January 7, '08

There have been times in my life as a writer when I've experience the inevitable tragic writer's block. It usually happens to me when there are limited events happening in my life and, ironically, that's also when I have the most time to write. On the contrary, I am currently experiencing writer's broken floodgate. There are so many new things happening around me that when I finally get a chance to sit down in front of my laptop, I just don't know where to start. Like most people of my age and onward, I often opt for the obvious; the weather.
Holy cheese, it's almost seventy degrees in Ohio right now and I'm pretty sure it's still January unless my name is Rip Van Winkle. The two tots who are present today, Zach and Amelia, (Fred is spending time with his dad trying to figure out why the fridge stopped working. Don't worry, Michael, the Murphy's law-like coincidence of the fridge breaking on a record high day in January will not be lost on us. I'm sure you will have a good laugh about it in a week or month.) and I will venture down to the park for some crazy swinging fun once they awake from their nap and get some brunch in them. It's days like these when I wish I would have sprung the extra cash for a jogging stroller, as I have some Thanksgiving and Christmas personal growth to undo, but since I usually have three babies with me, I'm not sure Zach would have appreciated me sprinting up the road carrying him in a baby Bjorn...I don't know about you, but it's making me a little nauseous just thinking about it.

Amelia and Fred are both teething in full force, so attempting to keep the drooling at bay is a bit like dabbing at Niagara falls with a flattened sponge. Fred goes through four or five bibs in a day, though he could easily soak six or seven. You can track Amelia anywhere in the house by a little trail of wet that resembles a Morse code scroll stretching for miles in zigzag patterns across the carpet. This morning while Zach and I were playing on the floor, Amelia crawled over to give him his usual kiss on the forehead . As she pulled away Zach's forehead looked like it had been slapped with a wet mop and he had the expression to match. As I understand, Zach hates baths and had no way of knowing that he was going to get one while laying there on my living room floor. Quicker than Supperman (who is actually faster than Superman, as he is powered by his super hunger skills), I leaped for a towel and came to his rescue. Da, da da daaaaahh. Zach then told me he wanted to stand up for a little while. I understood completely.