And then there was one…

Ah, the migration is complete now that the pesky, extraneous “About” tab/link has been eliminated, thanks to the kindly advice of a person (“helpme”) in the Wpdesigner forums better versed in WordPress than I. Now let’s see how many plugins we can clutter up this bad boy with.

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Who’s Yer Daddy?

Dang, got this thing transferred from wordpress.com to my own domain.  Nothing against the wordpress.com hosting, mind you, but this is feeling significantly cooler.  Plus, now I have the rope necessary to really hang myself – always a required tool for us artsy types.  But I must say, the two “About” tabs and links do seem somewhat redundant – although that might not be the case if only I can provide enough mind-boggling “About” content.  Okay, let’s fire this baby off on it’s maiden voyage and see if it works before I blather on any further.  Rest assured, more blathering is yet to come.

Dashboard Widget Posting

Wow, this is cool if it works. I’m posting via a Mac Dashboard Widget… which I’m way too lazy to explain, in case you’re not familiar with it. What the hey, let’s give ‘er the gun and see what happens…

Baby down but talking, talking…

So here I lay, dazed with exhaustion over having spent the entire weekend within the immediate vicinity of our two year old.  I thought lying down beside my peacefully sleeping wife might afford me the luxury of a few moments rest, but alas, I’m writhing beneath the boot of the tyrannical baby monitor.   Here we have a child barely able to keep her eyes open after a brisk morning of Easter Bunny activities, church and demolition derby-like interactions with her cousins… still babbling in her room by herself after two straight hours of lying flat on her back.  Under these conditions she normally falls asleep approximately 30 seconds before we give up on trying to make her do so, at which point we are confronted with the following options:1.)  wake her up and risk suffering the full brunt of waking a two year old just after REM entry.2.) let sleep run it’s course, and experience an electric baby at 7 pm that doesn’t wind down until about midnight – and the wind down will not be a pretty one.Right on queue, she’s just fallen asleep – having finally played her hand, the entire household hunkers down into energy conservation mode – knowing full well that whichever of the two options above are exercised, the ultimate victor will be he or she with the most energy units to burn. The playing field is not exactly level in this regard.  I’m 51 years old.  She’s 28 months old.  And my wife, her child bride status notwithstanding, is 7 months pregnant.  You do the math.  Then, take a look at my profile photo/avatar and reconsider your initial assessment of my being a mere nutjob.  Think about what you might look like after 28 months of being in my shoes. Link to Facebook.

Baby down but talking, talking…

So here I lay, dazed with exhaustion over having spent the entire weekend within the immediate vicinity of our two year old.  I thought lying down beside my peacefully sleeping wife might afford me the luxury of a few moments rest, but alas, I’m writhing beneath the boot of the tyrannical baby monitor.   Here we have a child barely able to keep her eyes open after a brisk morning of Easter Bunny activities, church and demolition derby-like interactions with her cousins… still babbling in her room by herself after two straight hours of lying flat on her back.  Under these conditions she normally falls asleep approximately 30 seconds before we give up on trying to make her do so, at which point we are confronted with the following options:1.)  wake her up and risk suffering the full brunt of waking a two year old just after REM entry.2.) let sleep run it’s course, and experience an electric baby at 7 pm that doesn’t wind down until about midnight – and the wind down will not be a pretty one.Right on queue, she’s just fallen asleep – having finally played her hand, the entire household hunkers down into energy conservation mode – knowing full well that whichever of the two options above are exercised, the ultimate victor will be he or she with the most energy units to burn. The playing field is not exactly level in this regard.  I’m 51 years old.  She’s 28 months old.  And my wife, her child bride status notwithstanding, is 7 months pregnant.  You do the math.  Then, take a look at my profile photo/avatar and reconsider your initial assessment of my being a mere nutjob.  Think about what you might look like after 28 months of being in my shoes. Link to Facebook.

De-bibbed, ready for action…

For the benefit of the throng of individuals aching for news on my hernia recovery, to whit.  Or, to wit.  Okay, I’m too lazy to google Shakespeare at the moment, so we’ll leave my prologue ambiguous.   So, the hernia is feeling much better.  All the gummy matter populating the gaping yaw of the scar has long since fallen away, leaving me with a supremely desirable cosmetic anomaly. Regrettably, my capability for sitting on the floor with my daughter in order to engage in the cutthroat politics of Thomas the Tank Engine has returned.  If you’re interested in hearing a sample of such an interaction, check this out.    Hernia or not, getting up and down from a hard wooden floor at the whim of a two year old ain’t no picnic.   Since belts are no longer an option, I stand, somewhat sadly, de-bibbed.  Yes, I know, a hush has fallen over the audience – but bibs were just too weird for me.  Too much space to move around in… that “lifting” sensation made me feel constantly on the brink of a nasty wedgie.   It’s hard to describe to a person not wearing bibs as they listen to me.  So let me know if you’re wearing bibs – I’ll buy you a cup of colostrum and we can talk about it.

De-bibbed, ready for action…

For the benefit of the throng of individuals aching for news on my hernia recovery, to whit.  Or, to wit.  Okay, I’m too lazy to google Shakespeare at the moment, so we’ll leave my prologue ambiguous.   So, the hernia is feeling much better.  All the gummy matter populating the gaping yaw of the scar has long since fallen away, leaving me with a supremely desirable cosmetic anomaly. Regrettably, my capability for sitting on the floor with my daughter in order to engage in the cutthroat politics of Thomas the Tank Engine has returned.  If you’re interested in hearing a sample of such an interaction, check this out.    Hernia or not, getting up and down from a hard wooden floor at the whim of a two year old ain’t no picnic.   Since belts are no longer an option, I stand, somewhat sadly, de-bibbed.  Yes, I know, a hush has fallen over the audience – but bibs were just too weird for me.  Too much space to move around in… that “lifting” sensation made me feel constantly on the brink of a nasty wedgie.   It’s hard to describe to a person not wearing bibs as they listen to me.  So let me know if you’re wearing bibs – I’ll buy you a cup of colostrum and we can talk about it.