Impractical Net.

With the help of a friend, today, I realized that I'm in survival mode.  Survival mode really can be intense, but thankfully for me I do a wonderful job at not realizing things/ignoring them.  I just had a million friends unfriend me on facebook.  Now that's serious.  And Mr Incredible has no idea what he'll be doing for job(s) in the next two months.  And I have a serious dilemma going on with sending my 4 year old to school next year.  And, are we moving relatively soon?  Are we going to be having a pay cut?  Will Peppy live to see next year?  Crisis mode.

Impractical enough.  I hope you see the parallel.

Relatively speaking, this all looks just fine.  Things work out.  Thankfully my marriage is not failing, my children are healthy, and my dog doesn't have lock jaw.  And he's little enough that the one and half year can restrain him if need be.  There has never been a need, but the little comforts in life are the ones we emotionally fall back on, no?  And there is always Mr Incredible to fall back on, too.  He's painfully practical, with a tiny streak of idealism in him.  Like, for instance, when we recently bought our new van, he confidently yet carelessly threw the "valet key" in the glove compartment.  When a wrinkle formed between my brows and I asked him what he was doing, he replied, "it's a valet key!"  As though we're going to need valet parking.  Ever.  Maybe once a year we go somewhere with valet parking, but even still we get there approximately 4.5 hours before the rush.  Like 4pm not 830pm.  Ideal thinking, eh?  In reality we will need that key within the first month of owning the car, because the kids will lose the other keys, and the doors will be locked, and then we'll realize that the "valet key" is in the glovebox.  Then we'll really be SOL.  But sometimes his tiny proton of idealism is just so comforting.  Valet key when we're about to experience pay cut.  Tell me you don't want it.

I'm expecting Mr Incredible to come home tomorrow, and tell me that he's purchased Burial insurance.  Or, in the midst of all of his exams, papers, work, Peppy walks, kissing the girls goodbye, I'll find him on the computer looking up Medigap Insurance.  I'm 24.  But seriously, what's not to love about the impractical idealist side of him?  One has to rein the other in.  We've got it under control.  Kind of.  Thank God for my recent burial insurance for senior citizens.

The Problem with No Wheels

So here I am on day three (four?) with no wheels.  I'm actually really really loving it.  ie My excuse to exercise.  However there is just one teensy problem with no wheels.

When I was born my 7 year old at the time sister asked if I was Italian.  Because I came out with SO MUCH dark, thick hair.  We're Irish and German, no we're not Italian, no I'm not the post man's daughter, I just got the only strand of hairy dna in my entire ancestry.  So if you're anything like me there is no doubt to the question 'If you could have only one thing while stranded on a deserted island what would it be?'  umtweezersduh.  Not that I'm prideful, but more that my rescuers wouldn't mistake me for a gorilla.  AND if you're anything like me then you know there is no light like natural light.  Not even halogens.  So basic "if and only if" math says 'if you are hairy and only if natural light is suitable to do a thorough job then you tweeze in the car.'  No doubt.

these are the things I learned in college.  ie to be super woman

Unfortunately I didn't think of that when Jamie the tow man towed my car and all 4 sets of tweezers away.  To it's final destination.  Well, no, actually just the car shop.  But 4 days for my face is final destination.


Yesterday emerging from the shower my two year old said, "Peppy pooooped."  This sort of um, shit, throws me over the edge.  So I went into our family room to find it.  No where to be found.  No where.  But it stunk to the high heavens.  Then I saw it: smears on the couch.  I nearly lost my head and Peppy nearly lost his life when I decided that some fresh air would do us good.  (after wooliting the um, shit, out of our couches and scrubbing them.)  So we walked to Walgreens.  On the way I realized Peppy was covered in fecal matter.  We dropped Peppy off at the groomer to get bathed.  Then picked up 2 sets of tweezers at Walgreens.  Then went to Pizza Hut for dinner.  Then walked home.

So friends, I'm happy to report that our house smells fresh, Peppy's ass is fresh, my face is fresh and I'm a new woman.  All with out a car.

thank you Duquesne.  For making yesterday possible. 

I get by with a little help from my friends (followers?)

We all remember the days of celebrating when we'd have one more follower.  I remember clearly the day that I was up to my fourth follower and first random commenter.  I shouted for joy and told Mr Incredible (among others) and I quote: "A professional blogger commented!"  I'm realizing a year or so later that she wasn't "professional" she had a lot of followers.  Again, my mantra applies, tomato tomahto.
.....
Wait.  Who am I kidding?  I still wait for just one more follower.  And a different commenter.  Heck!  I even got an anonymous commenter the other day!  The only reason I was sad was because I wasn't verbally harassed by he she (it?).  And I'm still, STILL waiting for the day I get a Cambodian spammer in my comments section.  That's official like relationship status on facebook official.

