Don't ask.
Chillin' at work
Mira changing Orion's diaper in his under-desk in-office cave
Happy baby. At, of course, work. Wow, we need to get a life.
Oh, wait, Torrin did that for me. He arranged himself a babysitter tonight. Here I was, looking forward to going to bed, and Torrin insisted on our leaving. We went to the Coffee House and saw I Love You, Man. The babysitter? A college student whom we had not previously met. Torrin Facebooked him. He's a volunteer at the place where Torrin, Anthony, and Sophia go to after- and out-of-school programming, so it's not quite as weird as it sounds.
I now have so many more babies to report on and so much less time in which to do it!
Littlest sister Sophia turned 6 today. Her ChuckECheese-a-thon arrives on Sunday. Today she got six candles mushed into a bowl of strawberry banana ice cream.
1. Singing along to your fave 80s synth-pop jams will make a coughing-congested-croaking-frog-in-your-throat squawk in pain.
2. When your hair sprawls past your waist a ponytail is not sufficient to prevent the seat of the rowing machine from attempting to devour said ponytail.
what's up, what's down, what's all around?
I don't know. This baby of mine, though, is 3.5 months old and he has gotten altogether too big already. Growing like a weed, a tall, skinny weed. With fab baby chubba-cheeks.
It's still tax season, so a sliver of my scarceness can be attributed to that, along with the chiseled-off-portion that has managed to get to the YMCA a handful of times for some much needed, much wanted decompress-destress chill 'n workout time. We still have a housefull much of the time also, although the 13-year-old sister has been preferring to stay elsewhere. Somehow PGG, Poppyseed, my mother and I weaseled our way out of the house leaving 4 bigger kids (Mira, 3; Sophia, 5; Torrin, 7; and Anthony, 9 under the charge of a friend of mine while we went to an art showing deal and other assorted festivities.
Speaking of things Festive-ish, I've missed two good Festiva opportunities this past week. One was white with a gray swoosh and a big delivery-dude-type-sign attached to the car with a sizable metal pole; the other was white and just waiting for me to snap its picture in traffic but I had forgotten my memory card at work. *sigh* And I'm still kicking myself over missing Santa Claus (or rather, a large white-bearded guy) traveling in the opposite direction in a Blue Festiva. So far, we have 32 individual photographed Festivas. More to come on those later.
Don't ask.
Chillin' at work
Happy baby. At, of course, work. Wow, we need to get a life.
