Happy Birthday, Little Miss Peanut

Posted in Family by Sarah W

My Last Baby is four years old today.

She was due on April Fool’s Day, but she pranked us all by turning badly breech at the last minute, something my OB discovered on March 30th when she couldn’t find the heartbeat of the creature who was trying to kick—or punch, as it turns out—the ultrasound wand out of her hand. So, we did the C-section thing the next morning.*

To this day, Sunny hates being upside-down.

But she loves stories, tv, crawling into bed with Mommy and Daddy, Barbies, her piggy footie jammies, her sister (most of the time), when I sing songs wrong so she can correct me,** finding Tickles,*** drawing, and her little bicycle, which she kicks off as if she was riding a 500 Triumph.

She is Shirley Temple reincarnated, with a dash of Cool Hand Luke. And a picky eater like whoa.

Happy Birthday, peanut!

____

*To further the joke, they originally scheduled the surgery for the following Friday. So I went back to the library and worked out my schedule and maternity leave with our HR person. The minute I sat down at my desk, the phone rang and a cheerful voice asked, “How would you like to have your baby at nine-thirty tomorrow morning?” Um . . . okay. So I trudged back up to Admin to change all the paperwork. But she’s worth it.

**Twinkle, twinkle, little elephant
How is it that you’re so elegant?
Up above the world so high,
Sneezing stars out of the sky . . .
(you should hear what I do to poor ol’ Yankee Doodle . . . )

***Tickles are purple and live in armpits, but sometimes you have to chase them back home over ribs and tummies.

30Mar2011

Random Thursday . . . On Wednesday!

Posted in Family, Libraries, Random, Reading, Writing by Sarah W

(see what I did there? I mean, how random can you get?)

_____________

The owner* of the bakery down the block from the library likes to mix it up a little with the Daily Featured Flavors.

Today he offered a strawberry-cheese danish muffin. Good flavor, odd texture—had to try another one to make sure.

But for sheer weirdness, nothing beats the pistaschio-mocha-chocolate chunk muffin I sampled on St. Patrick’s Day. It looked like uncured peat moss—which I guess is sort of Irish—and it tasted . . . exactly like a pistaschio-mocha-chocolate chunk muffin.

oooOOOooo

I spent three hours at work yesterday trying to find the year that the state started issuing driver’s licenses. Managed to narrow it down to somewhen between 1903 and 1959, though examinations probably started in 1931, if I’m reading the section history of the current state codes correctly. And that’s a toss up.

So I finally admitted defeat and offered the patron contact info for the state historical society, the nearest university law library, and the state DMV.

Sometimes, “I don’t know” is a perfectly valid answer.

Except now I want to know.

And this is why I never ask patrons why they want to know.

Because I already know.

You know?

oooOOOooo

My new favorite clean joke:**

A college professor walks into a bar. “Bring me a martinus,” he says.

The bartender smiles politely and asks, “You mean martini?”

“If I want more than one,” snaps the professor, “I’ll order them.”

oooOOOooo

My new-found resolve is being tested: The Torchwood DVDs I reserved have all come in. But I managed 1,200 words of new material last night without the distraction of John Barrowman and Gareth David-Lloyd, so they all went back.

Besides, it was tough enough putting The Key down . . .

I did play a computer game before dinner, but I maintain that this doesn’t count because a) I was only dragging the pointer for Sunny, who can click and move the pointer, but not at the same time; b) the game involved giving Barbie numerous fashion makeovers, and; d) I bailed as soon as my maternal instincts were overwhelmed by having to give Barbie numerous fashion makeovers.

oooOOOooo

Janie and I are going shopping for Sunny’s birthday presents tonight as soon as I post this.

We know exactly what Sunny wants and Janie is fully aware that we’re shopping for her sister and not her sister’s sister.

And I am fully aware that I’m on a budget and the peanut is having two parties and will not suffer for gift—so I don’t have to buy everything in sight lest she feel unloved.

I figure that’ll last until we reach the store—the path to Toys R Us is paved with good intentions.

____

*He looks like he belongs on the crossover episode of American Chopper and Miami Ink, but he has some mad piping skills and sells frosting shots in ice cream cones.

**My favorite dirty joke involves a penguin and a mechanic. Nope, that’s all you get.

29Mar2011

Mid-Lenten Resolutions

Posted in Writing by Sarah W

I’m recovering from a remarkably physical day at the library, by my admittedly wimpy standards,* and am planning on spending a lovely hour reading The Key by Averil Dean (hi, Averil!) while my poor, neglected children languish in absorbed ecstasy in front of the Evil Box.

And then, it’s bath, bedtimes, and back to breaking and entering, bantering and planting clues.

With newfound resolve–this helped—and just a little guilt, I’ve stopped watching Torchwood in the middle of season two and taken the pledge to avoid computer games until this draft is finished. We’ll see how long that lasts—I’m having Ianto withdrawals already . . .

But half my team is about to leave for Reno—maybe–and the rest are headed for Chicago. Hijinks, double-crosses, and angst ensue. Will they be able to save their mentor in time?

Don’t ask me . . .

____

*Weeded the romance section for dups (yes, I still feel guilty) and did a shelf shift—don’t get me started on being told there’s no room when the overstuffed shelves are surrounded by half-empty ones; helped shove five carts of old blueprints in and out of our ancient elevator; helped carry two empty carts down the stairs for another patron, as ancient elevator was obviously busy; and ran up and down the stairs several times since several of our freerange patrons are starting to develop their Spring Odeur and the wise librarian does not accompany them into ancient elevators.