As proof of the above, I'd like to point out my location: I'm in the middle of a music studio, nestled comfortably between a piano and an enormous mixer. Intrepid is going to be starting his first private piano lesson EVER. He's in his third year of practicing and performing with a stage band but has yet to receive any private lessons. We can only comfortably afford one type of lesson at a time and he loves performing with the group. However, the in-laws have generously offered to pay for private lessons, so away we go! He'll be starting in a few minutes, which is just enough time for me to write useless gunk online.

He started trying to teach me piano at my insistence. It appears I have absolutely no discipline or attention skills whatsoever. I lost interest after five minutes, partially due to frustration and partially because my coffee was getting cold; I kept looking at it longingly until my son realized it was better to write me off as a "lifelong learner". You know, one of those people who can't focus on one thing long enough to actually become good at it? That's me.

Except raising kids. I've honed that craft for nearly ten years now and I'm not bad at it. I even managed to bring Gutsy to Mrs. Wailing's house for part of the day, then to a furniture store, two grocery stores and a dollar store, all without fits of any kind. Naturally, this is due to my excellent parenting skills (when he misbehaves, it's due to his father's genetics).

While at Mrs. Wailing's this morning, Gutsy found a child's tape recorder/karaoke machine and instantly fell in love with it. I must say, I wasn't expecting to find him singing along to Fleetwood Mac. Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies, Gutsy. Who knew Wailing Junior had a retro side to him?

I looked in the mirror today, dressed in a long-sleeved, orange shirt and black yoga pants, yet couldn't figure out who I reminded myself of. Then it dawned on me: Remember how Linus would stay up all night in the pumpkin patch on Hallowe'en, waiting for The Great Pumpkin? We never got to see this much celebrated figure, but there's a simple explanation for that: I wasn't pregnant (I may not have even been born) when The Great Pumpkin came to be. But I bet if I went for a casting call for a Peanuts movie, they'd hire me on the spot. However, they'd have to film it within the next couple of weeks, though. Hurry up, GM Studios! Your diva awaits!

The contractions today have been fairly annoying. Nothing consistent, however. I've resigned myself to having this baby sometime in December, when he's good and cooked. I'm guessing he needs at least 50 or 60 weeks in there.

Blah!