News Flash!

We were video-chatting with my parents today and Sarah gave us an update on her "boyfriend," Patricio. He isn't going to her school anymore. Maybe he moved away. And in Sarah's words, "he's probably pretty sad because he loved me so much." To be clear, there was no hint of mourning in Sarah's report. And there is no hint of mourning in my report to you, hint hint. I've started registering for Sarah and Ryan at Bed Bath & Beyond.

How to keep a semi-fulfilling relationship

By Dr. S.




In a moment of weakness. . .

A: Do you think Mommy's getting fat?
S: No.
A: {Sigh} Right answer.
S: What?
A: I said, "Right answer."
S: It just LOOKS like it, but I don't THINK like you're getting fat.

A: thanks.

Eres Alemana?

Prior to moving here, I've been mistaken for being European a couple of times. I think it's because I have such a sophisticated way of saying "hellooo." Or it could be because I'm so impossibly fair-skinned to be from anywhere south of the Arctic Circle.

Since we've moved here, however, the errors in my origins have gotten more specific. I've been stopped twice on the street and asked if I was German. Hmmm. At first I wasn't sure what to think of that. My only real contact with a real German was with our Philly roomie, Holger. He was typically tall and had a deep voice--just what you would expect of a German. Think Dirk Nowitzki. So am I mannish?

Then I realized. They must be mistaking me for her.

I'm not so offended anymore. (It could happen, right?)

Random W

Here are some random pictures of our little Mogli. I like them too much not to post them. So here you are: some Thursday night randomness.

Sneaking a treat.

Not really sure. Probably asking me to stop neglecting her.

Swings are her favorite.

If I'm lucky enough to sneak a brush into her hair and even put it in a pony tail. . . it lasts for 2.7 seconds.

Sneaking some other "treats."

Making friends with boys. She's good at it.

Part of that has to do with the fact that she is convinced she is a boy.

She also likes bugs.

And can tell a joke with the best of 'em.

Actually. . .

This is a boy Sarah met in Peru 2 years ago. But I don't think his name was Steve. And something tells me he's not from Philadelphia.

Sometimes I wonder

S: I had a baby when I got married. She is two months old.
A: Oh, you got married?
S: Yes.
A: Congratulations. Where did you get married?
S: Ummm, Peru.
A: What is your husband's name?
S: Ummm, Steve.
A: Is Steve from Peru?
S: No, he's from Philadelphia.

My little birdie

Wendy makes bird sounds. She's been our little birdie ever since she could sit up in a high chair. But these ain't your run-of-the-mill tweet-tweets.

These are your screeching hawk cries.

Her grandpa nicknamed her "bird-of-prey" when she was 5 months old.

She's gotten into the more vicious birds with age. I think she's channeling a vulture here.

I honestly don't know what to think about all this, but she thinks it's pretty funny.

I just hope she doesn't get a hernia.

Gypsy Queens

Mysteriously, the necklace that Wendy is wearing is now missing. And she is allergic to pants, by the way.

Should I or not?

As you may have noticed, I haven't yet gone private. Over the past couple weeks, I have done some heart-wrenching, soul-searching, self-finding, skin-exfoliating, and awareness-thinking about the pros and cons of going private vs. staying public. I'll be honest. My post about going private was rash. It was "one of those days" for me. It wasn't thought through. So I want to open the discussion to you. Why did you go private? Why do you keep your blog out there in the open? I'll start.

Why go private? You can block access to your blog when you're really mad at someone. Yeah, that will totally punish them. I can see them begging for forgiveness because they can't get their daily dose of Prattastic. Oh wait. . . am I that important?

Why stay public? You can become famous. Oh wait. . . am I that important?

While I go work out my self-esteem issues, tell me--no, convince me. What do you think?


P.S. Thanks for telling me you wanted to still have access to my blog. It made me feel good.

Cocktails

E: Jorge thinks you might have an infection--maybe you need some antibiotics.

A: No, I think my body is fighting it ok and I don't want to take medicine I probably don't need.

E: Riiiight. It's probably healthier to stay on the cocktail you've created for yourself. (Hint of sarcasm.)

Note--Reason for above mentioned sarcasm: see below picture for my "cocktail" of over-the-counter pain-relievers. Yes, even Children's Motrin made it into my cast of characters. Don't judge me. I'm sure my liver is doing enough of that for the both of us.

The way we were

This is how we feel at our house.

Sarah was the first casualty.

I was the next to get hit.

Sarah remained beautiful throughout her bout with the flu.

I was not so lucky. My looks took off and went into hiding along with my ability to not sweat while sitting still and general feeling of wellness.

They are still nowhere to be found.

Sarah is all better now.

I'm not.

That's what I get for producing a child who is too adorable to resist smothering with kisses even when she has a yucky virus. Guilty as charged. . . and I don't regret one smooch.

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