We lovingly call our son the squeaker potato. It’s actually a combination of observations others have made about him – he squeaks when he gets excited and because he has a large head and a thick torso, but short arms and legs, he’s rather potato shaped. The potato shape makes him as cuddly as possible and the squeaking is adorable as long as it isn’t directly in the ear.
So it’s kinda hush-hush, but I am applying for other jobs. I say “kinda hush-hush” because the only person in the world who doesn’t know yet is my boss and I’m not ready for him to know that until I already have something ready. Not because I think he’ll fire me or anything, but because he’s already in a stressed out tizzy and I don’t want to add to it unless there is a concrete reason.
It is. Seriously. I thought I’d made the right decision and knew I’d stick with it out of stubbornness if it seemed to be a failure. Let’s not lie, diapers are damn expensive. Cloth diapers involve more upfront (less if you register for them and buy used) but cost less in the long run. I have $70 invested in cloth diapers total. When the next and probably final order arrives sometime in the next month, I’ll have enough to diaper Wee Man until he’s 3 and possibly through another kid.
I’ve been haunted by the last year. About a year ago, I lost someone close to me. We’d been friends a long ass time, not because we shared activities or anything, but because we counted on and enjoyed and supported and loved each other. She went her way, I went mine. The entire thing was a combination of missed communication and what I’ll colloquially call “poor-shaming”. It had been building for awhile, but I still think of her daily.
After Oston convinced my boss to let him keep his job at our company, we decided that he’d keep his job at the Postal Service as well. It pays our rent and is usually only one day a week on Saturdays – a day he’s not scheduled to work at our company. Since then, he’s been working 8-10 hour days five to six days a week, not counting his 10 hour Saturday shift at USPS. And for what I used to think of as the laziest man I had ever met, this enthusiasm for working is startling.
However, it also makes life more difficult. All we do is work. I have only the one job (technically, though I somewhat moonlight as a web developer for a tiny business on the side) but I work 60 hour weeks routinely. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I worked under 40 hours in one week and wasn’t deathly ill.
Most of Dennis Rodman’s off-court antics. Or maybe Fail Mary. Or steroids. Or any year the Vikings have made it to the playoffs.
All I’m saying is that NFLshop.com is a giant pile of shit. Literally, shit. It’s gotta be digested to be that slimy.
News that over a quarter of a million petitioners have signed their names requesting that the Westboro Baptist Church be labeled a hate group by the federal government is not unexpected. Let’s not lie. They’re a bunch of hateful people.
Oston and I grew up in Wyoming in the 1980s and 1990s. We were in junior high or high school, can’t remember just now, when Matt Shepard was murdered. After that, when I’d introduce myself to kids in other states for various activities, I’d get questions about homophobia instead of whether or not we rode horses to school. Westboro Baptist Church protested the funeral and return yearly to continue their protests. We know Westboro Baptist Church and we know what they believe.