But alas.

So I'm imploring your help.  Because when Jen says that she's blogging for her job (pffff) and Emcy asks "how do you have 104 followers?  Not that I care how many followers I have...*trailing off...* (pfff) and Rose is "online journaling" we all just know that they are new bloggers who haven't come to grips with Step 1: Admitting.  Admitting that we are powerless over our need to be noticed.  To have followers.

We all want to be leaders of a circus.  In our case, it's a virtual circus.  Which is pretty thought provoking.  Descartes, anyone?  (Rose?)

So I'm going to strongly advise you to go read their blogs and follow.  Follow.  Follow.  And I'm going to proudly list them on my blog roll under my (not yet existent) Friends and family Blogs.  I always thought those friend and family blogs were such a Below the Belt Move.  Like saying, "these are outrageously awesome blogs under 'My Faves,' but please excuse my Friends and Families' blogs."  Not so, friends.

I guarantee youll be slightly envious of their way with words.  Dormant Gloria Steinman?  Yes please.  Delightfully and maybe overeagerly assisting policemen (while describing her husband as having a 'clipped bark'?)  Uh thank you yes.  Chicken wings (too many?)?  Forgetting to  take out the garbage (again?)?  Now that is empathy at its finest.

Welcome to the Family

I've discovered something new about me today.  I'M NOT A NATURAL AT DOG REARING.  I've discovered something else about me today.  I take back all the times I self deprecatingly shook my head at people when they would say that I'm natural and good mom.  BECAUSE I AM.  My new dog told me so.

New dog, you say?  Kiera, what's this?  Answer:  I don't know!

Here's the story.  We wanted a labradoodle.  We as in I suggested a dog to Mr Incredible.  Ya know, someone to play fetch with.  Labradoodle- hypoallergenic, relatively mild, kid friendly.  I always wanted a big dog.  So it met the criteria.  Yesterday we go to the pet store, conversation as follows:
Me: Mr Incredible just so you know if there's a labradoodle in there I'll want it immediately.
Him: No, we're going to go through a breeder, not the pet store,
Me: Just sayin.

Lo and behold, there was the sweetest lookin' labradoodle you ever did see there.  (commence whining and my argument why we should get him right.now.)

Until took him out and played with him, that is.

Just a flesh wound.

My sweet little timid, timid, scared of any living thing (potato bugs included) children asked to play with a puppy that was little and sweet.  We chose a little Havanese puppy.  Upon delivery to my arms the pet shop worker said, "this dog is basically dead it's so chill."  

Right. up. my. alley.  Eldest daughter held this dog (!!) for 15 minutes (!!!!).  And then said "I want to buy him."  *heart melting*

Blah blah blah I can't believe I'm giving you all these details.  

cut to the chase next day we bought dog.  Named him Peppy.  

I did my research on Havanese dogs, but maybe not so much dogs in general.  A) You have to take them out in the middle of the night?  B) You have to let them "cry it out in the cage?"  THIS is the point that I'm emotionally detaching myself.  None of my kids "cried it out" in their cribs (and btw, they sleep through the night in their own bed (cept the baby is still in our bed))  But I'll be damned if a dog ends up in bed with me.  I'll be damned.  C) Dogs have "rest time" and "play time."  I thought dogs just laid around all day waiting to harass the mailman.  No?  No.

Needless to say, I'm more tired than I've been in a while.  Although this is the nice type of tired because my body isn't recovering from labor.

Meet Peppy

in all his glory.

With Pep in his step.

No money in the world

This is not an obituary.  They're alive and kickin' despite what these close up photos say.  

Just sayin', I wouldn't have it any other way.

You know this isn't a mommy blog.  But I do own bragging rights.

We must rise as a nation and send them to meredith.

I'm stealing these family photos from her to make sure more people can appreciate this.  Because I'm crying laughing and beer literally just came out of my nose looking at these.  Meredith, thank you for the good word that you spread throughout the 'net.  I wouldn't have laughed yet tonight if it weren't for you.

BUT before you look try to think if you have any awkward family photos.  If you do, you too can be featured.  Send 'em.

now some of my own research:

google.  duh.

