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.

On rearing a wee serial killer*

Is it wrong that this plastic doll arm is one of V's favorite toys? Is it wrong that she's wearing a Johnny Cash t-shirt with red and yellow hawaiian print pants and a pink sweater? Because if this is wrong, honey, I don't wanna be right.

I also find myself compelled to buy the strangest toys at thrift stores. I know I posted in the past about the ever-so-appealing Gomez Addams doll, but did you know V also plays with not just a Mr. Magoo doll, but a Mr. Magoo On Vacation doll?? I'm pretty sure this is how to raise your own serial killer...

In the back of my mind, I recall a controversy from the recent past about a Mr. Magoo movie that was never released because the blind population protested. Maybe I'm making that up, but just in case, let me for the record state that I do not condone the mocking of blind people, nor do I find it funny when people can't see. I just think stuffed toys in the form of little old men are funny. Now I suppose the AARP will stomp all over me with their canes and Hoverrounds, but sometimes you just gotta take a risk.

Here's a handy list of words my kid can say. She doesn't use them in context much (except for "hi," "Bye!" and "cracker") but she can say the words.

Bye

cracker

circle

thank you

moo

cluck (duck? muck? It's so hard to tell)

two (said in response to "one...")

four (in response to "three...")

quack

yeah

no

meow

hi

I'm not so sure the child needs to know what animals say: how often do you personally use this information? At any rate, there's really not a lot more she needs to know. I mean, many people get by in life with even fewer words. Speech is overrated.

Now I'm gonna get yelled at by the mutes and speech teachers and animal rights activists. Damn.

*Did I ever mention that as a child I was mildly obsessed with Ed Gein? And as an adult how I am mildly obsessed with hating on Wikipedia?

Guten Tag, Meine Liebchens!

Ah, another triumphant return...So Blogger got all advanced while I was gone...stand-by for much high-falutin blog-antics.

Things I've been up to in the last 5 weeks:

1. Preparing for the largest garage sale NW Minnesota has ever seen

2. Enjoying spring break, including quality time with and without my sweet girl

3. Working

4. Sewing funky dolls (see photo, above, from the fabulous book Stupid Sock Creatures, a gift from my sister)

5. Reading lotsa blogs

6. Watching LOST, American Idol, and catching up on 24

7. Making myself new skirts

8. Playing Viva Pinata

9. Eating Girl Scout cookies

So as you can see, my dance card is full, and this extended absence is clearly not personal. It's not you, it's me. I do hope to be posting more regularly, and as I continue to refine my audience (hi, Aunt Shirley, Carla, and Tenessa), I expect I will get more excited each day.

And Sprout grows every day. Here she is, in a t-shirt from Prospective Aunt Johanna. 18 months old and moving at the speed of light. She likes for her belly to stick out of whatever she wears, and at this point it's too cute to worry about her reputation.

She's been diagnosed with a congenital heart defect, which we'll hopefully be having repaired in mid-April...mostly I'm trying not to think about it, in the hopes that then it won't bother me. It's a same-day surgery (she won't have to spend a night in the hospital) and fairly simple, but it is still the scariest thing we've encountered yet. I always thought those Hallmark cards and movies were overly enthusiastic about the heart-wrenchingness of parenthood, but the fact that just typing the words "congenital heart defect" makes me want to projectile vomit leads me to believe they were considerably more accurate than I could have ever imagined. It reminds me, too, of how much more comforting life could be if I only believed in some semblance of higher power.

Damn atheism, failing me again.

Umlaut

Since we named our child a letter, I should confess that I've always loved the word umlaut. I love how it sounds like what it does to a vowel: I love its simplistic little sideways-colon-ness. Perhaps someday when we have a pet again, we can name her or him Umlaut, and I'll get to say it all over town.

The cold is wearing me thin here, but I've been making lots of dolls and doing some embroidery, which is sort of new for me (the embroidery, I mean). I'll try to get pictures, though I'm not terribly proud of most of them since they are from patterns or other outside inspiration and not of my own devising. I mean, I'm still proud, just not AS proud.

In other news, I can barely contain my excitement for the new LOST episode on tonight! I so want to be a non-tv person, but it's just not possible with my lifetime companion, so I've caved in and now accept my fate.

