You Scream! We Scream! We all Scream for --- Snow?

I live in WV.

For those who do not know it's not like our land plot of blue mountains majesty is near the top of the world - nor is it near the bottom. And it's also pretty safe to assume that the North and South Pole are not neighbors to me here in good ol' W of the V, either.

(Then again, I chose to go to Hawaii for our Honeymoon in 2003 because it was "closer" to us than flying allllllll the way to London.)

(Yeah.)

(I'm educated and stuff.)

And seeing as how Santa is NOT on my Neighborhood Watch List (elves kinda freak me out sometimes - with their little jangly footwear and petulance for candy canes...) I'm not really sure why, when I look out the windows, I am seeing snowflakes.

A LOT of snowflakes.

So I have two theories.

One is that WV is now directly located underneath the Bermuda Triangle (earth's shifting and all that jazz) so that our weather is now completely undeterminable at any give time -- OR

That God has a sense of humor and couldn't wait until tomorrow to release it.

Happy Early April Fool's Ya'all - From the Big Guy!

Now - where'd I put my friggin' parka....

Pillow Fight

I snuck into bed last night, careful not to wake my sleeping husband or the baby that slumbered in the crib nestled up to the far wall. Like a cat I slipped into bed, removed my restrictive clothing and flopped carefully --- on to the mattress.
I shone a light to find out where my many pillows had gone but could only see my husband. He was snoring, mouth open, head resting atop an intricately placed mountain of Simmons Beautyrest's finest.
I dared not disturb him so I searched lower in the kingside bed to find a pillow so that I too may drift to Dreamland.
The only other pillow in sight was nestled in between my partner's knees. The soft, downy wonder was stuck and being held in a vice-like grip.
My dear hubs, in his deep slumber of the dead, was sending me a message : my nuts should be

**Update** See THIS is what happens when I try to be sneaky and blog via an app on my phone and instead I get caught, the hubs pushes some buttons and I have NO CLUE that this was even posted! Or, um, what I was gonna say. But let's just all agree that it would've been freakin' HYSTERICAL! :) hee hee

Party Planning Post-party 'pocalypse

Baby Harry is turning one this Friday.

Which turns this chubby monster...

...into THIS grinning monster!!!

And this rather angelic looking monster, too! :)

So, since it's been a year - Baby Harry is turning one this Friday.

And, to quote every mother everywhere, it hardly seems like that much time has passed.

I think it was just a few weeks ago that I was holding him while he cried, fed him while he cried, and bounced him - while he cried.

And although his tears are now saved for frustration fits and for making me feel like crap for not letting him lick the china cabinet, I am still planning his first party.

I had originally wanted a small, informal, party but his father wanted different.

So I gave in.

And did ya'all know that you have to give party bags/favors to all kids just for attending?

I mean, all we got when I was a kid was a free piece of icing-less cake (my sister had convinced me it was gross so she could eat all the sugary goodness) and maybe a tiny scoop of PET ice cream.

But now you are expected to have coordinating plates, napkins, themes, tableware, cups, and food and snacks as well as cake and cupcakes.

And the damn favor bags.

So, as I'm pouring over my todo's last night, taking in "buy ice" and "serving utensils?" my husband sighed and, with the look of a well-seasoned traveler said: "I wish we would've just had a small family party."

So I stabbed him in the eye with a Banana Tootsie Pop.

Nah, but I wanted to.

Instead, I turned the page in my Dr. Suess-themed notebook and wrote "Family Party" on the top and started making lists for a small party - IN ADDITION to the bigger one on Saturday.

Lord give me strength to do what is asked of me as a mother.

And to, ya know, not stab my hubs with candy confections.

:)

Now You See Me...

Baby Harry can be quite the handful. He will love on you like you are his long-lost friend one minute and then the next he will headbutt you and kick you in your man-junk to get at your Iphone.

But he's cute - so he gets away with it.

Case in point:

My dad came over to watch Baby Harry so that I could empty the car of groceries, take out the trash and, I dunno, BREATHE for a minute. Harry is always very excited to see his Papaw ever since my father got down in the floor of his colonial-based home and pretended to be a cat to make the kid giggle. Complete with cat toys. And sound effects. For ten minutes.

Tonight, Dad came in, leather bomber jacket on, smile on his face and hair, as usual, sticking up like he had just been electrocuted (which, for those who know my father, we all know this could be a reality).

He swooped up his grandchild who smiled sweetly at him, snuggled up against him --- and grabbed his glasses from around his neck and tossed them deftly into the murky sink water three feet away.

I instantly admonished him for his baby-rudeness but, while I cleaned the bits of cobbler off of my father's glasses, I couldn't help but be slightly impressed with his aim.

:)

Oh, and, just a thought - anyone know if the Terrible Two's can start early - say at eleven and a half months????

The Mentalist

I was perusing the newly released DVDs when I felt a pair of eyes on me -staring. Not wishing to be rude, I flipped around to the endcap and shuffled down the next aisle.

"Hello!" said the staring stranger as he managed to block an entire Walmart aisle with his 5 foot frame. He smiled warmly at me from under a barrage af misplaced tattoos, piercings and rebel flag gear.
Not wanting to be rude --- or hacked into a zillion pieces in the Media section , I chirped "Hi!" back, smiled a big fake smile and then walked briskly back to my menfolk.

When the Harrys and I finally left I remarked I was relieved and told him about the guy who was staring at me.

"Oh," he said. "What, was he like old or something? Mental?"

I paused in the act of strapping in our wiggly 11 month old and met Big Harry's eyes in the rearview.

"So, lemmie get this straight. You think that the only reason a guy would stare at me is if he was senile or crazy." I tried to keep a straight face. "NOT that he thought I was cute or anything? Dick!"

"No, I, no!" my husband sputtered as he put the car in gear and avoided my gaze. "You said he- you made it sound - see? THIS is why people think I'm an ass! Don't post this on Facebook!"

"I won't," I assured him. "Dick."