Have a kid, tell everyone you’re going to take them to Disney before they’re three, then take them. That’s the moment you’ll realize how fast time flies. It is insane that we are already here. We are home from Disney with another little Disney freak on the way. The next time Rick and Jack and I are at Disney together will be when Baby Devens is almost three and it will be here before we know it.
I’m always pretty obnoxious about appreciating each little moment, but this pregnancy has made it so much worse. I am not in a hurry at all this go round where as last time, I just couldn’t wait to meet our new baby. I know that our life as we know it will never be the same just as it was with Jack, and I want to savour the time we have before Jack becomes a big brother and Rick and I become equally matched in tiny humans. Continue reading
And by bitches, I mean incredibly aggressive Pitbulls and their drunkenly idiotic owners who allow their dog to drag them all over the beach and attempt to eat small, innocent terrier puppies-but we’ll get to that later. Last weekend, I went to the beach with four of my closest friends. This is our second annual chill trip. There are certain requirements to attend this special event. You must be incredibly passionate about three things: Eating, laughing, and doing absolutely nothing. Oh my gosh, ya’ll. I am SO good at doing nothing. Continue reading
This morning, as I was clearing the counter off, I asked Rick while picking up random items, “Is this trash?” (It’s super weird the things that AREN’T trash, so I’ve learned to ask.) Anyway, today, he says, “I always write trash on items that are trash. If it isn’t marked, it isn’t trash.” Obviously, I don’t have to tell you that this idea would be absolutely ridiculous. Choosing to write “trash” on something takes more time than throwing the trash in…the trash-but Rick is a man of his word. I watched him from the living room as he finished the last of the milk, opened the drawer, pulled out a permanent marker, and wrote “TRASH” on the milk jug, setting it back on the counter. All while complaining that it’s not easy that he has to write “trash” on all of his trash. I guess the point of this little story is to let you know that my husband is weird. Like…really weird. He’s so weird that I am in awe of the creativity required to carry out this weirdness in a hilarious manner. Continue reading