My thought for the day...

I think that as a manufacturer you have a moral responsibility to not produce or sell the ever popular "hottie" tees in a XXL. The sight of a 200lb woman in a "hottie" "baby tee" pains me greatly. I know I am NOT skinny by any means but I am also not running through Walmart with a "anorexic" baby tee on. I feel that if you must express yourself via a T-shirt, honesty is always the best policy.

I cannot get over this...

Justin Timberlake's best work ever...

Baby Grand ain't so Grand

My life was forever changed on December 6, 2006. That was my daughter’s first birthday and the day the Baby Grand Piano came into my life. I was so excited to see the joy on her little face as she plinked away at the keys. Not even an hour later “Daddy” wanted to give it a try and has been playing with her toy ever since. Imagine if you can, a grown man (a fighter pilot no less), sitting down to play a baby piano. Michael is not a piano player and he cannot read music but he is determined. He sits there at the baby grand “figuring out” songs for what seems like an eternity. The process of “figuring out” a song is really what has sent me on this fast trip to crazy town. He learns songs through trial and error while singing and plunking on keys. This is a long, long, process that makes me want to cut off my own ears. You cannot truly understand my frustration without hearing it but imagine “ jin…gle… jingle… jingle bells… jingle bells… jin… gle... jingle… all … the… way… way… way…” in varying pitches and often accompanied by an “off” note. It is maddening. At first I would just sit there quietly entertaining Lauren, being a good wife, and cheering on his progress as he “figured out” many nursery rhymes and Christmas tunes. Soon however, I grew to hate many of my old favorite Christmas songs and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star could make my hair stand on end. I could feel my skin crawl just watching him sit down in front of the baby grand. I got the bright idea to buy him his own small keyboard for Christmas in hopes that he would take it to the guest bedroom, the garage, or down the street to “figure out” new songs. My plan backfired. He still sits in the playroom with his keyboard, each note setting fire to my ears, shooting my blood pressure through the roof, and tap dancing on my already frail nerves. Now as he plays I sit with a dazed look, contemplating soaking the keyboard in gasoline and happily watching it burn or running over it with my car- over and over again. The worst part is, he still plays the baby grand, which I cannot set fire to because my daughter also enjoys it. As I sat rocking Lauren in the living room last night with the sounds of amazing grace floating out of the playroom I thought, “this is it, I have reached my breaking point, I am going to have to write about this or break his fingers.” Just at that moment Michael leaned out of the playroom and with sincere excitement, burst out with “Honey, did you hear that? I just played that with my left hand without even looking.” I laughed so hard I nearly peed on myself. I guess that means I have been officially pushed over the edge. I am now considering piano lessons for Michael as an early Valentine’s gift.

My Little Lovebug

ready for warmer temps!


This was before the poop incident, the rest of the pics are so cute but showing a little too much skin ;)