In which I publicly declare Baby Year

Haven’t done one of my lists of laziness in a while and today is as good as any. So a little compilation of why this week is awesome.

Someone is having a birthday. Someone fantastic who just so happens to be much taller and better looking than me. Someone who has a black belt in Kung Fu. No seriously, this someone does. Happy birthday Lesco!

Go Niners!! Nevada’s very own Kaepernick happens to be, and I quote, the most dangerous quarterback in the NFL. Says one hundred sources. Google it. Did you know he came from Nevada? You probably did because they’ve said it over and over just the way we Nevadans like it. Don’t judge our enthusiasm, star quarterbacks are rare in these parts. If you’re suddenly confused because you thought he came from some place called NeVAHda, let me school you. Don’t ever say it like that. No vah. Never. Va, like the beginning of vacuum. Like we’re going to suck those dirty birds right up on Sunday. Like that.

PS – Kaepernicking > Tebowing. It’s been Lesco’s signature move for the last 20 years.

I started a book club. After reading this post by one of my very favorite bloggers, I thought, “Huh. I want one of those.” So now I got one. We probably have way too many members for any sort of insightful discussion, but who cares? We’re just excited to have another chance to get together and eat. In fact, the invitation stated as much. Who wants to join an eating club?

I left work for two hours on Wednesday to go to a bounce warehouse with my kids. It was awesome. I felt like I was really connecting with my Phin while jumping down a two story, inflatable slide. He’s so cool. Yet, not as cool as Gray. Boyfriend didn’t even change his facial expression going down that thing. Like, “Please Mom, we didn’t even break the sound barrier. Try again.” Noted little one.

Do you ever wait far too long to grocery shop? We do. Then we end up running to 7-11 every ten minutes for bread, milk or Flintstone push pops because all we have left in the fridge is a limp head of purple cabbage and forty two salad dressings. So hallelujah for a stocked fridge because this family got it done. And I meal planned which is a giant feat for me. Don’t ever ask me if we actually made all any of the meals I planned. Little steps. Itty, bitty, we already ate the tortilla chips for taco salad night, steps.

Last, I feel like I’m finally getting my working mom of two feet under me. Sure, sure some things aren't getting done like they used to, but it’s a baby year. Baby year, you ask? Yes my friends, baby year. That means everything between the moment the kid was born to the moment the kid turns one falls under baby year. Didn’t get Christmas cards out? Baby year. Socks haven’t matched in three months? Baby year. Missed a court date? Baby year! Ok, that last one probably shouldn’t qualify. Let this serve as a public service announcement to check those speeding ticket dates. You’re welcome.

Go Pack! I mean Niners. Whatever.