My husband lubbed my last post so much he says I can count it as my valentine to him. (YAY, I'm off the hook.)
He said that post made him want to give me 100 fortune cookies just to see which ones will actually come true.
But he thinks that should count as his valentine to me. (cheap skate!)
It didn't take me long to figure out that he didn't actually read my post, he skimmed it and missed the whole point.
He thought I was seriously going to put on my flawless bronze legs and my thong and call him Jack in a Brazilian accent.
HELLO! I thought I made it perfectly clear that I left my flawless bronze legs in my pre-mortal life. I haven't seen them since 1967. And the only body part that has ever worn a thong is my feet.
Hey, guess what!? I don't need thereapy afterall. I found a Jack that I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH.
Jack Weyland. I don't love Jack Weyland!!!
When I read his book Sam in college, I tore it to pieces, poured Mountain Dew all over it and started it on fire. That was during my feminist phase so I threw my bra into the fire too.
And then I made s'mores.
When life hands you lemons, make s'mores. That's what I always say.
So peeps, I've been absent yet present again. It's because my daughter has been in labor.
It's so hard to watch your daughter in labor.
She's only 14 so of course it wasn't baby labor, it was mental labor.
But giving birth to ideas is exactly the same process as giving birth to babies.
An idea must be conceived then carried in your mind while it grows and grows until it makes you crazy uncomfortable and crazy cranky. Carrying an idea around wears you out. You begin retaining water. You get heartburn. You can't sleep at night.
And worst of all you can't fit into your old ideas anymore.
Well, this is exactly what my daughter's group has been going through with their history day project on John Adams. They have had the longest, hardest labor--with no epidural. I was tempted to perform an emergency C-section because John Adams is a huge baby! (And he has bad teeth too). He almost broke their poor little backs on his way out of their brains.
Once I got to help my neice give birth--baby birth, not idea birth. She was pushing that baby out for so long I thought her face was going to pop off. Because I hate seeing anyone curse, instinctively I jumped up and put my hands on her head and pushed down as hard as I could. Every time she pushed, I pushed.
To this day she says it didn't help her get that baby out, but I know it did.
So that's what I did for my daughter and her group last night. They were sweating and cursing and swearing they would never have another idea ever again, so I jumped up and put my hands on top of their heads and I pushed down as hard as I could until their ideas popped out.
My daughter and her group are now the proud parents of a brand new history day script.
And I'm a grandma!
(btw, love being a grandma! They have to perform it, block it, dress it, feed it, burp it and teach it how to walk. Hee hee All I have to do is sleep through the night and spoil it. I think I'm going to buy it an XBOX 360 next week. And Rock Band too, of course.)
My daughter took a sick day today but should be fully recovered shortly.
No gifts necessary, but thanks.
p.s. Here's a birthday shout out to one of my very favorite blogging buddies ever. You go, LoW. You're almost over the hill. LY, LoW!!!