And also, this morning I sported the baggiest sweatshirt I have with the comfiest sweats I own and my faux-fur lined slippers...to Target. For all intents and purposes, I was in my jam-jams. I supplemented this showstopping look with sopping shower hair run through with some gel that promised beachy waves, and nary a stroke of make-up on my face canvas. Public meltdowns (compliments of mainly the toddler but occasionally the infant) have accustomed me to stares from fellow shoppers, so it was actually a welcome change of pace to get side glances caused by my outfit rather than my young. Further, I answered the door in this getup and chatted up the magazine subscription solicitors for a good fifteen minutes. Social interaction much?
Anyway, I can't say that these, my recent happenings, have made for good blog fodder. But during my blogging sabbatical I missed a couple of milestones, so I'm here to impart them for posterity.
1// Blogaversary (blogiversary? blogoversary? not a real word so why do I care about correct spelling?)
October 26 marked my one year of blogging. Here's my first post, replete with tiny thumbnail pics of my tiny thumbnail Jordan. What a difference a year makes:
2// I didn't do a Halloween post to show you the costuming and gallivanting! Because lazy. Here's last year when Jo went as Little Red Riding Hood and Weston went as Not Even Conceived Yet. And below are this year when a theme is (hopefully) apparent:
"tit-a-teating" (yes, I'm aware. totally inappropriate.)
Toto is the basket's only occupant. Dorkthy already downed the first few houses' candies.
"this is so not Kansas"
"If I only had a brain" and his heartless mother Tin Man
I feel I should also mention, because it's part of "recent," that this guy
he slays me. He can (and often does) cry for interminable periods; he can be the neediest, pansiest little mama's boy; he can request to be nursed for what seems like it must be hours and hours. Then he slips me his James Franco-esque squint-eye smile, like so
and all is forgiven. He is my 15 pound bucket of colic, with a side of the sweetest personality this side of the no-sleep zone. Oh you read that right. The fat, fat, fat child is clear through his wardrobe up to 6 months. He only wears 6-9 monthers or above, and it's increasingly hard to feed him on the papasan chair because he stretches from one side to the next. Jordan was so dainty until she was at least a year (when her stomach discovered its ability to rival Charles Laughton's), so raising Sasquatch is a little unnerving. And I love it.
Jordan in all of this? Smack dab in the middle, being a shockingly excellent sister. She constantly wants to "pay Wesson" (play with Weston), or "song on, dancey Wesson" - a form of entertainment involving many many uncoordinated toddler dance moves performed before the very very perplexed infant while he sits in his bouncy musical chair. She is also very savvy regarding my wits-end levels, as evidenced by her encouraging Wes to "knock i'off" in the car, where he is at his screamingest worst.
There's the mishmosh that is my brain. I'd say you asked for it, but you did not. Thanks for stopping along the way anyway. Now go and marvel that it is November - NOVEMBER. I'm still stuck in summer so I'm a little in awe that I can get peppermint mochas at Starbucks right now. (ooooo... peppermint mochas.)