of late

I haven't been able to write with any frequency, or really, think coherently with any frequency in the recent weeks. Coming up with topics for blog posts proves tricky, as I'm not sure how interested any of you would be in reading about the fog density enveloping my brain, which speaks to the bleariness of my days and my inclination to start an alcoholic beverage earlier and earlier every afternoon.

Nor did I think Jordan's hot-off-the-press hair feats merited a full post

even though I really can't say which strikes my fancy more: the fact that at two full years she managed to produce enough hair for the twin ponies; her flawless pronunciation of "pigtails" (anyone who's had the pleasure of hearing Jordan speak knows she has nearly unintelligible speech impediments that I almost hope she never loses, so dearly do I love them); or her exclamation, upon my fashioning her hair as such, that she wants to "show Deerdin" (="show Jordan" = "look in the mirror"). At any rate, she's come a long way.

Really, I've just had these fleeting ideas that halfway form into something about which to write (<--- fear of dangling prepositions for $500, Alex). Welcome, therefore, to the half-empty caverns of my mind:

• When Weston is ramping up for a feeding in the middle of the night, he sounds like an impending car crash. Squealing brakes and screeching tires and lots of drama to boot. It takes him a few minutes and some jerky T-Rex arm manipulations before he goes for the kill (that newborn wail - ah! so effective and so tragic) so I know I have a few minutes to prepare the midnight feeding before all hell breaks lose.

• I've been on a Jimmy Fallon bender. My bestie Meg insisted I YouTube "#hashtag" (and we know how I feel about those) ft. J-Timber

which led to the "more suggestions" column underneath and the discovery of this diamond:

and may I just say: Stephen Merchant is tall in stature, twerkability and hilarity. And well, Joseph Gordon-Levitt boasts the lead in a top five fave:

so ya know, he has my heart forevs.

• Another meaningless tidbit: I'm tired a lot lately. Stinging eyes tired. I've tried to convince myself to sleep when the kids do but I find myself trying to catch up on the Kilimanjaro of tasks to be completed while I have a spare sec. Somehow somehow I still think it's a good idea to log on to Pinterest every stinkin' night as soon as I body check the mattress. Whhhyyyy? So stupid. Close your eyes Jessie.

• I am completely, but I daresay not irrationally, fearful of blogging about anything that my children are doing that aid my day - make it easier, you know. This is because I have burned by the jinx. You put something out there like, hey guess what my kid's doing? And then. THEN. They don't do it anymore. Suffice it to say that Weston doesn't only cry a lot, nor does Jordan only pull out every single book from her library or find the toy with the most pieces to strew about the apartment and under furniture never to be found again. But I'm not telling you what those little perks are, because then they shall be no more. Superstitious wench that I am.

• Weston has made it his short life's mission to conquer every uncovered square inch of my body + my entire pajama wardrobe (extensive, let me tell you) with one body fluid or another. The traditional spit-up route, the somewhat unpredictable urine tack (you've been burned by that one, haven't you Wes? Right in your own eye...) and his specialty: the way of the poop. He tends to pull out all the stops (ew) during his nighttime feedings and changings and I find myself making frequent costume switches or sheet strippings at 2 in the a.m.

feigned shame. I don't buy.

• The completion of this post spans several feedings and a couple Gossip Girl eps. I know. I've sunk so low. But GG is mindless enough that I don't have to pay much attention should Weston choose to funnel spit-up down my third shirt of the day, plus it doesn't require the appendages that Pinterest does. Sub-par tv it is. No apologies.

So, how's your day?