V is walking now with a vengeance (hm. Maybe I should tell people that's what the V stands for), and it melts a momma's heart. We are better now, from my whiny last post, and thank you all for your support. I'm still trying to catch up but will very soon be there. To prove I wasn't making it up, though, here's a shot of V in the hospital crib with her Daddy looking on:

I know, I know, it's terrible, isn't it? But at least the sides are down, and she doesn't look so much like a caged zoo animal. Her arm is in the splint to keep her off the IV, which had been removed by the time I took this. And she was just mad for a second and then cheered right up, I swear.

Now, a more normal picture, showing off her sweet haircut and intense stare.

Isn't that better?

Where've you been, my darlings?

So the stomach flu has hit this part of the state with a vengeance. Or at least our part. I had so much posting to do about holiday goodness, but instead, I'm going to fill you gentle readers in on my activities from January 5-12, 2007.

• Friday am: V wakes up vomiting. We are out of town, but after five hours of throwing up we decide we better get her home in case she needs to be hospitalized
• Friday 5pm: V admitted to the children's ward of our local hospital, having vomited over 50 times in 10 hours. In her iron crib with a plastic canopy, I try to get her to play "Boy in a Bubble" until I realize it's not funny.
• Saturday 5pm: V gets discharged, and is much better. I go to to the grocery for jello and pedialyte and come home sick. Violently sick. Stomach pains so severe I repent for sins I haven't even committed yet sick.
• Sunday am: V throws up in her crib, Shaun runs downstairs to call my mom, then sits, trying to take deep breaths, in his chair. (I should note for those of you unfamiliar that Shaun has deep, dreadful anxiety, and much of it is connected to vomiting).
• Sunday at 5: My mom goes home. I feel better, and V has settled down. Shaun proceeds to get sick.
• Monday, 3:30am: Shaun, V, and I go to the ER because Shaun can't stop vomiting. V throws up in the ER. I take her home, sleep 4 hours, and call my mom. Shaun's mom comes Monday night.
• Tuesday: V keeps getting better, I go to work for 4 hours, garner pity with my generally pathetic appearence. I finally get Shaun's psychologist in to see him. Shaun's mom and I hang out, talk about how cool V is, complain about George Bush.
• Wednesday, 6am: My mother-in-law calls out from the guest room to tell me she's sick. I drive the hour and half (twice, for three hour total) to their house before noon to go get my father-in-law, because they only have one car and I can't have a sick mother-in-law on my hands too.
• Thursday: My mother-in-law has gall bladder surgery. We still don't know if she had the flu or if it was just a horribly timed gall bladder attack.
• Friday, 9 pm: Shaun's released from the hospital, but not before I bring V over and let her yell in the hallways near his room, so they have to hurry up the discharge process.

Sorry if this was self-indulgent/not helpful. It helps me to sketch it out, and I feel a little less like this has actually been a 2-month long nightmare when I can see it in a weekly schedule. Shaun is still only working at about 75%, and is exhausted and barely eating, but he's recovering. V is much better, and I just haven't had any time to be sick. There were times in the last two weeks when I felt like I was only still moving forward by gritting my teeth incredibly hard and clenching every muscle in my neck.

So, for those of you wishing for an update from this house, you didn't really want to know, did you? Please if you've tried to contact me recently, know I'm working on getting back to folks and gradually working my way through the backlog. Classes started last week (in the midst of all the horrors) and I'm just now feeling prepared to teach.

In the meantime, a little picture to cheer us all up. Here is V and my mama, who was the only one left standing after all this. I don't know how we would've made it through without her. I am reminded again how good it is to have family just 30 minutes away that I can call, anytime, day or night, and just know they will help make it better.

Hope you had a blessed holiday season, and may this stomach flu give you and yours a wide berth. And may 2007 get better from here on out.

Issue 1, Volume 9

Ah, the namesake of this website's Issue I, V9 is finally back from the printers. Those of you who signed up for my art trade will be getting one, as well as something that involves more glue. Those of you who are regular Languishing (the paper version) subscribers will get one, too...anyone else who wants one can ask, and as long as I have enough leftovers after the subscribers and contributors, I'll keep sending them until I run out. The photo doesn't caputer this, but the cover is a lovely cream color and the pages are coral. It's sort of a dreamsicle issue, and the theme (we rarely have themes, and when we do they are so loose) is Work. Back issues are also available, but I should look into that more and provide more specific detail before I get everyone in a lather over it. I know how you all like to get in lathers.

Perhaps my gentle readers are wondering why I would try to finish this new issue of Languishing during the last week of class. Mostly it's a procrastination tool for me: something distracting and satisfying that keeps me from the utter depression that is 50 research essays by college freshpeople. I actually graded 25 of those last night, and will do the other 25 tonight, so the zine was a welcome, cheering break.

