GAMEDAY!!!
Today is Lydia’s first GameDay. She’s wearing her Lucky Onesie, we’ve sung all the GameDay songs, and now she’s camped out in her excellent vibrating chair, having a bit of paci and watching the GameDay show.
I’ve been teaching her how to spell ‘Lee Corso’: P-E-N-I-S.
It’s DAMN NEAR GAME DAY!!!
And we’re not on television; Carrie can’t watchie! 
Poop. Speaking of poop . . . (you know there’s gonna be more of these stories now that Lydia is about)
Steven got home with Lydia yesterday afternoon. He’s Daycare Daddy right now. We were about to turn right back around and go out to eat but figured we’d better check her diaper first.
Collectively, that was the smartest thing we’ve done in our lives. She was swimming in poo, and it wasn’t all that great-smelling — kinda surprising considering she’s still nursing.
“I knew I’d been smelling something in the car!” Steven exclaimed.
So we changed her up; Steven helped in between huffs of the Butt Paste. (“They should make candles that smell like this.”) When we got in the car to go to dinner he swore he could still smell a lingering aroma but I assured him I didn’t smell a thing. It was only his mind being brought back to the horror of the scene.
After dinner we were heading back home. I had been having el ranko fartos since, it seems, time began, and I felt another one building up. Steven was telling me about a programming website he found. I waited. He was very pleased with this website. I waited.
Then it came. An SBD, a Global Killer. It was to be a silent strike. Steven was still talking. Lydia was asleep in the back seat. I waited.
Suddenly, Steven stopped talking in mid-sentence and exclaimed, “I STILL smell it!” He glanced back toward Lydia.
Poor girl, getting blamed for her mother’s rankness! I started giggling and fessed up. She shouldn’t carry such a burden yet. I’ll wait ’till she’s older before I blame her for my flatulent self.
This morning I read a news story that reported Shia Labeouf might lose a finger due to a car accident.
When I mentioned it to Steven, he chuckled and said, “I can see it now. They came in to tell him he might lose his finger and he goes, ‘No! Nononono no no no!‘ ”
When I read from the story that they might have to incorporate the lack of a digit in the next Transformers movie, Steven continued: “That’ll be the most creative bit of writing Michael Bay has ever done.”
But then he reflected and added, “I don’t know, I think Michael Bay would have more fun creating a CGI hand.”
We’re horrible. We know.
I think I have forgotten to mention this earlier, but my sister is expecting her own firstborn little girl in about nine weeks. I’m going to be Crazy Aunt Carrie who makes blue pancakes for breakfast and Lydia will have a little cousin to tromp through life with.
My sister and I like to do things at the same time. First there was The Year of the Weddings, now it’s The Year of the Babies.
I’m so excited!
Between Steven and me, I’m the packrat of the family. In fact, somewhere in this house is the little post-it note where I wrote Steven’s telephone number so I could call him — this was over nine years ago a few days after we started dating. I also tend to keep gift bags, rocks, old school notes, and anything that belonged to my grandparents.
Steven is more of an organizer so he keeps me a bit grounded on the stuff I keep. This is one of the many reasons why we work so well together — overall, he keeps me from doing stupid stuff.
Yesterday afternoon we ran across a show called Clean House, where the premise of the show is they find these cluttered homes with cluttered families and they help them, or sometimes make them, get rid of their old junk so they can make their house look fantastic. Steven and I were amazed to see how clingy people could be with absolute junk.
Halfway through the second episode, I uttered the fateful sentence: “Man, I can think of some stuff right now that I should just throw away.”
Steven couldn’t have been more excited if I had suggested a kinky activity we could do involving honey, chocolate, and the phrase ‘on top of the dryer.’ He jumped up and said, “Tell me what it is, I’ll go throw it away right now!”
It started with a candle (which was what I was thinking of) but we quickly moved into the office and got rid of a mountain of books, gift bags, rugs, and old paperwork. We spent the rest of the afternoon picking out what to throw away or donate. Renton was laid out in the middle of the floor; he was totally in his element of being in as much way as possible.
Steven is still stoked. Plans have already been set to work on our closets and drawers next weekend. He can’t wait to tackle the basement.
I am motivated, too; though I’ll probably have to watch an episode or two of Clean House each weekend to remind me what I’m excited about.
And I’m not getting rid of my rocks.