Merry Christmas And All That Jazz

Hello?? Is this thing on? Tap Tap SQQQQEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!

Testing. One. Two. Testing.

I know. I know. I've been terribly terribly borrrrrrring. I don't even know if anyone is going to read this.

I figured, when the whole baby thing happened, that I would still keep up with blogging. There are lots of people who do, you know. With kids and all. And eventually, I will have more time to do things other than sit on the floor with two lovely babies and blow raspberries on their tummies and kiss them and waggle teething rings at them while sneaking in a trip to the kitchen for a sparkling water or a bowl of ice cream for mommy. Apparently I am not one of those people who keep up with the blogging well. Who knew? After all this time to stop and really not feel much of an urge to blog is weird. But I generally only get the itch now and then. I'm sure I'll get it back when I start back in writing every day on the dissertation. But then I will be away from an internet connection and being so disciplined a Mistress of S&M would be proud. (Of how disciplined and not naughty I'll be).

But for now, I am still truly, truly enjoying those things above.*

And often, I think, just as I have for the past two years: This would make a great blog entry. And I write it, in my head. It just rarely (or never) makes it to the computer screen. By the time Andrew is home and able to watch babies for me to make a quick trip to the computer, there are other things to do. Shower, for one. :)

And by the time I get here, at least half the time there is no more blog entry.

I thought about one yesterday about the fat guy in the tiny red pickup truck with the bumper sticker with an alien on it that said "You Don't Scare Me I'm a Teacher/Roswell NM" who cut into my lane (I knew he was going to and I backed off to give him room, being all Christmas spirit and all). He waggled his arm at me. Then, as I pulled up behind him at the next red light, he shook his fist into the general direction of the rear view mirror. I thought "Is he waggling that fist at me? Man! I let the fat bastard over!" I guess his interpretation of the event was that he had to force his way in. That me, soccer mom in minivan, wasn't going to let him over. What a wanker.

But I couldn't really think of anything more than the mere observation that the guy was so clueless he couldn't tell the difference between himself and a person (me) who cut his bad driving some slack and wasn't even flipping him (the bad weaving last minute lane changer).

Anyway.

We leave tomorrow for our Christmas plans. Off to Louisiana where the family (my side of) meets in the Baton Rouge area for Christmas Eve day festivities. Which will include a turkey of some sort--probably one of the nephews (insert drum riff and cymbal crash) (and food too.) We'll come back either Christmas day or the next day. It depends on how much "fun" we're having there. And how much we can stand the 100 bucks a night for a hotel! (It's hard to get a hotel in that area still with the Katrina refugees still holed up in a the cheap ones).

So. We've got presents in gift bags (breaking my own rule about bringing gifts to some family members... they're very small, nice but inexpensive gifts to give since I haven't seen some of these folks in a while). I haven't packed yet but it won't take too long.

And the babies are sweet and mommy has developed a new addiction to Digital Scrapbooking. You don't want to know. But for now, just visualize the addictive power of heroin plus the crack rush of cute little pink and blue baby book items to print out and put in a book that the kids will probably only look at when they one day have their own kids.

There is no twelve step program for scrapbooking. We don't have a problem. We have lots of files filled with backgrounds, and fonts, and elements, and......

I'll see you all next year some time.

*The baby things. Not the S&M things. That's what I get for adding text without proofing it as I go. Disjointed Dangling Modifiers. Which I'm leaving. But trying to clarify.