AND! Our digital camera came back from the shop. I didn't mention the fact that it was ailing for fear of pissing off the camera gods even more, but it was covered under warranty and is all better now. Expect more mediocre pictures in blogland, thanks to United Camera Repair in Illinois.
15 months old, and she's just this tiny little person. She is so different from her father and me in so many ways. I love her.

Exciting Opportunity! Kinda!

I saw this on MaryAnn's blog, and now I'm adding it to my blog. The first five people to respond to this post (via the comments section) will get some form of art made by me. I haven't posted much of my art on this blog, but trust me, you'll like it. Well, trust me, it'll be different than you expect. Okay, you might not exactly like it, but it will certainly be memorable. And what's not to love about interesting mail??

The only catch, of course: if you sign up, you have to put this in your own blog as well. If you don't have a blog, well, you should, but I'll still send you something just the same, if you write in your comment a good excuse as to why you are not blogging like the rest of the world.

Okay? Exciting, exciting. It might take me a couple of days to send things, because I'm in my last week of classes right now, but don't worry, I won't forget you. Make sure I can reach you through the info you leave on the comment (an e-mail or some such thing) so I know where to send my artwork.

Sweet blogging art world meme. I love it.

Champagne Tastes and a Beer Pocketbook...

I guess I've decided to title my posts of late with songs my father loved. It sounds like a K-Tel compilation, doesn't it? "Songs my father loved...now for only $19.95!"

A tiny picture of the baby, who is 15 months old tomorrow:

My parents, my father, especially, loved to take pictures of us in mirrors. This way he could show my long, flowing, naturally curly hair and my cute pixie face at the same time. I wish we still had that mirror we used for those photos: it was old, a little discolored, and had a wide white frame. For now, we're punting with this unbreakable one, and V seems to dig it.

In other news, new issues of Languishing are finally ready to go to press. Thanks for all who have patiently waited on this...I promise it'll be worth the wait. Well, it'll be better than a poke in the ass with a cold carrot, as Tenessa's dad likes to say.

I won't go huntin' with you Jake....

Quilt retreat, fall 2006. A commissioned baby quilt for Grandpa Glee, for a hunting friend's new son. I made a matching pillow, too, and sent it off before Thanksgiving. It's weird making a present on behalf of someone else...for someone I've never met. But it turned out pretty well, methinks. I used 2 layers of poly batting, backed it in navy blue poplin, and machine quilted in the ditch.

We've been going to quilt retreat up to twice a year for about eight or nine years, and it is a rejuvinating experience everytime. We started because my mom's best friend from college, Kathy, was going with her daughters, Jennifer and Emily, who are roughly our age and whom we've known all our lives. But it's at a Baptist Bible Camp, which does wear on a good atheist girl like me. Every time for the past few years, either my sister or I have struggled, and vowed not to return. But I think we would all miss the seclusion and shared eye-rolling that comes whenever people pray for non-believers or a fellow quilter tells me with a straight face that she "voted for Pat Buchannan for president, because he most closely stand for what I believe in." I don't really spend time with people like that in my real life.

Another photo of quilt retreat: the whole gang: all the people connected to Kathy. The clown noses are because it was a circus theme. That's me in the upper lefthand corner, and yes, I'm pissed off. But that's another post.

Mmm. That's good foot.

Taking off her socks is one of V's favorite hobbies, and these socks are particularly hard to remove, so she's taken the brilliant step of trying to gnaw them off. These action shots were taken on the way to Park Rapids. I hope she can find use for them when she applies to join the circus, as either an acrobat or a freak. Either way, clearly this is evidence that my child is not merely gifted, but extraordinary and fully deserving of a place in history, or at least full time position with Barnum and Bailey.

Have I mentioned how surprised I was when she was born physically normal? I was certain we'd at least get a tail, or some scaly skins. But no, all my devotion to circus sideshows not withstanding, we were given this smiley, laid back, cheerful blue eyed girl. We should've named her Marilyn, like on the Munsters. She will probably bring dates home in fifteen years who expect normal, well-adjusted parents who will run screaming from our Lily and Herman-esqueness. With any luck, I'll have time to show the above photos, in our defense.

We went to the big city this weekend, my daughter and I. Fabulous people there in the big city; it makes me more lonesome, in the end, and I hate that. And there's never enough time to see everyone and do everything we want to, and I never get more than 5 hours sleep a night while we're there. But otherwise we had a spectacular time. City Friends: we're coming back, the weekend of Thanksgiving. I know many of you will be busy, but hopefully that will cull the herd, so we can concentrate on some of you folks we never get to concentrate on.

