I lost my cell phone today. It has been found, but not until this evening, and I have come to the unfortunate realization that I picked a really. really. bad. day to lose my phone.

The printer called and needed me to verify some information before continuing with the RUSH ORDER that was supposed to start printing yesterday.

My best friend -who I rarely get the opportunity to talk with anymore - called, as we had a scheduled conversation today since we were both off work. Obviously, I stood her up.

The girls at work called 3 times, re: the printer’s question. They reallyreallyreally need this rush printing order, like, yesterday.

My boss called to be sure I had cancelled his flight to S. Carolina, since the plans had changed a week ago. He was pretty sure that I had taken care of that, but just wanted to double check.

He’s obviously smoking something. The flight has not been cancelled. This is the first I have heard about about any change of plans.

The flight leaves tomorrow morning.

I have been on hold with Travelocity for TWENTY-TWO MINUTES. And counting. I HATE BEING ON HOLD, IT MAKES ME GRUMPY.

I am grumpy.

Note: Pictures are coming soon, but I’m too tired right now to mess with getting them off the camera.

Dear Button,

Year #2 was off to a great start this morning as you cheerfully handed your grandfather a turd.

Apparently you found it stuck to the dog’s butt and felt compelled to share your discovery. Your gift was much appreciated …if only because you did something with the poop OTHER THAN shove it in your mouth.

We went to the Texas State Fair today in honor of your birthday and you had a fabulous time being overstimulated beyond belief. You enjoyed chunks of turkey leg and funnel cake, and riding around on Dada’s shoulders.

Your favorite part (due in no small part to the fact that you were totally nap-deprived and sugar-high, I’m sure) was the Ferris Wheel. The little people walking around below were so fascinating and the couple we shared the carriage with even gave you a little stuffed frog. You got SO EXCITED over that frog, laughing and squeezing it as though it was your Kitty.

Then as soon as we went our separate ways, you threw it out of the stroller in announcement of your impending nap and BAM - you were out like a light. You snored all the way home.

When we got home and changed you into a new set of clothes, one startling fact became very obvious: You have quite suddenly and without warning grown into 12-month clothes. Today. Sometime between breakfast and lunch. This morning, you were still growing into the 6-9 month clothes. After being 1 to 2 clothing sizes behind for your entire life (doesn’t it sound like a long time when I put it like that?), it appears that you are finally catching up.

Perhaps it’s the massive amount of turkey, cheese and green beans you have been ingesting recently. But now I really need to update your wardrobe, as I was expecting to have several more months before you needed 12-month sized clothing. I hope you like onesies kiddo, because that’s what you’ve got.

When it was time for your second nap of the day, which was a necessity due to the birthday part we had planned for this evening, you absolutely refused. You have never been so stubborn about not taking a nap as you were today - and I have never been so agitated by it, knowing that if you DIDN’T nap before the party, you would be a little bear this evening.

Eventually, we resorted to driving you around in the car, which successfully resulted in a good 45-minute refresher nap. Enough for me, I was ready to take what I could get at that point.

The party was a success, and even though you were again overstimulated by all the presents, and overtired from an already big day, and were forced to stay up an hour past your usual bed time, you did very well. We were really impressed.

As expected, you received a totally unreasonable amount of cool presents, and completely ignored most of them - preferring instead to play with the wrapping paper. Evidently nobody listened to me when I told them ahead of time that would happen. You did develop an attachment to one particular toy - a little plastic horse-riding figure - and carried it around in your mouth for most of the evening. Apparently equestrians are tasty.

You ate cake and ice cream, and ice cream, and then you enjoyed some ice cream. Since our trip to the fair had been unsuccessful at reaching sugar-high energy levels sufficient for powering an airbus, we made up for it at dinner by injecting the sugar introveniously. While we learned at this point that you apparently have a pretty high tolerance for sugar, it did manage to keep you up long enough to get through the party. Just so you know, if you develop diabetes as a result of today, it’s totally Grandpa’s fault. And probably Uncle Jon’s too.

After some of the guests had left the party and things had quieted down some, you discovered a new toy that your Aunt and Uncle had brought - one that had previously been overlooked in lieu of all the Fun! Wrapping! Paper!

They bought you a stuffed Eyeore that’s really soft and has a long tail. We could see you make the connection almost immediately when you truely looked at it for the first time:

It’s a Blue Kitty!!!

Tired as you were, you actually giggled as you enveloped the Blue Kitty in a huge bear hug and tackled it to the floor, rubbing your face in the fur. You dragged Blue Kitty around with you for the rest of the evening, clutching it to you, and even tried very hard to pull it up the stairs with you - a very arduous task, as the toy is the same size as you are, and climbing stairs is hard enough when you’re too sleepy to keep your eyes open and move your limbs at the same time.

Happy Birthday, my little munchkin. It’s been a fun and full day, and I have a feeling you will sleep very well tonight. And so will I. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this exhausted.

Love Always,
Mama

As I have mentioned before, my father has a bit of an OCD issue, some characteristics of which I have inherrited. But not anything useful. Just the random stupid things that don’t do me any good.

I am not a neat freak by any stretch of the imagination. My desk at work remains cluttered at all times. Every once in a while I’ll clean and organize it enough to find the computer.

On occasion, the clutter grows legs and arms and begins to consume small animals and children. Once it got so bad that we had an employee vanish. Everyone else talks about the mysterious disappearance of Jane Doe, but I know what really happened and swore I would never let it get to that point again. I mean, children are one thing, but that receptionist made the COFFEE RUNS TO STARBUCKS, dammit. Now I have to pick up my own frappuccino. Like, EVERY. DAY. In the words of the ever-elloquent Napoleon Dynamite, GOSH!!!

My mess was really a problem before I had an office, when my desk was in the lobby and everyone who walked past it would lay something of their own on the desk, adding to my personal clutter. One of the women who worked here was totally OCD (and a real control freak) and it drove her insane. She would instruct me about taking 15 minutes before the end of the day to clean my desk. It didn’t take very well (mainly because unlike some people, I actually had WORK to do during the last 15 minutes). Fortunately, she wasn’t around very long and then I got her office, so now people only have to look at my mess if they choose to enter at their own risk. It’s kind of like my own personal firewall.

Anyway, recently I have been on a cleaning/reorganizing kick (hence the previous “bins” conversation). I have no idea where it came from and J has already contacted SETI twice about the aliens who have abducted his wife and replaced her by some sort of organizing droid.

I think it stems from the fact that I pretty much want to redecorate or remodel every part of my house, but can’t afford to redecorate or remodel any part of my house. So I’m reorganizing in an effort to make it look different.

I started with the pantry. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t cook, so this was virtually uncharted territory to me. Does anybody know how long you can keep brown sugar? Because I’m quite certain I’ve had that tub of it since college. I’m also quite certain that when I filled that tub, it was with flour. I’m guessing that’s a bad sign.

I wish I could just buy new furniture or something to appease my current redecorating craving. That would take so much less effort and would have avoided the problem I’m currently facing, that I seem to have lost my daughter somewhere in the Storage Closet of No Return.

Probably should have stuck to the pantry.

What is it about fatherhood that transforms a man from a normal human being into a compulsive, shameless, lethal pun machine?

It must be genetic, as it seems to be passed down from generation to generation - a disease that lies dormant until offspring have been sprung, then rears its ugly head to the detriment of those within earshot.

Case in point:

“I need bins. We have all this stuff just thrown in the closet. I need bins to put it in.”

“Well, you can’t get too many.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be patriotic.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, if we have too many bins, then that makes us bin laden.”

(blink, blink)