Detritus

We spent last night in a (free!) hotel in our town, as a sort of anniversary, hey-we-didn’t-leave-town-but-we’re-at-least-changing-the-routine type deal.  Jack was completely uncooperative and rotten, screaming and shouting for no discernible reason.  Through dinner, through watching football, through 10pm til we finally had him sleeping, and then every couple of hours thereafter.  Changing the routine – not so cool with him.  He wasn’t upset. Just LOUD.  Good thing we are genetically engineered to love him, because I was tempted to call the elevator, place him in it, and send it on its way, and only centuries of evolution and the ingrained need to preserve the species stopped me.

 

Especially because my mini cold is full blown misery.  It felt like the flu yesterday, so I was very excited about a large cushy king sized bed and cable tv.  Which we got, but I spent little time in it because I was bouncing a screeching, indignant 6 month old far more vigorously than was advisable, given my state of health.  Patrick took his turns as well, and spent a lot of our "relaxing" "anniversary celebration" caring for his ill wife and fussy baby.  We think perhaps my cold relief meds made him hyper?  So I stopped taking those.  Just call me Martyred Mama.

 

Oh, I still wouldn’t trade him, though.  For better or worse applies to the offspring as well, you just don’t get to bee bop at a big party in a ridiculously expensive white dress to commemorate your lifelong commitment.  Instead you wear a backless gown, hitch your knees up to your ears, and holler.

 

I just joined facebook, for the purposes of staying connected with my younger siblings, who find me a dinosaur and think regular old blogging is for old people. 

I am a dinosaur, because it is confusing the heckfire out of me.

 

Time to feed the holy terror.