robe and Ronald McDonald pajamas.

So V's wee heart is fixed, we're slowly catching up on our sleep, and we thank everyone for their sweet, healing vibes y'all sent. We felt them, truly. Well, V and I did...Shaun, not so much. And so it goes.

Freebird!

When Guitar Hero first came out for Playstation, I overheard one of my students telling the guy next to him about his job at Best Buy. He said with more disdain than I felt necessary: "Man, all these 30 year old guys come in and buy Guitar Hero, and tell me how they stayed up all weekend to beat it over at their friends house. If I'm still doing that when I'm 30, kill me. Don't these guys have anything better to do?" So I smiled at him politely and said "You're describing my husband and many of our friends," and then turned and rolled my eyes and gagged myself with a spoon. Why do I reveal my soft underbelly to their judgemental little brains?

So, uh, if you wanted to see this family socially, you're gonna have to come over and bring your X-Box guitar because we've got game. And don't expect much conversation, because we're concentrating very, very hard on our solos. (Psychobilly Freak out, anyone?) As a very minimally experienced classic rock girl (particularly with the song selection in Guitar Hero II), I have a disadvantage, so feel free to challenge me to a duel. But when the Johnny Cash version of this game comes out, I'll be the Queen.

For anyone still reading, V's surgery is set for Thursday, April 12th. We have to be at the hospital at 6 am (why does everyone need to be there at 6 am? Don't doctors like to sleep? At least the anesthesiologist must like to hit snooze a few times). Here's a link about her condition, for the curious or the morbid, or both. After check-in, we'll meet with various people involved, and they hope to begin the procedure by 8 am. We can't be with her during this part, but I think we can be with her as she comes out: the surgery takes 1-2 hours. Grandma Myra's coming around 8, and I finally decided to take the day off of work. I don't teach until 1 on Thursdays, but I don't imagine I'm going to have much to offer my class that day after hours at the hospital.

So if you get a chance, think of us on Thursday, and send us healing heart vibes, or something. In the meantime, practice your Sweet Child O' Mine. We'll be ready for you.