booknboob.com Blog

I should be writing about Silas’s first birthday. (It was Saturday.)
And, I will.

But seeing as we just finished experiencing our first real post-celebratory-and-oh-wait-all-the-attention-is-no-longer-on-me-
and-all-of-our-company-has-gone-home meltdown, I just don’t have the stomach for it.

So, instead I’m choosing to honor my ego’s unhealthy infatuation with a fantastical future version of myself. A self that really means strapping on the Nikes and hitting the trail when she uses the word “jogging”. A self that can stop at just one Lays and has a deep understanding that the remainder of the birthday cake will still be there in the morning making it unnecessary to polish it off in one evening.

Yes, you got it! While our elected officials are working tirelessly to end our addiction to foreign oil, I am working to end my addiction to foreign (and local) cheese.

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Aside from making a requested second jab at VP pick Palin, I am compelled to clarify that my mention of “jogging” in the previous was post was actually a metaphor for sitting on my butt and eating chocolate bars slathered in peanut butter and then chugging whole milk (purchased for Silas, yeah right) out of the carton.

I meant “jogging” in the broadest sense of the word.

Good night.

I cannot promise you much.

But since my husband practically man-handled me into the bedroom, forcing the lap top on me, and forbidding me to leave the room until I published something on my blog, I figured I’d try to give you something.

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