I wanted to put up a whole post today about what our Puking Christmas Eve taught me about little Lincoln, but I’m having a black bean crisis and am too busy hovering over the pot, stirring way too much, adjusting the heat ad nauseum, and praying praying praying that they weren’t old beans that will never get soft. Because we’re having company over for dinner in 3 hours and I can’t start over with canned beans because I used all the ham stock I made last night as cooking liquid for the beans. And I refuse to let the ham stock be wasted. So I’m doing quick takes instead.
Note to everyone: ham stock smells delicious. It’s like bacon potpourri. Do not make it if you are hungry and the only grocery store within an hour drive closes at oh-frak-thirty in the afternoon, because you will spend the three hours while the stock is simmering trying to figure out just how negatively it would impact your post-Christmas budget if you drove 50 miles round trip for bacon. And then in the end you’ll probably just make a too-stiff hot toddy and go to bed angry because you really wanted bacon and wake up with a headache. Anyway. That didn’t happen to me or anything.
Also, just a brief post-Christmas public service announcement: if your daughter gets a ripstick for Christmas, it’s probably best not to try it out in a public place where people can see you, because you’ll probably make a complete fool out of yourself.
Santa kind of disappointed me this year. I’ve been wanting a certain book since last Christmas, and then in the blur of Lincoln I couldn’t remember what book it was when everyone was asking what I wanted. So I didn’t get it. Then I remembered this morning, but it’s way more expensive than the Amazon gift card I did get. So now I’m sad, and saving up for it, and kind of annoyed that Santa doesn’t have a special mind-reading service for sleep-deprived mothers of newborns.
What he did bring me was a set of Stott Pilates DVD’s, with the requisite resistant band and weight balls. I really wanted this set. I love Pilates, and Stott is the best I’ve come across. But sadly getting workout DVD’s for Christmas kind of ranks up there with getting a vacuum cleaner: something you need, but that’s not exactly fun to open. Or use.
I did use one of the DVD’s yesterday, and after that and a long run this morning, I’m having trouble walking. So I consider them a success.
I just called my son a poopsicle. You know you’re on mommy autopilot when a nickname you have never heard nor imagined comes out of your mouth and you think, “wow, self, it would be best if you never ever said that again.”
And I have to go, because, the beans. Go see Jen for more quick takes!