Taking the plunge

I've said before how we really, really don't watch much tv.  Really not at all.  Mr Incredible and I love The Mentalist, Castle and The Amazing Race, and he loves hockey and football, but other than that very rare.

So what is it with feeling like canceling our cable is going to be a sentence?  Isn't it kind of crazy that having cable is just what you do?  It's NUTS.  It's give or take $60.  Sixty dollars a month.  That is ballpark $700 dollars a year.  (!!!!)  Basically we pay about $3 an episode for our favorites.  But even not really because off season, reruns, etc.  AND you can nearly find any show on hulu if you wait 24 hours (except the Mentalist)

So why am I getting cold feet?

When I called to cancel the lady said that for $11 a month we can just get the basic channels.  That seems to cure my hesitance, but do I really want to pay $11 more (than I have to) a month?  I know, it's the all or nothing in me.  It's seems obvious to do that, right?  (When I can't get ahold of Mr Incredible for more than 5 minutes, I reach out to you, blog readers.  Delight in that.)

via

New Leaf

First things first.  Hello 3 column minima template sans ShabbyBlog background.  Welcome.  I'll be honest.  I never really ever actually notice anyone else's template/background/layout unless it's really rockin'.  AAalmost never.  So I really don't expect that you've ever noticed mine.  BUT isn't it beautiful?  My technologically, beautiful, smart smart savvy smart cousin figured out my html hell I was in.  I am SO excited.  When I asked Mr Incredible to look at my "new blog" he said, "was. it. the. chad?"?   Um no.  New layout.  Not blog post title.  But you might have never seen the old one.  And that's cool (kinda).

So speaking of Mr Incredible and all his incredible-ness, he is starting an accelerated (I told you he's above average) school program.  Basically it's four years of school all crammed into one.  And he'll be working all the while.  Ahmazing.  (orange you glad I didn't say incredible?)  Fifty. four. credit. hours.  In the next 365 days.  

And of course, since this is my blog and solely about me-ow I'll tell you how this directly effects me. 

...

...

K, I'm not really sure.  But I'll be damned if I don't have three meals a day served every single day of the next 365.  For some reason the only way I can think to contribute is with food.  And cleaned and ironed clothes.  (have I ever told you how much I luuurve to iron???)  Any other suggestions?  Should I be doing more?  Less (never)?

via

Me.  Pearls, yes.  Black turtleneck under blue polka dots, no.  Grey hair, kill me.  Pink napkin, Incredible wouldn't be caught dead.  Second degree burns due to chicken casserole steam, hope not.

What I've been up to

We've established that I've been royally annoyed with Blogger, no?  In all actuality, that's only about 70% of my excuse as to why I haven't been blogging.  The other 30% is called 'different creative outlet.'  Correct.  I am only able to handle one creative outlet at a time.  Further proving that I'm not naturally creative.  E for effort though.

So anyway.  You know how I go through those "I'm a sucky mom!"  "I'm a hands on mom!" kicks?  Well she's at it again, folks.  This time it's more like "I'm an all natural faux homeschooling mom who only participates in all things warm, fuzzy and mother earth-ish."

The fruits of my labor:

JA!  How cute is he?!  Please realize that this is my first Waldorf (or any other type, for that matter) doll and I'm hooked.  So hopefully my future dolls will look less like they've just had their wisdom teeth out and more like this (this is what I was going to use for Wordless Wednesday...):

no, wait, maybe they are very similar.  My babies are very fat.  Very Fat.  And I like to dress them as close to a fat Buffalo Jills as possible.  OH that's a joke.  That outfit was painted on her.

So back to the dolls.  My friend taught me how to make the heads, which are the hardest part.  Then I stumbled on this site which gives free tutorials et cetera.  I'm so excited to make dolls for our doll house, and more little snuggly dolls.  WHO KNOWS.  Maybe I'll get good enough to actually sell these little beauties!?

The morning after I finished my doll my three year old came in and woke me up and said, "mommy!  I love my doll!"  uh, super cute and Mr Incredible shed a tear or two.  Don't tell him I said that.

this one goes for $125 on Etsy.  I will be a millionaire.  

Lastly, my parent's are away for the weekend at the Sheep and Wool convention in Baltimore.  a) they're picking me up so high quality doll hair wool stuff b) I'm not kidding.  They took a plane.  

I'll post more pics of my up and coming dolls, and hopefully some with hair, too.  Because you carrrrre.

  pps Mr Incredible already told me that his body is disproportionate to his head.  Thanks anyway!

