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Fun with Stats
I hardly ever look at the stat counter for my blog, but today I checked and was really amused by this little fact:16% of the people who visit my blog arrive here by googling the phrase "I Hate My Husband".Awesome. So glad people are turning to google for wisdom on that issue. And then landing here.For the record, I do not hate my husband. In fact, I think happiness is having a husband who cuts your apples every night. No, that is not an obscure sexual reference. I mean, he literally cuts up . . .
America’s Most Stressful Home Videos
The other night Mark and I had a "date night" with Jafta. It was really cute. India spent the night with Grandma and Grandpa to get a little quality time in, and she went to a Gymboree class with cousin Tanner in the morning. So we knew we needed to frame it as a special night for Jafta. He was SO excited. In fact, he must have asked me 20 times what time our date night started, just to confirm it was really happening. He LOVES getting our undivided attention, and feeling like he is being let in . . .
regression
There has been more and more baby talk around the house this month, as we start really preparing for her arrival. (And by her, I mean the "baby who has no name". Yeah. Still haven't decided). Less than two more months till d-day! YAY! We've moved India out of the crib and into a bed. The crib has been outfitted with a mobile and adjusted to the correct mattress height for an infant. India's closet has been taken over with infant clothes. Toys have been moved out of the room to make way for . . .
Are they TRYING to drive me crazy?
Today while I was blow-drying my hair, India got a hold of our DVD holder, unzipped it, and then proceeded to systematically remove all 30some DVD's from their protective sleeve and scattered them about the room. Picking DVD's up off the ground while you are pregnant is SO comfortable. And it took me about 45 minutes to get them all back in.Seriously. She is scheming on ways to drive me slowly insane. . . .
Mad Church Disease
I am looking forward to reading this book. Not that we ever experienced church burnout. No . . . I want to be informed purely for my clients. Oh yeah, and I have a friend whose husband was in ministry. Yeah. For those other people. . . .
How to Salvage Leftover Night
A couple months ago, Mama Manifesto highlighted an idea we had seen on several other mommy blogs: Muffin Tin Monday. I must admit, I thought it was a cute idea, but I never got around to doing it. But . . . I found another great use for that muffin tin: leftover salvage.Last week, we had one of those nights where the fridge was full of single-serving leftovers that needed to be eaten. We had a half-full box of takeout, a couple of previous nights's meals in tupperware, and a few perishable . . .
one of the perks of your husband not reading your blog . . .
. . . is that you can post embarrassing photos of him and it will be weeks before he notices. Per your request, here is my hubby, Mark Howerton MFT, watching Chuck with his 3-D glasses on. . . .
My Blog Needs A New Name
So I think I want to change the name of my blog. I'm not gonna start using code names for the kids or anything, but I have been thinking that perhaps using my last name in the title is not the best idea. Also, when I named this blog 500 years go, I really had no idea what a blog was. I was just using it to post updates on Mark's accident back in the day. I think 2 people read it at the time. There are so many cute and clever blog titles out there. Here are some that I like:Blogging is the New . . .
the pressure of social networking
Alright, I've submitted to the Facebook peer pressure. I can't even count how many times I've been tagged to do this. My list of 25 random things:Both of my parents are high-level black belts in Tae Kwon Do, and ran a karate studio while I was growing up. When kids started fighting about whose dad could beat up the other dads, I was always pretty sure mine would win.I would like to live in a hotel. It's a dream of mine to be in vacation-mode 24/7 and have someone clean up and make my bed every . . .
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