I figured I should post this morning on the off chance that my connection decides to boycott Blogspot again at some point today. I don't want to drown the blog in posts, but I've also committed to at least one a day. It helps keep my writing fresh and *cough* interesting. I'm desperately trying to pass it off as interesting, here. Work with me.
Black Knight Intrepid rolled out of bed 10 minutes ago. I can already hear an explosion of anger from Gutsy, Duke of Bitchingham. I don't know why he has to be so moody. Must take after his dad...
... yeah.
I went to sleep somewhere between 1:30 and 2am last night. I don't think the Fourbucks coffee I had was a decaf. My order was simple: 'Hi. I'd like a grande soy vanilla latte, half sweet and decaf, please'. I merely stated quantity, type of latte, changed the base, requested a lower sweetness level and made it decaf. Is that so hard? Ok, I know it is. High maitenance, thy name is Maven.
Despite going to bed at such an ungodly hour, I woke up at 8:30. If left to my own devices, I almost always wake up at 8:30. That's my version of 'sleeping in'. I normally wake up because either Gutsy comes into my side of the bed and snuggles me, or InUtero Boy starts using my bladder as a punching bag for his morning cardio. Still, seven hours isn't bad. I can deal with that. I woke up feeling pretty good and waltzed off to Tim Hortons for a morning half-decaf.
Even at Tim Hortons, I mess with variables. I can't have a regular coffee or a decaf coffee. No, no. I have to have a half-decaf. Next thing anyone knows, I'll be demanding that none of the things on my dinner plate be touching.
Before leaving, I had to dress Second Tummy. Have I introduced her on the blog yet? Probably not. Second tummy is actually the fat from my original tummy that has made way for Baby Tummy. So Baby Tummy is that cute, round lump where InUtero Boy lives, and Second Tummy is that jiggly thing below it that hangs way further down than any stomach should.
Dressing Second Tummy is always interesting. It involves longer maternity tops and pregnancy underwear that give it a little 'lift'. With the right technique, the tummies morph together seamlessly like something off of SuperKabuMegaTransformers. Without said techniques, it looks like I have a watermelon with the bottom half having been beaten to a pulp by a bat. I had to change shirts twice this morning to find the proper fit for Second Tummy. It's a chore, but with my maternity pants attempting to fall off of me at every opportunity, I at least have to feel that I look half-decent. Otherwise, my self-esteem won't survive the next few weeks.
The Black Knight and the Duke of Bitchingham have now turned into elephants and are running around the house scraughing. It's a combo of screaming and laughing that only children can pull off. Hearing impaired kids are especially good at it. They add extra scream to the mix.
Anyway, I should go tidy up. We're having company over for a bbq tomorrow. There's not much to clean around here, but I have some grimy walls I want to wash. I contemplated having bleach thrown on them, but I think that might discolour the paint a little bit. An easy solution with grim consequences: sort of like no-bake cookies.
Black Knight Intrepid rolled out of bed 10 minutes ago. I can already hear an explosion of anger from Gutsy, Duke of Bitchingham. I don't know why he has to be so moody. Must take after his dad...
... yeah.
I went to sleep somewhere between 1:30 and 2am last night. I don't think the Fourbucks coffee I had was a decaf. My order was simple: 'Hi. I'd like a grande soy vanilla latte, half sweet and decaf, please'. I merely stated quantity, type of latte, changed the base, requested a lower sweetness level and made it decaf. Is that so hard? Ok, I know it is. High maitenance, thy name is Maven.
Despite going to bed at such an ungodly hour, I woke up at 8:30. If left to my own devices, I almost always wake up at 8:30. That's my version of 'sleeping in'. I normally wake up because either Gutsy comes into my side of the bed and snuggles me, or InUtero Boy starts using my bladder as a punching bag for his morning cardio. Still, seven hours isn't bad. I can deal with that. I woke up feeling pretty good and waltzed off to Tim Hortons for a morning half-decaf.
Even at Tim Hortons, I mess with variables. I can't have a regular coffee or a decaf coffee. No, no. I have to have a half-decaf. Next thing anyone knows, I'll be demanding that none of the things on my dinner plate be touching.
Before leaving, I had to dress Second Tummy. Have I introduced her on the blog yet? Probably not. Second tummy is actually the fat from my original tummy that has made way for Baby Tummy. So Baby Tummy is that cute, round lump where InUtero Boy lives, and Second Tummy is that jiggly thing below it that hangs way further down than any stomach should.
Dressing Second Tummy is always interesting. It involves longer maternity tops and pregnancy underwear that give it a little 'lift'. With the right technique, the tummies morph together seamlessly like something off of SuperKabuMegaTransformers. Without said techniques, it looks like I have a watermelon with the bottom half having been beaten to a pulp by a bat. I had to change shirts twice this morning to find the proper fit for Second Tummy. It's a chore, but with my maternity pants attempting to fall off of me at every opportunity, I at least have to feel that I look half-decent. Otherwise, my self-esteem won't survive the next few weeks.
The Black Knight and the Duke of Bitchingham have now turned into elephants and are running around the house scraughing. It's a combo of screaming and laughing that only children can pull off. Hearing impaired kids are especially good at it. They add extra scream to the mix.
Anyway, I should go tidy up. We're having company over for a bbq tomorrow. There's not much to clean around here, but I have some grimy walls I want to wash. I contemplated having bleach thrown on them, but I think that might discolour the paint a little bit. An easy solution with grim consequences: sort of like no-bake cookies.