This post took me 24 hours. I'm not sure why.

I promised my ever faithful reader (hi nwright) that I would document my Friday birthday celebration.   She wanted picture documentation, but that stopped real quick after I took the first picture in fancy-ville restuarant and my little samsung flash lit up the entire place and screamed that I am not accustomed to fancy dinners with just the husband.  And that my camera takes embarrassingly bad pictures:

sorry nwright.

I'll start with first things first.  Drinks.  Let me preface this with I had a rough day.  I showed up at my parents' house crying sans makeup, frizzy hair and insisting that neither I nor the kids deserved to have fun because we were all acting crazy.  My ever understanding mother said four simple words that changed my night.  "Go have a Manhattan."  "okay."

Have you ever had a Manhattan?????  I thought it was going to be something fruity delicious wonderful because my parents are NOT drinkers.  I should've known better when the waiter started asking me how I wanted it and with what type of whisky.  Being the obedient child I am, though, I told him to make it on the "sweeter" side (read: straight up rubbing alcohol with a marachino cherry).  First sip made my eyes water and remind me of the first time I drank.  

Bread: Pretzel rolls with butter (mustard would've gone better, Black and Blue)

Appetizers:  Crab and lobster fondue aka cheese cheese cheese with a side of gourmet

Bottle of wine: (should've known even better than the Manhattan)

Dinner:  Mr Incredible got the Paella; spicy clams, lobster, crab, scallops, shrimp, on top of saffron rice.  But that's not really accurate because I don't really remember.  I got short ribs and hangar with bleu cheese mashed potatoes and the biggest awesomest onion rings you could imagine.  I didn't even eat half of it because at that point I went to the bathroom to check to see if my dress was literally splitting at the seams I was so full.  It was not.  This is not a joke.  

Two hours (?) later we left, went to the local icecream shop to pick up cake so I could celebrate with the kids and my parents.  I was too full to eat it, but I heard it was good.

This might've summed up the night:

he looks underage

and i look like a dog.  a dog who just had a manhattan.

Nothing better to talk about on earth day than the birds and the bees

Of course I wouldn't talk about the birds and the bees.  I don't have sex.

Anygetiton, have you noticed a crazy abundance of girls in the world lately?  I mean, rarely do I see mothers with boys, it's most always little girls.  I'm one of those families, too.  Have we established that I have three kids?  Three girls.

So anyway, Mr Incredible is always like, oh me oh my I have no y's.  I'm always like, oh relax, wouldya?  God told me he won't give you a boy until you learn to open doors for me and treat ladies like ladies.

So even though he loveloveloves his little ladies, I told him after number three was born that he should get a dog.  Someone. Anyone to play fetch with him (although he's hell bent on them all playing softball *coughbutch*.)  After a little bit of talking, we (he) decided that for more than one reasons, we're not going to get a dog right now.  So I'm getting him a boomerang.

Anyway.  My point:  Mr Incredible was in the Army for four years doing somethingsomething somsortoftask that involved radiation.  Turns out, the guys that work with this radiation stuff HAVE NO Y'S.

I've always wanted nine kids since I was little.  But THAT might be too much estrogen.  and shoes.

Thank God girls clothes are cuter than boys clothes.  And there are more girl names than boy names to choose from. (or make up.  whatever you fancy)

Narcissism. And don't walk alone on bike paths.

I've said it once and I'll say it again:  Thank God for Wordless Wednesdays.  I started writing about Altemio Sanchez, Buffalo's notorious bike path rapist of 26 years who was finally caught a few years ago and is sharing a cozy ol' time now with his cellmates called Bubba uno and Bubba dos, but then I realized there was no good way to blog about him.  Although I do have to say that I'm not mad or scared, I'm so so sad for him.  I know, my emotions are twisted in that sort of way.  I told my dad that I was so sad for Altemio and he looked at me and asked if I was equally as sad for his victims and their families (he was a killer, too).  silence.  I've already spent too much money on therapy (that's a lie.).  WHOA rein myself back in.  My point of wanting to start writing at him is, ladies, even though he's in jail and everyone thinks that they're in the clear, you're not.  Don't go on bike paths in woods by yourselves, please?  Thanks.

So onto WW.  You know the only reason I'm putting this is to make up for my lack of smarts from yesterday.

In simpler words, I look glamorous throwing my bonneted baby up in the air whilst wearing pearls and sunglasses.  This was 3 years ago.  What this picture doesn't tell you is that you could not see the floor in our apartment, and since laundry overwhelmed me too much I would just make underwear and undershirt runs to Target.

