Points are Overrated

Points are overrated right? Sometimes? Like... A pointy edge of your fingernail that catches and snags a sweater, or... Uh...

Yeah. Well, some are.

So, straight up, I wanted to blog. But, I don't really have anything that I would seem to be meaningful to write about. But, my sister and I have been slowly working through the seasons of HouseM.D. and the episode we just started is about a chick who blogs pretty much everything, which sparked my interest in writing.

I miss Wendell. Lots and lots.

Last blog I wrote was an important one. And the one before it. Read that if you'd like.  I think I'm finally fully grasping the reality of it, and now starting to practically prepare. Well, as much as one can this early. 

At work, they know I'm pregnant, so they are now working with me to keep me safe and not alone with the most agressive or violent kids. It feels a little embarrassing, but I know it's a blessing.

Pancakes are awesome. We need to go grocery shopping (real soon), but fortunately pancakes exist. Yesterday, my sister and I decided on apple cinnamon pancakes for lunch. Today, we had coconut pancakes for lunch. Yumm-o!

I've become an exceptionally enticing jungle-gym to the boys. I swear, 94% of my day is spent with them climbing on top of me.  But, tonight, both boys have special dates and I will get to sit on the couch ALL BY MYSELF. Yay!

Spencer has recently decided he is a nudist. More often than not, he walks out of the room and returns without a diaper on. It's... special. We suggest the potty chair, but he still has a meltdown when he gets on it. Any suggestions? I would love for him to be out of diapers come April.

Speaking of the potty chair, one of Collin's favorite activities is to push the potty chair around the house like its a walking toy. It cracks me up every time.

We have been convincing Spencer Baby Boo's name is Rochibo. Haha. Because its hilarious. And it is short for Rosita Chiquita Bonita (Chihuahua) from Lady and the Tramp.

Everyone keeps telling me that hope we have a girl. I would love it... but at the same time I am not sure I'm "mom to a girl" material. Not that it's up to me regardless. I still think its a boy. But we don't really have any boy names we agree on or love, so... 

I told my sister the other night that I think I'll take this third baby as an opportunity to flex my creativity (you know, because I'm out of paint) and name it something like Jiminixty Boogita. Or Cougar Banjo. OrChartreuse  Zimbabwe. Boing-Boing Lulu.  Or  Vulcan Pirate. Or Christmas Bogart. Or Prairie Echo. Or Thor! God of Thunder! 

(Insert political statement here.)

Haha. But really, the Syria thing is a lose-lose either way. No bueno.

I got a letter in the mail from my 22-year-BFF. It was the most wonderful surprise. I have been totally slacking on any and all handwritten correspondence. To the point where my handwriting is starting to look unusual. It's sloppy.. by my standards. I was writing on my calendar the other day and was kind if appalled by it. In general, I think my handwriting is pretty nice. 

Man, sometimes pointless babbling feels good. It's almost like therapy.

Kind of like sneaking into the Barnes & Noble bathroom the other night for the specific purpose of taking a stupid duck-face selfie with my coffee and posting it to Instagram (I am @goghgreen) be cause my sister didn't think I really would.

Complete with feminine products dispenser and mostly finished Starbucks.

Seriously, why do people do photos like this? The duck face is bad enough, but the butt-out and sassy pose and the "oh look I have an iPhone" reflection? Guess what, iPhone users, you can make the lens switch so you don't even need the mirror! And everyone wise, turn your phone around, for crying out loud. Oh, and why post multiple duck face selfies a week? Or a day? I could go on and on about this topic, but I'll stop.. 

I much prefer the folder of 534 Spenk Selfies on my phone.

Especially the ones his dad got involved in, for example:

I apologize if you read this hoping due any quality content.

And to close, courtesy of my sister.., "my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard..."