Frankly, it's a little tough to distinguish a holiday day from just a reg'lar ol' day when there's a newborn in household, but we managed to pile into the family truckster yesterday for our first official outting as a family of four. To ... Da Duh Duh DAAAAAAAH: The Tar-jay.
Yeah, well, we were runnin' low on Huggies, orange juice, milk and pickle relish (and you can't appropriately celebrate Labor Day without plenty of relish, people). We also stopped by the Payless to measure Bean's feet.
The child has outgrown her first official pair of back-to-school shoes, y'all. And school doesn't start for another week-and-a-half! Sigh. So I wanted to run in Payless and make free use of their nifty foot measuring device so I could then hie me hither back to my laptop and order up some shoes from a completely different merchant. Only DAWG, I cannot find a pair of plain old white, matches-everything-and-doesn't-have-pink-rhinestones-or-little-Doras-or-lights-or-a-dang-you-know-what-PRINCESS on 'em athletic shoes to save my ever-lovin' life. Well, for under $50 I mean. Which, ARE YOU KIDDING ME, YOU WANT $71 DOLLARS FOR A PAIR OF SHOES SMALLER THAN MY HAND, THAT'LL BE WORN FOR ABOUT A MONTH AND A HALF AND DON'T BEAR THE NAME "JIMMY" OR "MANOLO?" or a red leather sole?
Yeah, um: No.
I just want some shoes that cover the whole foot and have Velcro closures or sump'm Bean can do up herself instead of laces I've got to tie, because let's face it, shoes with laces may well push the needle on my Things-I-gotta-do-for-itty-bitty-people-in-order-for-us-all-to-get-out-the-door-ometer way up into the WHOOPS-DARN-IT-WOMAN-YOU'VE-DILLY-DALLIED-AROUND-TOO-LONG-AND-NOW-IT'S-BEDTIME-AGAIN Zone. Not even Keds has what I want, and they're usually my go-to for Bean's sneaks, but this time? Nothin'.
Geez. Where was I?
Oh yeah, so anyway we had our first family outting and it went pretty well once we got out of the subdivision and Mr. Peabody stopped screaming so hard all four of our brains were nearly 'bout exploding, and fallen into his post-traumatic stress syndrome coma-sleep. Ridin' in a carseat is apparently the worst possible thing that can ever happen to a three-week-old. Did you know this? It was news to me, but then again it's been awhile since I was three weeks old, so it stands to reason I'd need re-edjumacatin' about such horrors.
(It wasn't all that pleasant for the three-year-old nor the forty-plus set, either, come to think of it.)
But thanks to all that awfulness, once he passed out, the little dude stayed asleep long enough for us to get our errands run AND for me to finally write his birth story. Now, look, people, it's a Birth Story. It has all kinds of birth-related details and pictures of a semi-graphic nature, so here's what I did for my two male readers: After I got done writing my womanly, every-moment-fully-documented-in-living-color-leavin'-little-room-for-imagination novel, I asked Al to write his own version of Matthew's arrival, just for y'all boys, to spare you a huge dose of Oh-help-me-please-I've-somehow-died-and-come-back-as-the-sole-guy-at-a-Sundy-afternoon-baby-shower-settin'-on-the-flowerdy-divan-drinkin'-lime-sherbert-punch-with-a-gaggle-of-broody-dames Agony:
Matthew's Birth Story
My wife was pregnant for what seemed like an eternity. Then I drove her to the hospital and she gave birth to a bouncing baby tax-write-off. The End.
The rest of y'all can go read the full and painfully-long story rightcheer.
And speaking of bein' born and stuff, there's a bit of a re-birth goin' on over at Blissfully Domestic today. All new site, fresh, hip design, great new contributors (I'm still there but I don't have a post up right now because hey, I'm up to my eyeballs in fresh new Huggies at the moment). Y'all go check it out, okay? I think you'll be impressed, I surely do.
And hey, I'm on my own for the next four days with these two little folks, so I may be somewhat scarce around here. But if I am, y'all don't give up on me, please? I'm living on your comments and emails and lovely words of laughter and support and advice right now. They keep me tethered to reality and sanity, and I know you know what I mean.