Because in all honesty, I don't really care who wins, as long as one of the quarters ends in a 0-3 or 2-5 point combo. Looks like my luck isn't going to run for that either.
Let's start with some small talk. The weather. Specifically, the weather that never happened. The entire city flipped out for a week straight about the snow or "wintry mix" we were supposed to get last Friday, with the most anti-climactic result of all time. I realize the entire world laughs at Texas because of our severe reactions to anything below 50 degrees, and I couldn't agree with the world more. <<>> No snow ever happened, all we got was some frozen highways, which closed because the city isn't equipped with salt/sand trucks and no one here would know how to drive on ice anyways. That being said, Lilly's school was closed, which I hoped meant that we could make snow angels in the front yard, but grass angels aren't quite as cool as they sound. When it comes to weather, I have a bi-polar attitude: Go big, or go home. If it's going to be cold and gross, but no snow, then bring on the summer heat. You can quote me on that in July.
In addition to the anticipation of wintry mix, (which, by the way, delayed the start of our construction, because grading was supposed to start on Friday and did not materialize throwing us behind schedule ALREADY. BUT I DIGRESS.) Andrew managed to put himself in quite a pickle last Monday night. Playing racquetball, he hyper-extended his right arm and ruptured his distal bicep tendon. That is a fancy way of saying he detached his bicep muscle from his elbow. Eww. Turns out it's important for that to be attached, otherwise, your bicep just kind of curls up toward your shoulder. Double Eww. So after one night of Andrew assuming that amputation was the next necessary step, and me assuming he may have not stretched sufficiently and strained a muscle (throw some dirt on it!), he went to the doc on Tuesday morning to find out that the actual result was something in between our own assessments. This is what we do, assume the opposite scenarios - Andrew the worst case, myself the case with the least need for extra work or trips to the doctor - in an effort to balance each other out. Surgery was on Thursday, and Andrew has handled it relatively well, aside from some nausea from the pain meds (side note: Aren't pain meds supposed to be awesome? No bueno for Drew-Boy). We are looking forward to 6 weeks of Andrew needing assistance to properly wash is own left hand (try washing your hands one-handed). Let's hope time flies for him and he gets more comfortable soon. Otherwise, Lilly may get used to me dropping her off at school, and we can't have that now.
Usually, my least favorite months of the years are January and February. Gross weather, no exciting holidays to look forward to (i.e. miss work for) and there's never a whole lot going on due to the post-holiday seasonal hangover. However, Lilly seems to be on the party track this time of year because she is going to one birthday party after another right now. All her friends are turning 2, and I'm starting to become familiar with all the various inflatable play locations around town. Which, for the record, I think someone should build an indoor bar with these inflatable slides/obstacle courses for adults, crazy lighting, liquor, and perhaps baby oil for extra entertainment value. It would be a HIT. I would book my next birthday party there. Someone put that business plan together, and I'm all over it. (Notice, we outsource the actual work of putting together a business plan.)
This spring, there is the coming of many babies in our groups of friends, and I'm super excited about this. Un-naturally so. I am not interested in busting out Numero Dos any time soon, but I'm more than happy to support the procreating packs around me. I went to a baby shower for my friend Emily this weekend, and it made me smile to see her belly starting to sprout. I will admit, that around the 11-14 month period of Lilly's age, I had this primal urge to have another baby. I don't know how to explain it, because it was so weird to even myself. Everything in my head said it was a bad time, and it made no sense for us as a family, but I still had this completely weird feeling like my body wanted to do it again. Maybe it's psychosomatic? Has anyone else experienced that same feeling? I can't say I'd ever felt anything like that before - is that was a biological clock feels like? Good news is, that feeling passed eventually and I'm not obsessively looking at baby names anymore.
The game has ended and no money will be coming my way, but if you made it this far in the post, you deserve a gold star. Perhaps a shiny Fergie jacket for you too.
Guess what? Construction begins this week! Woohoo! Let's go good weather! I will be obsessively taking photos of the process, and will post them some where, so y'all can follow along on the process I just haven't figured out where exactly is the best location. Flickr folder perhaps? A temporary blog? Ideas?