in which the fingers begin to type words in no particular order - or- how the dam doth burst and it's either this or piddle on the floor

Things I'm doing to prove that the Grand Overlord and his Invocation of Total Silence About All Things Worth Blogging 2007 is not the boss of me:

  1. Rearranging LG's toys. Alphabetically. Then by height, tallest to the back.
  2. Fine tuning my schedule. Don't make me pull out the weekly chore list.
  3. Sticking out my tongue to see if it has grown long enough to touch my nose.
  4. Making lists. Of things that start with the letter P.
  5. Playing "From Whence Cometh the Stank in my Re-frig-or-ator?" (Is it a bad sign if you have to play that more than once a day?)
  6. Lining up my personalities. The little one in the front? That's Timmy. The rest are anal retentive biotches. But they all started out like Timmy. They always do.
  7. Reading and re-reading Anne Nahm. Because I *heart* Anne Nahm. Even if said heart all but exploded when I discovered that Anne isn't Anne. And then that discovery made me love Anne all the more. Because Anne Nahm? As in Anne-Nahm-imous (say it all together now, really fast. An-non-y-mous... yeah, it took me a while, too.)? So clever. In a crossing my wrists in front of me and pounding my chest while mouthing "Right here. You got me right here, you clever girl, you" sort of way.
  8. Playing "LeapBlog".* (See, I told you there would be a number 8.)

Other things that momentarily stall the fingers as they poise above the keyboard, ready to spill the beans?

--He:"Gwrrrrrrrrrbpt!"** [pause] "That's how I feel inside."
Me: blink blink

--BG and I have started a contest. The person who makes it up the stairs to bed before 10:30 the most nights each week will be the proud owner of a stiff (oh, stop it), crisp, new-as-the-atm-will-spit-out $100 bill. Sad, isn't it, when you have to turn to competition to give your body what it needs. Even sadder? Neither of us has been able to successfully meet said deadline since we started on Sunday. Will probably both die from exhaustion sometime in mid-August. Pray for the boy, won't you?

--LG has decided to enter the terrible twos 4 months early. Am not currently so much in love with my son during the 12 hours each day that he is awake. And the biting? On the tender fleshy part of my thigh? Right after he has head-butted the exit from whence he came into this world? That has so got to stop.

*LeapBlog: In which you go to a blog that you know and love, scan through the linky-love-list for an unfamiliar blog and go see what they have to say. Maybe even LeapBlog from there. Oh, the places you'll go! Oh, the things you will see! Also, you should go check out this and this and this. And if you're in the mood to do something in the "make a difference from my own keyboard" category, steal this. Seriously. Or if that one's not your style, go steal this one. Come on. All the cool kids are doing it.

**Raunchiest man-burp ever. Probably needs a few more "r's" in there. And perhaps an "h".

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Amy Jo said...

I must tell you, I am dying a little inside to know that which must not be revealed. I stay awake at night trying to determine just exactly what it might be. If you need to unload, you can always send me a big old email that I promise to delete mere seconds after reading it...Also, dying from laughter when I read 'Right after he has head-butted the exit from whence he came into this world.'

anne at said...

I keep trying to leave this comment - let's try it again.

You had me at 'hello' - this is perhaps one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Thank you!