Friday, November 28, 2003

Mah-wwidge.

Mah-wwidge, it seems, is all about the cookies: Who has the cookies. Who doesn't have the cookies. Who controls when and where the cookies are consumed.

I had dinner today with a set of in-laws-- my brother-in-law's brother and his wife; or my sister's brother-in-law and his wife; or my brother-in-law's brother and his sister-in-law; or my sister's brother-in-law and her husband's sister-in-law, take your pick-- and I had a front row seat to some sort of altercation still festering from the morning after the wedding, which took place over eight weeks ago. Apparently two cookies came with the honeymoon suite, one for the bride and one for the groom, and the groom ate his cookie while the bride was in the shower. She exited the bathroom extremely put-out, as she had her own plans for the cookie.

"I was going to eat that!" she said.

"You already ate yours," her husband pointed out.

See, that's what marriage is all about. Your cookie is my cookie. I, as the only umarried person in the whole entire room, felt at liberty to share this wisdom with the group.

"Actually," my sister said, "my cookies are still my cookies, and your cookies are my cookies too."

The failure to realize such things is probably the reason I continue to sleep alone. This afternoon I announced to my sister and her husband that I could never marry a boring person. "I must," I said, "be entertained."

"And that strategy has worked so well for you so far," Britton said.

I told him to shut up, then acknowledged that he had a point, then told him to shut up again.

Thursday, November 27, 2003

A... Hawk.

I love my new baby cousin, Tyler. He's very bright and alert and likes to be held. (Again: Family trait.) Often he adopts a worried expression, which I didn't understand until I saw him watching football with his dad: "Ohhhhhhhhh, what a terrible tackle," I overheard him saying. "Did you see that, Tyler? Don't ever let me see you doing that. You're going to WRAP AROUND THE KNEES, boy!"

Of course, this is the same man who, when I mentioned that I was thinking about buying a pet bird, encouraged me to get a hawk. "Can't go wrong with a bird of prey," he said. "Guys dig birds of prey."

Also, apparently, beta fish.

Sunday, November 23, 2003

Taufling Pending

Taufling is halfway home. Four and a half months along; four and a half months to go. Julie called my cell to tell me that the baby doctor says everything is great, and that she and her husband saw Taufling wave at them on the sonogram, and so I cried, and as soon as we hung up "With Arms Wide Open" came on the radio, so I cried again. Absolutely none of this is helping my driving skills.

Taufling's very first picture was taken on Friday. Taufling is such a rock star. The baby's head is to the left, and s/he already sleeps like Aunt Tink-- curled in a ball, eager to entertain and yet not interact with the world at large. The warping has begun.

And look at THIS! See the little feeeeeeet! Truly they will kick copious amounts of ass.

Email Aunt Weepy at: blondechampagne@hotmail.com

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