I think my grandpa would have been pleased that Violet had the best time ever at his lifetime celebration. I just wish he could see the fun little girl she’s becoming and meet our little Hazie.
After my grandpa died I started crying that no one would be around to talk like Donald Duck. Jack immediately put himself on the case. Violet is hot on his tail. I’ve got to try to get this on video.
Here’s what our little smiling Pixie’s up to…
She’s such a good baby. And it’s a good thing, because I’m barely surviving. Packing up this house while taking care of the kids while not knowing what outrageously expensive dumb place we’ll end up it is taking it’s toll. One day at a time….along with Ativan…and Klonopin…and Ambien.
This postpartum/moving stuff is reminding my cynical self about 2 Pollyannaish things I hear all the time than never fail to bug the crap out of me.
1.”I believe all things happen for a reason”.
Really? Now there are reasons for the halocaust, and childhood cancer and for the Japanese Tsunami, but these are all rooted in chance and science. The “reason” spoken of here is that there is a divine hand doing everything all the way down to guiding my ankles into the chair legs in this room, which is causing a lot of bruising. What’s the divine reason for this? None. I raise my middle finger to this hand.
2) “Live everyday as if it were your last.”
Hmmhmmm. Bet your toilet looks great if you adopt this as your motto. Bet you’re behind on your papsmears and the IRS is coming after you, because who is going to do all the crap you normally would do if it was your last day? You can’t spend everyday eating lobsters and skydiving, and swimming with dolphins and telling your family everything they meant to you and truly, truly smelling the flowers. You gotta get the laundry done. And give the pets their heartworm medicine. And figure out how to get your 16 month old to stop rocking the 2 month old so VERY, VERY violently in the swing. And then you gotta think about packing up your socks.