True stories.

Happy Wednesday!  Oh, and don't forget to check in tomorrow because here goes another giveaway!  (I'm easily persuaded)

this is going smushy sappy lovey dovey. Fair warning.

don't forget to enter.  everyone and anyone.
I've been battling this terrible cold/sinus infection this week.  And it's all in my face.  Literally.  Like, my teeth and cheeks and sinuses.  My sinuses feel like they're bleeding and I haven't been able to smell or taste now for going on four days.

That was too much information, I know.  It's like the person at funerals who takes pictures of the body, then shows them at her next book club.  Like, we sympathize, but will pass on the empathy.  Sorry about that.

So basically, I've been knocked off my feet by this cold.  I've been sleeping wonky hours with wonky dreams and I've been a good for nothing.

It's Mr Incredible's birthday and I've been a useless crank.  With no gifts to bear.  And I'm asking him to pick up his own champagne and cheesecake tonight or else we'll be eating frozen fat free cool whip with chocolate sauce.  Again.

Since I don't have a wrapped present (skiing?) and I'm too lazy to find my passport (I lost my driver's license a LONG time ago.  I've been buying booze with my passport.  But THAT picture will be for another day.)  I'll do bullet points.  Since I never quite surpassed third grade language arts that taught putting thoughts in paragraph.  Ehhhh, we all have our fortes.  And misgivings, no?

Mr Incredible:
I know I give you a hard time, nettle, tease, irk, pick on et cetera et cetera ET CET.ERA. on this blog.  Honestly, on one day of each year I will admit to you that it is probably PROBABLY me projecting my own inadequacies on you.  Yes, that's right.  I'm most like the annoying one with a bad sense of humor and maybe even a little bit of a nag.

But we're not here to focus on THAT.

Friends, if you need a lesson in love, learn in from Incredible himself.  Somehow every virtue comes alarmingly (<-- shoot I did again.) natural to him.  So men, take notes.  Women, get green.

• He always leaves the last bite of anything that I like for me.  That's a biggie, guys.
• If I ask for a washcloth (then get annoyed because he's taking SO LONG) he always brings it warm/hot
• He lets me make decisions.  For a million different reasons that is love.  (I'm very indecisive)
• He supports any decision I make, even if it's a bad one and he knows it
• He tells me I'm not fat every time I ask, approximately three times a day.
• Even when I'm pregnant and 200 pounds he tells me I'm beautiful (at that point I don't ask if I'm fat anymore)
• He's got outrageously awesome work ethic.  Something unbeknownst to me.
• He's a spectacular dad.  He built that playground for the girls with his own two hands (see below)
• He never yells are rarely fights with me.  (even though who doesn't love drama?)
• He likes argyle sweaters.
• There's a million more things, but my last brain cell came out when I blew my nose.

sorry, again that was gross.
Mr Incredible, I'll love you until the oceans turn to yogurt. 

O'No She Di'n't

Warning:  This may be one of the most obnoxious posts yet.  And because it's 5 o'clock somewhere I can do what I want.  I do what I want.  Watch me interview myself, and judge me.

Me: Is it true that you've already accomplished Bailey's in coffee, the zoo, an Irish festival that included Corned Beef and Guiness?
O'Me: O'Yes it is
Me: And rumor has it that Irish Cream Brownies are baking as we speak in the oven
O'Me: O'HellzYes
Me: Why wouldn't Mr O'Incredible let you have a car bomb at the Irish festival?
O'Me:  The practical side o' him said it was only 12 in the afternoon.  I translated that as, "You already have a car bomb brewing in your tummy."

Me:  How come you let Mr O'Incredible buy that $20 shirt and mug that has zero relevance to life?

O'Me: Irish are generally irresponsible particularly after a drink or three

Me: You wouldn't really let your kids drink Bailey's- or would you?

O'Me: I don't share.

Me: Did you bring more flashback pictures from your Irish Dancing days?

O'Me: O'No I forgot.  Stay tuned.  If they're not up by tonight it's because I fell O'sleep.  They'll be up in the morning, latest.

O'Yes I realize that the Bailey's is in place of my third child.  Sorry, third child.

hands on

I've fallen into the slippery slope of reading everyone's blogs instead of writing on my own.  Damn you, Google Reader!  I'm a creature of habit and when things change I typically take the road mostly traveled.

