Just a little Diddy I came up with all by myself.

Hush little Nonie don't say a word.

Mama's gonna buy you a pretty bird.

And if that pretty bird don't sing.

Mama's gonna buy you a platinum ring.

And if that shiny ring don't shine (?).

Mama's gonna pick you a clementine.

And if that clementine tastes sour.

Mama's gonna grow you a big sunflower.

So hush little Nonie don't say a thing.

Your Mama loves you and she knows everything...

sanibel sounds

I am taking my own advice. Enjoying every minute.
I am listening to the birds in the trees, the ones who are whispering
"count your blessings"

"appreciate the time here,

enjoy everything Sanibel has to offer"

The same birds who are whispering:

" do you know how lucky you are???"

are also the birds whispering:

"racket back"...

Sleep Nonie Sleep.

Sweet Nonie has graduated from crib to bed. 1/2 a bed actually, but more on that later.

Ever since the bed migration (3 nights ago), I've had the distinct honor of lying with her until she falls asleep. A bad habit, I'm the first to admit it. But given that Sweet Nonie no longer drinks from the yellow bottle that was an extension of her right hand for 8 months straight - I'm betting we'll be able to nip this habit too.

Tossing and turning doesn't really come close to describing what Nonie does before falling asleep. I'm amazed and intrigued.

I thought I knew her. But now I'm not so sure.

She thrashes about. Blanket surfing. Kicks my chin. Bangs her head on the bed.

Over and over and over.

But always, when in need of a break from the antics, she'll find me.

In the dark she'll give my inner arm a quick swipe. Or she'll swing her head close to mine and breathe milk breath into my face. Sometimes, once she's made contact she'll let out a squeal. Her actions are fleeting and make me realize how primitive humans are. She's comforted by the closeness and senses when I've moved a mere inches away. Mother monkey.

Tonight, despite how cute she was - I contemplated giving up. Could she be nocturnal? I wondered.

But then she found her nose. And her nose seemed to calm her (picking it). Suddenly, she's occupied - pinching into her nose with her thumb. She gets into a routine. Pick. Roll around. Pick. Roll around. Pick. Pick. Roll all around. Pick.

Pick pick pick.

Then in an instant she's doing this...

...and I have wet boogers on my cheek.

EYEpad 3G 4.0

The next generation is here.



It's the EYEpad and it comes in green.

Note its versatility as its user lounges amidst a sea of potential packing items.

Notice the freedom with which she breathes at night, or can you only just imagine it?

The EYEpad is hot. Or it should be. Because when it is cold it makes it hard to sleep.
But when it is hot it really clears up the nasal passages.

Admire the baba. My, how it has outlasted the rest of its generation. For the other things that are 26 on that bed are looking rather rough around the edges.

It's the hottest in sleeping fashion.

Been sinkin low, but the opposite of that

You know that sinking feeling you get when you flush the toilet and the water decides to defy gravity and move slowly upward?

You know that moment of relief you get when the rising water stops just shy of the top of the toilet bowl, because it never really overflows but just looks like it's about to and then stops?

You know the panic that sets in when that feeling of relief is smashed and the water just comes spilling over the top? Toilet paper clinging onto the inside water like an anchor, while liquid that should be moving down into the sewer pipes spills onto the floor.

You know that "really?" sensation you get as you frantically pump and tear school-grade paper towel out of the dispenser and begin to slowly but surely (surely?) start the clean up?

You know how you respond "um, yes" to the person on the other side of the door who asks you "is there an issue"?

Because you are not in the privacy of your own home? But at work?

I do.

Done not Perfect

This is they way I like things. It's a simple concept for me. I like projects.

Especially easy ones. One and done. One day that is.

Plans, blueprints, multiple steps, HECK NO. Not for me.

I married someone quite the opposite. Plans, charts, structure, and MEASURING are the only way he can move forward with the household tasks I have in my head. When we bought our house I wanted to paint every room. And I pretty much did, preggers and all I took my paint can and brush and splashed paint all over these walls. It is FAR from perfect. But I did it. And at the end of the day I could say that it is done. And even if it means when I lie in bed at night I look at the jaggedy paint edges, or when in Xavy's room I cringe when someone (heaven forbid) close the door and see the number I did (or didn't do) on the green stripe.
But I came up with a way to get the best of both of us (my ambition and his perfection). I became a demolition expert. I take my clippers and saw and hack away at bushes, then leave the nasty root to be dug up by the root digger fairy guy. I pull up our gross sunroom carpet. First just a corner to see Bri's reaction. Then the whole thing. It was glued down so me and Xave and our hammers pulled for a couple of days. When I removed it and bought the stick down tiles I knew it wasn't a job for me (math, corners...my head would burst). So I set the measurer up to do his handy work.
Thanks goodness for him. Because we went from the smelly cat pee rug to a place where I can do this



It's PERFECT, for the chicken dance, or any other type of dance.

A peep diagram

If I am the peep in the front

then the principal is the peep in the back.

He can't quite catch me.

Even though he came looking today.

Little did he know I was heels up at the doc (aka traumatized and uncomfortable).

Even though he called today.

Little did he know I was heels to the pavement with Butter (aka running and KICKING HER BUTT).

Which brings me to another point. That dog drags behind me and then gets home and wants to play ball. BALL?

Which brings me back to my other point. Why is he trying to catch me? ME?

Hopefully I know why.

And if the why I am thinking is not the why that I think it is then I think I should keep running.
But not with Butter.
'Cuz she's slow.