I have lots of cute kitten pics and I'm flaunting them! :-D

Yeah, thanks for the e-mail reminder, guys. :P I did indeed miss a 'two on tuesday'. My routine was broken this week, as the college is on spring break and I didn't have to teach last night. I got working on some database stuff and as I so often do when being a computer geek, became completely immersed and lost track of time. By the time I noticed the time, it was very late and I remembered that I had to get up early for work this morning and just went to bed. I've spent the majority of my adult life trying to juggle way more balls than I could possibly manage, which results in me frequently dropping balls. There's no denying it. I own it. I'm a ball dropper. LOL! I know exactly what my husband will have to say when he reads that. He's so incredibly predictable in certain areas, but most especially when it comes to juvenile wisecracks.

Total and complete detour here for a minute:

I knew when I got my husband that he was prone to frequently making the kind of remarks and jokes that adolescent boys would make and that he enjoys bad puns and groaners like no other. I thought that eventually my very 'grown up' sense of humor and decorum would serve as a good influence and at least minimize his tendency to whip things like that out. Most of his juvenile forays received an eye roll, but there were a few that were not tolerated so well. Like the number of times that he 'pantsed' me (for those who didn't grow up with brothers, that means to sneak up behind someone and pull their pants down to their ankles in front of others) while we were dating. Yes he did. Pregnancy did not prevent him from 'pantsing' me either.

The first time he took me to his parents in IL, I was in the bathroom, midstream, when my future husband opened the bathroom door (which is about 15 feet away from the toilet), giggled like a little girl, and ran away, leaving the door open. Stern lecture follows, I'm sure he gets it. Nope.

While in our first childbirth class (very large class) and we were asked to introduce ourselves and state the best/worst thing about pregnancy, my loving husband announces with boy scout seriousness to this room of strangers that his name was Mark and the worst thing about pregnancy was that, "the wifey doesn't give it up 6 or 7 times a day like she used to." This was in no way the truth, but the silent, staring group of expectant parents didn't know this. And still, I was convinced that I would elevate him. Then later, after giving birth (after three flipping days of labor with an overdue giant), he giggled like a little girl when he realized that he could fold me in half by pushing the buttons on my hospital bed, he only stopped after threat of death (truth be told, I'm pretty sure it was a promise, rather than a threat). After my stern lecture, I was pretty sure I had finally gotten through to him.

That short little history of our early years and where we started was just to illustrate where we started and where I thought we would be by now. As were most of my predictions about what my life would or would never consist of, I was wrong. His sense of humor has not changed one iota. I do believe he's gotten a little smarter about things like pantsing me in front of people, although who knows. I was in absolute shock when he pulled the same hospital bed crap the day after I had major surgery and was in unthinkable pain. Anyway, what has happened is that I not only recite his bad jokes and inappropriate statements with him, but I catch myself doing it too ("While you're down there, love.", "That's what she said", and many other classy sentiments like that). Not only did I NOT change him, but he's somehow managed to bring out the hidden 12-year-old boy inside me. I still don't understand how it happened.

Detour over.

M. was gone last night and tonight--speaking gigs. He just texted that he's on his way back from Milwaukee. I have to wait until he returns to watch LOST, so I'm counting the minutes. I also have to get a shit ton (no idea why, but I'm really digging that phrase lately) of database work done tonight and some homeschool work too. I have the kittens here all week (and Dej & Joe of course), and they are constantly luring me away from productivity with their cuteness.

L. and I had a really entertaining conversation tonight after reading our Trixie Belden before bed. Trixie was feigning a crush on a boy, which led L. into a zillion questions about crushes--"What causes them?", "How do they happen?", "How can you tell if someone has a crush", "Why do girls doodle the boy's name?", etc. I explained to her about pheremones, hormones, deep biological imperatives, and all that stuff that wipes the mystique and romance right out of the picture (yep, I'll take science and logic over that crap any day). Of course she countered with even more questions--"Why do we even have hormones?", etc..., and then "Have YOU ever had a crush?". That's pretty easy: "Of course I have. I've had many in the past and will probably have more in the future. Humans can get crushes at any age and they occur throughout our lives." I reminded her of past crushes she has had and told her she would have many more crushes on many more boys or girls in her lifetime. She said, "Yeah, sometimes I think that girls are really, really pretty. But...I would say that I'm not gay. I would prefer to marry a woman because, you know, boys are so bizarre and violent. I think I mostly get crushes on boys."

While I hoped for two little lesbians, I can accept that my daughters had no choice in their sexual preference, and I love them for who they are. I'm pretty sure I have two little heteros, despite my best efforts, and the most I can hope for now is that they'll end up bi. ;P The fact that my militant, radical feminist philosophy did not turn my children into daughters of Sappho should serve as the final proof that you cannot MAKE someone gay (or not gay)!

I'm entertaining myself immensely here tonight, and while I had more fun L. stories to share from tonight, I see it's late and I need to go be productive before M. gets home and we watch LOST.

Botswana comes out every night while we do our reading time. He comes out during the day as well, but the night-time outing is part of our routine, and he expects it. He's so cute and interactive. I really struggle with getting good pictures of him, particularly at night when I have to use the flash. I haven't yet managed to capture his true cuteness, but I'm going to keep trying.