Priorities.

I went from this:


To this:

And it's OK. It really is. For the moment, I'm enchanted by new car smell, and the shiny paint, and the lack of pug hair. In the long run, I'm going to love automatic sliding doors and lift gates, and having enough space to put, as my sister once ruminated about her 3 rowed SUV "An entire row between me and them".

Of course, now that she has her sexy Jeep Wrangler, she won't cop to that, but trust me, it was said.

Although I worry about Amy's memory. Recently she tried to pin an old crime on me that had witnesses, for crying out loud. One, that I'd like to point out, that I never laughed at her directly for. I was nice enough to go into another room. Because I am a good and decent sister. That's just how I roll.

Blatently stolen from her cousin.

Brian and Jess got some great pictures of cousin Maya peeking out of the tunnels at their playground, and darned if we didn't stumble upon some of the same shots this morning. Our apologies to the original artists.

Note to self : Two hours at the playground on a sunny spring day is a grand way to tire out a 2 year old.

More note: It's also a grand way to exhaust someone who is 8 months pregnant, and completely calcified from lack of exercise.

I've needed to get to the store all week, and I think we'll go out to dinner tonight, because our options at home are cereal, dust bunnies and Mandarin oranges. I've driven through the lot of our grocery store a couple of times, but the 'expectant mothers' spot has been taken each time. The thought of walking further than that is unbearable, not to mention the whole "have to convince the toddler that the red car cart is equal, if not superior to, the blue car cart."

Not that I'm complaining. Because that isn't like me AT ALL.

Happy Easter, you bunch of bunny lovers.

Please don't ask Scarlett what the Easter Bunny brought her, because I, as the worst and most tired mother ever, did not actually get around to mailing in our letters to the Easter Bunny or filling out the requisition forms, or whatever it is one does to get the rabbit to show up and drop off a treat filled basket. Call CPS if you want, but I would hope that the bureaucrats would take pity on a very pregnant lady who was sick of all things pastel and sugar.

She's still pretty psyched about all the egg hunts we've been on this year, and as far as she is concerned the Big Bunny shows up someplace, hides a bunch of eggs [or in our case just scatters them about on the lawn and calls it a day] and then she gets to pick up as many as she can hold and put them in her basket. Trust me, she gets it.

Of course, I was planning on holding off on telling her that there was anything inside the eggs, but someone blew that for us when he rifled through them, looking for the good chocolate. We now understand not only what candy is, but that Mommy was a big fat liar when she told us that M&M's are solely for consumption on airplanes.

It couldn't last. I guess I knew that.

The stomach bug has an unforseen consequence.

When you don't eat, you tend to lose weight. And when you are barely 25 pounds to begin with, you can't really stand to lose much, or you start suffering pants related issues.

I know, I know...

I had the greatest of intentions to post lots of interesting garbage about how we FINALLY got the storm damage cleared from our yard, and how our house is now naked from the removal of all the dead plant life, and the ugly plant life, and how cute my kid is, and how she now says "Ta-da!" everytime she does something new...

But then we got sick.

We've been laying on mommy watching Dora and Diego and anything on PBS kids for a few days now [and let me tell you how sick of Dora and Diego and George and Sid mommy is. Sick. Ridiculously sick. Don't care if we never see Dora again sick. Oh, and did you know that 'Backpack' is supposed to be a girl? I do.] but we have finally turned the bend and today we are fever free, and wearing clothes.

It's a vast improvement.

Sorry for the quality of the photo - the only thing within reach was my phone, and I was trying to show my sister exactly what a sad poppet looks like.

I'm not Irish, but my kid is.

Our two year old is turning into a person. Ask her father. He'll agree.

Please remind me in a few months when I'm sick to tears of it, but today she busted out with a "few more minute!" when it was time to leave school. It was so cute I tried to eat her.

Yesterday, she took a spill on her tricycle that resulted in a scraped chin and a few tears. We came back inside, cleaned her up, wiped her face and I asked if a Dora band aid would help. It would, so off we went to get one.

Only, when I tried to put it on, she informed me that it needed to go on the old head wound, not the fresh one on her chin. And by "inform", I mean "started screaming, while pointing at her forehead." I tried explaining that it was long healed, and therefore did not need a Dora band aid, but I was brutally rebuffed. So it went on her forehead. She looked in the mirror, ceased crying, and went back outside.

I hope she's that easy to please when she's 12.

March Madness

A few weeks ago, Scarlett wanted it to be her birthday. We told her that while her birthday wasn't for a long time, Papa's was fast approaching.

So Monday, when I told her it was Papa's special day, the first thing out of her mouth was "BIRTHDAY CAKE!"

Thanks Dad, for letting every single small person at the party blow out your candles with you. Mom, next time you are out to eat, please swipe some matches so we don't almost burn down the house again trying to light candles on the stove.