In the meantime, don't try that foot trick at home. You could poke an eye out.

Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home...

Because Ladybugs aren't scary, I kept insisting V was an asian beetle, but most everyone ignored me. One colleague thought she should be an asian ninja beetle, and offered to make her a tinfoil throwing star, but we were busy and couldn't wait around. All in all, it was an adorable Halloween, even if (or perhaps because) I worked until 7:15, ran home to take these pictures, and then went to my poetry workshop group at 8.

I do feel somewhat bad that I didn't make her costume, but then I remembered that I work full time, and I felt better. On the plus side, though, I bought this last year after Halloween, as is my way, and I think it's so cute, she may just wear it as a mid-weight jacket until she outgrows it. It makes me smile to see her little antennae and the wings on her back. Is that weird, to let your kid wear her halloween costume all year long?

Do you love the John Deere tractor and the Homer slipper in these photos? I am all about the staging and the ambiance. I bar no expense for you, gentle readers!

To celebrate that Blogger is letting me post pictures again, here's another, just to keep you alert. I know it's kinda dark and slightly blurry, but it's the cutest one of me in the bunch, and lord knows it's all about my own cuteness. Light and clarity be damned!

Gratuitous Halloween Post

If I had but light enough and time, I would pull out every single stop for Halloween. Not like the giant inflatable yard items, but like the spiderweb curtains, the steaming dry-ice punch bowl, and homemade costumes for everyone in my family and raging decor for our house. Like this, or this, or this. But at the very least, I could make these. Right? But right now I'm feeling like, at 14 months, V just is not going to really remember anything we do yet, so why bother? Of course, there are great photo ops, and if I don't do anything this year, maybe I'll like it and be too lazy to do anything next year....and my poor child will grow up without any significant memories. So I'll scrape a costume together, and trick Shaun into taking her trick or treating, and find a pumpkin to carve. And maybe next year, we'll have monster lips and steaming punch and cold spaghetti intestines. And everyone will go home happy.

No photos. Blame Blogger.

Words to reclaim, for the good of the English Language

I was reading someone else's blog the other day (which I can't find again, because if I could I would link to it), and she was discussing words that have fallen out of favor but are particularly wonderful. Her list included the especially marvelous:

Fie as a curse word.
Poppycock, as an expression of disbelief.
“I’ve got a hitch in my git-along,” meaning “I feel stiff.”
Zozzled, meaning drunk.

I love these. I want to add some of my own particular favorites:

Smitten, which makes me think of mittens and kittens and smooch. Which is about right, isn't it?
Sweet on, as in "I'm kinda sweet on my biology teacher. He's dreamy."
Splendillyiscious, which I may have made up, but enjoy just the same.
bona fide, which is just fun to say.
brouhaha, as in "What's the brouhaha," meaning hubbub or uproar.
hubbub, meaning brouhaha.
_______mobile, like "bitchmobile," or "mamamobile," or "nerdmobile," in describing what exactly a mode of transportation is carrying. Lately, it's been "Freaky garbage mobile."

So those are my words. And ye? Yourn? Share, won't you?


In the meantime, the title of this photo is:

All I need is my bottom lip. My bottom lip, and this record player. And this scooter. Oh, and that TV. That's all I need. Oh, and this miniskirt. Right.

Insistently persnickity blithering delusions

So I am mildly obsessed with this site, the Juicy Readability Test. Basically, you give it your blog (or someone else's) and they calculate how difficult/complex/advanced it is. Languishing has not thus far fared as well as I'd hoped.

You need less than a fourth grade education to read and understand Languishing.

This disappoints me, but then I remembered that it doesn't say "Hey, it looks like a third grader wrote this." No, it just says third graders could understand this. Which is okay, I guess, if you're some kind of freakishly dorky third grader who wants to read about my life and crafts and look at lousy pictures I take. Go get 'em, pardner.

But in the interest of raising my pitifully pathetic scores, and because most of the scoring comes from (as near as I can reckon) the number of multiple-syllabic words, I am hereby declaring my intention to pack in as many three-syllabe words into each post as I can. At least for awhile.

I'm shooting for a 5th grade audience, ladies and gentlemen, and it doesn't seem to be working.

