Hair barrettes or efficient instruments of torture?

like a newborn chick
uncontrollably fluffy
supersonic noise

The wee-er one is growing hair! At nearly two-years-old (!!!) you’d think this might not be big news, but she was a baldy for quite some time. (She can also now purposely make noises only dolphins can hear – hence the haiku.)

Now that her hair is coming in, it’s all wispy and crazy. Imagine the giant vat that carnies use to make cotton candy. There are always fluffy tendrils of sugar swaying over the side. This is like the wee-er one’s head. I feel like I could find a paper handle, hold it over her noggin, spin her around, and end up with a confectionary delight. I also feel like her hair should be pink or baby blue or yellow.

So she has this new hair. We’re looking for ways to contain it, play with it, keep it clean and otherwise make it look girly and adorable. Well, I say "we" but I should say "I." She will have nothing to do with barrettes or tiny rubberbands. She may tolerate one or the other long enough to look in the "mir" but then she yanks it out, tries to eat it, and either feeds it to the dog or tries to stick it in a place barrettes and rubberbands should never go.

I’m wondering if there are any hair accoutrements that will not choke her when she eats them? Perhaps rubber cement? That seems like a bad idea. Maybe the barrettes will just pass through when she eats them. This, I should not depend on, I think. Hmm. I guess we will wait on the cute pony tails and stuff.

The wispy duck look is pretty cute.

more than you wanted to know part II

All is well – or as well as it gets these days. Turns out the placenta has moved a bit (yay!), but the clot is now over my cervix (boo!). So the baby moves or I move and trouble ensues. Hopefully the clot will reabsorb soon and all will be well. Maybe I will name the clot.

Annoying McPainintheass seems like a good one.

All this means is that I am back on the couch. After 8 days of nothing, I ventured out last weekend, did the car thing, did a Target run and I guess that was all too much. Maybe I will just drive around all day in the new minivan, listening to the free XM radio and testing out the cruise control. It feels like driving around on a couch, so that has to count for something. Right?

17 weeks and 2 days. Almost half-way done.

things to bring

stuff to cram in bag
food food food and some more food
need a bigger bag

While I am here at the doctors office AGAIN because the baby postcards are back AGAIN, I’m thinking about what I wish I had brought with me, namely food.

Breakfast tacos, cereal, some bacon, hashbrowns, a cinnamon roll. I must not be too scared today because I can’t stop thinking about how hungry I am.

This poignant missive is brought to you by the fancy iPhone. Blogging from the doctor! O, technology, what hast thou wrought?

Bye-bye MILF wagon

time to embrace destiny
and twelve cupholders

Well, I don’t know if there are actually twelve cupholders. There may be more. How awesome is that?

Yes. You heard right. I just called the new minivan awesome.

But it’s fancy, you guys. There are all kinds of magic hidey-holes and a moonroof and a camera to make sure I don’t run over anyone when I back the thing up. Fancy.

I’m a little sad to see the Volvo go. It was a nice station wagon, made even nicer by the random license plate it had with MLF in it. Too bad I couldn’t keep the MLF tag, but I guess the trade was worth it.

79 cupholders!
Cold air conditioning!
A place to plug in the ipod!
Children blessedly more than an arms-length away from each other!
Built-in window shades!

The minivan is cool. It is fancy cool, and I dig it. So there.

Martha Stewart’s black cookbook

too much time to think
can’t blame it on alcohol
brain is fritzing out

I was falling asleep last night and I found myself in that hazy limbo of awake dreaming. I wasn’t quite asleep because I was consciously thinking about how cool my idea was, and yet I wasn’t quite awake because now I can’t remember much of what was going on, other than a few ridiculous details.

Basically, in my half comatose state I had some kind of brilliant idea for a blog post. It had something to do with a secret Martha Stewart cookbook called the Black Cookbook. This "Black Cookbook" is something akin to the black Amex, though now I can’t remember why I thought it was such a great idea.

Maybe there are only a dozen Martha Stewart black cookbooks around, and these cookbooks have magical recipes in them that will entice super picky children to eat anything. Or maybe it is a cookbook with recipes in it for gold encrusted hamburgers and pearl dust pudding and other outrageously expensive things. Beats me.

I like the idea of a secret cookbook, though. I’ll never be able to qualify for a black amex, so why not a super fancy cookbook?

The thing is, though, I don’t cook anything. I think I have gone just a little bit crazy. And maybe I should not eat my weight in Skittles before I go to bed.