Pink Prickly Pear

I haven't looked in the mirror yet this morning, but I suspect I resemble a squashed heel of bread.

My boy is gearing up for another growth spurt or something that requires him to grumble and gnash his bare gums at the breast all night long.  My girl likes to wake up early and aid in my nostalgia for things urban by playing music loud enough that the bass reverberates through the thin walls of our little house. 

We went to our town's little street fair this weekend.  We didn't run into anyone we know.  What the heck?  If I am going to live in something that bills itself as a small town, I want to be able to run into people I know at the local street fair.  Weirdo dog lovers were out in full force though.  If those Baby Bjorn type carriers aren't good for babies' hips, what do they do to the hips of small inbred dogs?  Slightly more sensible weirdo dog lovers push their little doggie-ums in faux Burberry print strollers.  WTF people?  They are dogs!  As Ranger Sandy would say, "A dog gots legs!"

I would say more but the boy is awake.  Not a moment too soon, I say, for after the beating they took last night, these torpedo tits are loaded.

It's the weekend and while I should be all, "Yippee, it's the weekend!" I'm actually feeling sort of tired and grouchy.  I hardly have time to brush my teeth, let alone spew my unedited thoughts on the internets.  This is a yay/boo post, because if I wait until a time when I can write coherent paragraphs it just might not happen this year.

Boo - I know you're not really supposed to call it colic anymore and apparently it just means your baby cries more than other babies, but...yikes...my arms get tired*.  Where does he get the energy to keep it up?  If I cried that hard I think I'd last fifteen minutes before collapsing in a comatose heap.

Yay - Lots of energy!  He can go for hours!  What a healthy boy!

Boo - Black widows. 

Yay - lunch at Pelly's - clam chowder, mussels, fish tacos!

Yay - an hour at the meditation gardens.

Boo - laundry, disorganized garage, disorganized thoughts.

Boo - none of the books I'm trying to read really "grab me".

Boo - hair issues.

Yay - IronMan.  I wonder who Robert Downey Jr's PR team are?  Because wasn't his whole career/life in the toilet?  Also, Gwyneth looks really nice with red hair.

Yay - Mini-Pear is learning how to walk the tightrope while holding an umbrella.  What's not to love about that?

Boo - totally bizarre, very vivid dreams.

* Yes we take turns, but my arms still get tired.

Face-painting

Tell me those aren't the cutest little kitties you ever saw - my favorite three year olds at the park yesterday!  Mini-pear decided she'd like to run her own face-painting business.  She made a little sign, we shopped for supplies, her dad volunteered as a model to practice on, and she's now set up shop at two different park days.  It's been a lot of fun.  Last week the business even ran itself for a couple of hours - some of the older girls wanted to just use the paints and glitter to make their own tattoos.  Face painting is so fun, everyone wants to join in - I think the above kitties weren't even painted by mini-pear, but her "apprentices".

 

Call me blockhead (does my jaw always look so square?  I look like a lego man!)!  There's my short(er) hair.  If I can figure out how to get it to stop falling out of my head, I'm going to grow it long again. 

Poor d-anjou does not look happy.  Probably because he's wondering why we've stuffed him into such a silly outfit. 

Mini-pear, on the other hand, is ecstatic.  Why?  She knows we're heading to the beach. Okay, first we're going to Costco (I know, on the weekend?), but then?  Then we're going to the beach.

Adventures in toy making

 

So D'anjou dozed off long enough for us to finish our crafty project yesterday - a little fleece soft puppy named Brownie.  I've never sewed anything 3 dimensional, Mini-pear's only used the sewing machine once or twice before, but I think we did a pretty good job.  He is very, very soft and cuddly.

I want to make more toys!  First I need to work on my embroidery skillz (or lack thereof). 

Mr. Pear got crafty last night, cutting my hair.  Then he got crafty again this morning, as I was not very specific regarding what I wanted last night and ended up looking like a rather dishevelled Dorothy Hamill.  My Dorothy Hamill cut is gone and I have a servicable little flip.  I suppose I look more like Gidget.  I was actually very reluctant about getting it cut (I'm 35!  I don't have that many more years of long hair in me before I start looking like a Wiccan or an aging hippy) but it was doing that post-partum hair falling out thing (please don't tell me it's just me).  It was just too frustrating to be picking hair off everything.  I will probably still be picking hair up off everything, except now it won't be a foot long...

Mini-pear and I are trying to work on a project today

So, why is it that I can lay down on the bed with the boy and he will nurse but not fall asleep?  He will almost always happily drift off when I'm sitting down, but when he's on my lap, I can't quietly creep away and leave him to work on a project with his sister.

d'anjou

You probably wanted a picture of this guy too, didn't you? 

He's sleeping in the morning, undoubtedly because he spent most of last night conducting a grumbly chorus of polar bears (he acts out all the parts).

Clearly, we don't feed him enough.  Nothing under size 6 months fits him!  He's just over 6 weeks old.  For those of you who haven't met us IRL, I'm 5'2", Mr. Pear is 5'8" and yet, we grow these giant babies!

Mini-pear-isms

On her brother's countenance, "This baby looks crestfallen."

On catching a glimpse of Tina Fey (we were scrolling through Hulu's latest offerings), "Ack!  Is that Sarah Palin?!?!?!"  To which I replied, "No, that's Tina Fey.  She plays Sarah on TV."

Her soundtrack to washing the dishes, "I love to scrub!  I love to scrub scrub!  I love to scrub!  I love to scrub scrub!"  I think the melody is lifted from an Architecture In Helsinki song.  I should get her started on the floors or, better yet, the toilets.

She's an awfully good big sister, although all the carrying around is slightly nerve-wracking.

It's been six weeks.  My cooking mojo is back.  My lady parts hardly remember when they felt like baboon parts.  This afternoon I took myself and the boy for a brisk walk in the sun, while mini-pear went to her gym class.  Exercise!  Food cooked by moi that I actually wanted to eat!  A president elect who really doesn't suck!

Happy Day!?!?

Buh-bye Georgie!

You are going to vote today, right?  You're not overly confident and think we don't need your vote anyway*, right?

It's actually raining here this morning, and has been all night long.  I hope there isn't a line.  I've got the sniffles.

 

Despite the plethora of Yes on 8 signs about (and the implied promise of participation in The Rapture - c'mon, tell me that happy little nuclear family isn't being beamed up by Sky Buddy), I'm voting a big old Nooooo.  Mini-Pear made a No on 8 sign for our window, after being warned repeatedly not to steal Yes on 8 signs and deface them in such a way as to render them No on 8 signs.

I can't wait for Wednesday so all the signs come down and of course, the Good News.

_{* Unless you were planning on voting for Mr. Marbles and Arm Candy, in which case, I suggest you stay home (whichever one is most comfortable), count your un-redistributed wealth, and shoot a moose or three...}