I realize I could play this game by just typing "harmonica" over and over and over again, but that's just stupid. Instead, I'm forcing myself to discuss things like the travesty of fornicating educators and the truancy of rhythmically challenged percussionists. And don't even get me started on trolloping magnificent meteorologists. Man, have I got some stories to tell...

So stay tuned. I gotta go find my thesaurus. I mean, I must venture onwardly to discover my encyclopedic-esque tome of longer freaking words to use.

Knifty Knitter Looms: not for the faint of heart

I can't stop making hats. I make almost one a day. I've given almost everyone I know a hat, so now I will have to give hats to strangers, I guess. I'll walk down the street, just looking for the hatless, and Wala! Out of my pocket, a new hat! Would you find it odd if a complete stranger just gave you a homemade hat?

Yeah, me too.

I made this one on the 2nd smallest knifty knitter loom. It takes me about an hour, hour and a half, to make one V's size. She has four or five.

So...Anybody want a hat? I can make big girl sizes too. Or boy sizes. First person who asks, I'll make you a hat and send it to wherever you are. Bring it on.

I tagged myself. Sad but true.

9 Lasts --
9.] last place you were: Besides here? Cashwise. And before that, Willie's in Dilworth.
8.] last banana split: Just a couple of nights ago. I ate the last banana in the house.
7.] last beverage: Coca-cola classic
6.] last movie watched: The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Funny, but not ha-ha.
5.] last phone call: My momma, who has a bad cold.
4.] last song played: Er, NPR? Actually, "Today 4 You" from Rent.
3.] last BUBBLE bath: A month or more ago. I should get on that.
2.] last time you cried: Yesterday. Reading SouleMama.
1.] last tv show watched: South Park

8 have you evers --
8.] have you ever dated someone twice: like, broke up and got back together? Yes.
7.] have you ever been cheated on: Not that I know of. Exactly. Well kinda.
6.] have you ever kissed someone: Dumb question.
5.] have you ever kissed someone you regret: Repeatedly.
4.] have you ever fallen in love: yes.
3.] have you ever lost someone: Yes. But then I looked under the bed, and there he was.
2.] have you ever been depressed: ever not? er, yes.
1.] have you ever been drunk and thrown up: Seriously. Dumb questions.

7 famous people you'd like to hang out with --
7.] Steve Swiggum (how do you spell that, anyway?)
6.] Barry Pepper
5.] Tina Fey
4.] Loretta Lynn
3.] Janeane Garafalo
2.] Jon Stewart
1.] Michael J. Fox

6 things you've done today --
6.] watched South Park. The kindergarten teacher was having sex with Kyle's brother.
5.] went shopping with my sister and our babies
4.] laundry
3.] Ate an ultimate turtle fudge brownie
2.] Graded 20 papers
1.] Watched this week's LOST.

5 people you can tell pretty much anything to --
5.] V
4.] Tami
3.] Jeni
2.] Tenessa
1.] Shauners

4 favorite colors --
4.] purple
3.] orange
2.] red
1.] yellow

3 things you want to do before you die --
3.] Go back to the Wisconsin Dells and play with the family.
2.] See Ireland
1.] Watch my daughter grow up, preferably healthily & happily.

2 favorite ice cream flavors --
2.] peppermint bonbon
1.] Pralines & cream

1 job you wanted as a kid --
1.] Poet (I know. Dorky.)

So there you go. I tag Carla and Tenessa. Tag! You're it.

Please, Chino, let it not be true...

So this, ladies and

gentlemen, is my daughter. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. Fruit of my womb. Seriously. My friends assure me this is just a phase, but her father is encouraging this face whenever possible, so I assume her prom pictures will look much like these, but without the bib (or the top-of-the-head ponytail. Maybe).

Here's a shot sans flash, so you can see she makes this face even with her eyes open. (yes, we know she needs a haircut. Back off). Often, she lowers her bottom lip so we can see her 1.5 teeth. And she makes disturbing sounds like "mmmna, mmmna, mmmna." Which is perhaps an improvement over the song she sings to herself most other times, which goes, in part, "dickadickadicka."

I fully accept that by posting these photos, I am ruining her chances to ever run for political office. That's okay, anyway, since her father hates little more than he hates politicians. I just want her to stop making that face. As a side note, I also have no illusions about this blog's readership. Aunt Shirley, if you're there, send a comment. The other three of you? Yeah, you. C'mon. Write and tell me if you think this is just a phase or if her face really will stick that way.

Here's a parting shot to show her gleeful reaction when Mama recoils in horror at the Mmmna mmmna face.

Now that's my girl, laughing her freaking head off.