Oh, nothing

I have blogger's block and so I'm just going to write down a bunch of things more appropriate to Twitter without thinking so that yay! I'll have blogged:

-- Sometimes when I'm feeling like ah woe divorce remarriage someday traditional American dream huh? I think about the Brady Bunch and how they're still referenced as some dreamy dream team and look! Remarriage and stepkids trippin' all over each other, love it.

-- Unstoppable Kimmy Schmidt, I'm 4 episodes deep. I like it. Maybe I'll love it. For now, the theme song is living on my brain waves.

-- Bea is an animal. She climbs everything, gets into everything, "THIS?!" "THAT?!" "SISSY?!" All her words are in reference to wanting something so hard she spies up high and she's got this crazy hand movement that goes with it, like an agent in a high school play who wants his money gimme gimme gimme. Okay, but it doesn't matter because she is truly and insanely the most delicious human. Nature's plan with that one = make her look and smell and feel like everything good on earth so that I won't run away down the BQE yelling byyyyeee!, abandoning her in the highchair while she has a nervous breakdown because she can't eat my Trader Joe's daffodils.

-- I'm on a Judge John Hodgman binge. Used to be so meh about him and now I'm yay, plus Jesse Thorn has been/will always be my spirit animal.

-- I forget what kinds of shoes people wear in spring.

-- I cleaned out my car and I cleaned out my refrigerator (I even took out all the drawers and scrubbed them) (things you can do when Grammy camp is in session for the week) and I think it's going to make me sleep better tonight.

-- Every night, always, I think I'm seeing mice running across the floor. They're not, but after so many swarmings at so many different places, it's some kind of protective/assumptive PTSD. Remember when I killed that giant rat in my pantry with a frying pan? I think there might be something wrong with me.

-- Should I get bangs? I'm kidding. But will ask you earnestly in probably 8-11 months. I wonder if you could somehow search that phrase across all the blogs in the history of blogs how many times you'd find it.

-- Tonight Harper said to me, as she put on her pajamas, "Mom? Sometimes you have to hold in your gas and then...it just disappears! INTO THIN BUM! ...You know, like thin air?"