So what have I been up to, you ask?  Well, I'm putting in 140% awesome mom right now.  I had this kick in the face realization that this is what I've got.  This is their one and only childhood in my hands.  Tv can wait, facebook can, frantically cleaning the house just because can kiss me arse.  Hells.  Even the Office and The Mentalist can wait.

I've decided that we need to do more story time (recommended is 20 minutes a day- not as easy as it sounds), more crafts, more hands on, more outside, more library, more friends.  In fewer words, I had to pull my shit together.  So that's exactly what we've been doing.

I paid my $110.86 fee to the library.  That's right.  And was it bittersweet or what? stop judging me.  now.  We have been reading a lot of books.

We've been doing lots of crafts.  We made those bird feeders with toilet paper rolls and peanut butter and bird seed.  We hung them up on our snowman's arms with pipe cleaners.  Unfortunately I didn't foresee our family of deer and their extended relatives eating them.  Come spring I hopefully will not find dead deer in our yard with perforated bowels.  (Why is it that pipe cleaners are the staple to children's crafts, yet really all they are is fuzzy stuff wrapped around really sharp wire?)


We made these little pretzel snowmen.  I swore up and down that they would not tempt me no matter how hungry I was.  ha.  wrong.  I ate every last one of these M effers.  oh, in two hours.

Funny thing about this is I seem to have more hours in the day, the house is more effortlessly tidier, everyone is happy.  One of those phenomenons.

this is how we roll

we didn't do anything for valentine's day.  we're doing champagne and chocolate dipped strawberries for Fat Tuesday.

Cheer's to being fat!

ching.

We're gonna keep this real short.

All the little kiddies in this house have been sick for days.  Instead of 2 year olds' birthday party at the pool, we brought all of the girls into the doctor's office, 8am.  We came to discover 5 out of 6 ear infections.  Yay.  

Anyway.  Store this in your random file, because it WORKS:

When your kids have a persistent cough in the middle of the night that keeps waking you up and makes you want to shove your face through the wall, what do you do?  Put Vick's Vapor Rub on their feet with socks over it.  Cough no more.  

The end.  

Sorry gots to go celebrate a birthday.  Happy Monday!

I Need Your Help, Faithful Readers

As I've already said, Mr Incredible are incredibly different. He likes when I make him sausage risotto, I would like him to write me love letters. He likes sports I like chocolate. He loves watching movies, I love to blog. and shop.

We both like to do family stuff.

He likes beer, I like chocolate and champagne. He says tomato, I say tomauto. He says potato, I say potauto. I know there are more, I just can't think of the important ones. (let's be clear, there aren't really and 'important ones' because we are a dynamic duo)

So where do you come in, you ask? Good question. I need guest bloggers. I need people to blog on my blog to get him to read it. He would rather read anyone else's blog than mine. Apparently I'm not enticing enough.

I'll tell you what he likes, and then you volunteer: (somebody'd better volunteer or I'll knock your teeth out)

• sports. anything sports
• cool statistics
• p90x
• sports
• jokes that you don't have to think too much about ie Tiger Woods can drive a golf ball farther than his car
• jokes about sports
• inspiring sports stories
• inspiring stories
• beer
• jokes about beer
• sports
• board games
• really cool board games especially if his chances of winning are good

<-- he should be reading my blog. but i know he isn't.

who's in on this with me? let's see if my blog can become interesting to him. Maybe one day he'll comment (doubt) maybe one day he'll follow (double doubt). Mum's the word, though.

There Is, In Fact, a Direct Correlation Between Vaccinations and John the Baptist's Head.

There is little question in my mind of whether or not to get my children vaccinated.  My Grandmother told me a story that made my decision very easy and very clear:

Her Grandfather's son (her uncle that she never knew) contracted diptheria.  Basically what happens is a membrane grows over your throat until you choke to death.  Enough said?  No.  There's more to the story.  This little boy had to be quarantined in his house as to not let the highly contagious disease spread.  His parents had to stay elsewhere to let their son die alone.  Are you convinced yet to get your kids vaccinated?  The father walked by his house one morning to work, and saw his son choking to death.  He burst into his house to save/be with his son when he was dying.  His son died and then the father contracted it and died.

I remember this when I have to bring my babies to get vaccinated.  It takes the edge off my anxiety and reassures me that I am doing the right thing.  But why, why? do they have to bring the shots in on a silver platter?

I'd Hate to Be That Person...

...but alas!  I will be.  Here are cute pictures of my Favorite People Ever.  Maybe I'll do a Wednesday Family Photo?  Friday Family Foto sounds way more fun, but I wanna start today.