Ahem! Um sorry about that. I was just um singing aloud?
I'm half in half out of here. I finally got my comp to pick up my camera (yes it's confirmed I have ONE functional USB port here). So I'm uploading like crazy. I don't know if you noticed or not but I added a link to photos in my nav bar at the top. Yeah up there, see it? It takes you to my photobucket account where you can browse to your heart's content. I used to have a ton more pics but then photobucket wanted to charge users and so I deleted stuff and then I went ahead and bought the membership anyways. So now I'll go back to uploading my happy heart away. I take entirely too many pictures of my babe.
La, la, la, la, la! La, la, la, la, la! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
Hmm there I go again. Can't get it out of my head. Sorry. At least you're not listening to me sing it right? Cause that would be very horrible. Take my word for it. Really.
Well, I think I shall be receiving my wedding pictures in about two weeks. I am so excited. I love wedding pictures. Everyone in them is so happy which is a good thing because if they weren't happy then you'd have a very bad wedding. But I mean, it's always so great to see pictures of celebrations and yet there's something about weddings that's so much better! Maybe it's the flowers, and the fact everyone's dressed up... And I'm not sure if I enjoy looking at wedding pictures more now that I'm married or if I always liked looking at them. Does any of this make sense? Am I getting through here?
Some times, I sit and type here and just wonder what the hell people must be thinking as they read this gibberish. I really try and pretend that people I know don't read this. Actually, I try and pretend no one reads this and that I'm just typing to some imaginary audience. And that works best. Because, otherwise, I censor myself entirely too much. Don't get me wrong-- I still censor myself when talking to my imaginary audience. And no I don't mean as in taking out foul language cause I just don't have the fucking energy (see?) to go through my entries and weed out the "negative" words. But I mean censor myself as in I some times stop myself from writing about certain things or certain people. Because even though I'm about 95% sure they don't read this crap, there's still room for error. And the fact is anyone can get here. I've seen many a strange thing happen in Google.
My father built M a sandbox. Yup. Now, I'm going to stop typing and really let that sink in. My. Father. Built. M. A. Sandbox. Now if you're gushing and ooohing and aaahing and sighing happy sighs and thanking happy thoughts about how lucky M is to have such a wonderful grandfather you clearly do not have children nor you have you ever had children. And if you do or did, you clearly have never let them experience the wonder that is sand. However, if you are starting to feel panic ebbing away at you and you're shocked and thinking, "No! No! No! WHY would he do that? What a disaster!", well then, clearly you are a parent-- a parent that has experienced the sand.
sand(snd)n.
Small loose grains of worn or disintegrated rock.
Geology. A sedimentary material, finer than a granule and coarser than silt, with grains between 0.06 and 2.0 millimeters in diameter.
He, of course, loves his sandbox. And, of course, my mother, my father, and my two brothers love to put him in his sandbox. But it's obviously been a long time since my parents had children. And my brothers don't have any children. So, you see, they do the gushing over the idea of the sandbox. Although, in her defense, my mother not so much. I managed to somehow rip his shoes off his feet (I learned my lesson yesterday after his first venture into the sandbox) but into the sandbox M went with his adorable denim overalls on and his UM onesie. Yup, his uncle J went ahead and plopped him in there and proceeded to bury my child all the way up to about his chest. Oh what fun they had! He even sat his 22 year old self right in there. And then my dad came out with wonderful sandbox toys for M. And it was really a lot of fun to watch but I knew what was coming.
Finally, it was time to remove M from the sandbox. So I went over and grabbed him and he started crying and I proceeded to swirl him around in a few circles to get the sand off of him. That makes perfect sense. Think about it. It really does! And then I swirled him some more for good measure. Then i sat him down in the grass and undressed him and (luckily) discovered the almost disaster of mountains of sand in his adorable overall's pockets. Such tricky tricksters those grains of sand eh? So then I started to take off his diaper.
"You really think he needs a new diaper?" my mom asked. The question took me by surprise so I just looked at her for a moment.
"Um. Yeah." I proceeded to remove the diaper and my mom cracked up. Have you ever made breaded steak? breaded chicken? breaded anything? You know how it looks when you've put it in the egg wash and then put it in the bread crumbs? Well that's what M's um privates looked like. Breaded privates. My mom would NOT stop laughing. In spanish we call breaded steak bistec empanizado so my mom, of course, immediately referred to M's situation as pipi empanizado and would not stop laughing about it. I thought it was pretty funny too but do you know how hard it is to dust that area clean of sand? UGH! I then had a naked M walking around the yard because he did not, under any circumstances, want to go inside as that would surely mean he'd not be able to go back to his "sanbock". But we got him in and we got him home and he slept for HOURS. Sandbox: Necessary Evil? Or PURE Evil?
