Learning curve

Yesterday I had a FitBit Flex. Apparently I don't do bracelets well & J wanted a display on his thingy, so now we have Ones. Again. Only mine is pink this time. They say "burgundy", but come on. It's pink. Let's see if I can go more than 10 days this time without ruining another expensive piece of equipment.

I'm at the point in this pregnancy where I have to start every phone call to my mother with "I'm not in labor." It's not that she's the anxious type, but she is my designated Eleanor watcher while I go get this new baby born, so she does have a reason to be antsy. She also helped me get my whole kitchen whipped into shape. And listened to me ramble about marriage & being a mom, which must sound pretty silly coming from me. She's been married 44 years and raised 2 grown kids. She's the best listener in the whole world though. I'm so lucky to have her.

My dad had a birthday. He's 66 now. That number doesn't seem to fit the image I had in my head of how old that would be. It sounds old. My dad isn't old, he's awesome. And continuing to kick cancer's stupid butt. So that's good.

I'm dog sitting for my brother's dog Tukko next week. He's the prettiest dog in the world. He, however, does not have a toddler in his house, so he's not used to the rules of "just because it's at your level doesn't mean you can eat it" that our dog Puca has learned. Honestly, it's a good time for Eleanor to learn not to wave her snacks in the faces of the beasties.

My husband just tried to blame his snoring on the dog. My poor, patient, long-suffering, sweet-hearted dog. I'm not buying it.

One of these days I'm going to do a whole post and not re-correct auto-correct and see what happens. One day when I'm brave. Or lazy.

I'm also at the stage of this pregnancy where I refuse to put on real pants. Yoga pants until the end! Which is in no more than 16 days. 9 until the official due date. Eleanor was 4 days late. Maybe this one will be earlier. I just want to be home from the hospital before Thanksgiving. Which is being cooked for me in my house by my fantastic family. My brother is a whiz at gravy. But I should buy some Wondra.

There is no unifying thought or theme here. Just some randomness from today. Oh, I also learned that my hair is now if a length that cannot be slept on wet. I've always been able to combat the bed-head before. This is no longer true, and when they're no saving ponytail to fall back on... well, I guess I'll finally have to learn to be a morning shower-er.

Hey, did you know...

So, my husband & I are both notorious for telling the same stories over and over again. I know, not the best or brightest thing about us. Usually it's to different audiences and those few who happen to have heard it before are kind enough to grin and bear it. When it gets truly ridiculous is when we tell the same stories to one another over and over again. It happens so much, that we've developed a little code. Well, it's not really "code" as that implies some sort of "decoding" to be necessary to understand it. We just interrupt that person to tell them that in the movie "The Island" when Lincoln Six Echo goes to Tom Lincoln's house and sees pictures of Tom Lincoln riding motorcycles... those pictures are actually real pictures of Ewan McGregor... like from his life, not promo shots for the movie. We say this, because apparently EVERY time I watch that movie, I make that comment. Every time. Because I'm ridiculous. Usually, all we have to say is "Hey, did you know that in the movie 'The Island'..." and the other person will get the hint and we laugh and all is well.

Retelling stories in real life is sort of forgivable because who can really be expected to remember every time they've ever told any particular story and to what audience? So you give some lee-way. In text... that really shouldn't ever happen, right? A little bit of research should prevent the repeat story-telling from happening in, for example, a blog? Right? Yeah, that seems reasonable. Only... I'm unreasonable. It seems that I want to tell the same stories in print too. Some of that is not being able to remember if I said it on Twitter or here. Like, did you know that I used my Creative Memories Storybook Creator Plus 3.0 to create my swirly giraffapotamusy blog background?

 I did. I did it all by myself. And I tweeted about it. Then, my lovely husband took it upon himself as a challenge to make sure that the page looked the same on everyone's screen, regardless of resolution, which isn't actually true since some of the elements are overlapped on smaller screen and much more spread out on bigger screens, but the point is that people could see all of the design no matter their screen size, even if it was laid out differently. And he spent a lot of time researching how to make that happen. And he did.. unless you have certain versions of IE in which the fun background doesn't display at all, and we're still working on that. Try it in Chrome! Anyway, most of that I already told Twitter, and now I'm telling you, so it's sort of like repeating myself and all that over-lap audience can just skip this part which is the internet equivalent of smiling & nodding while thinking about how to get away from the insufferable bore who always tells the same stories over and over again. I'm that guy. Sadly.

Which isn't so surprising, seeing as how I'm the one who sent an e-mail to a favorite blogger about an older post that had the comments disabled to say how much I loved that post and it spoke to me and the parallel she drew in there was just so perfect and, "Gee, I like that band too, and I think you're keen."

Seems harmless, right? WRONG! I'd already sent that e-mail some 5 months before. Only, I completely forgot. Not that I'd ever e-mailed her before, but what I said in that first e-mail.  Turns out, at least I'm consistent, right?

Right?

Yes, I am. So there.

Anyway, this is me giving you permission to use this on me in real life. If I start to tell you a story that a) I've already told you before, 2) you've read on this blog, or D) all of the above, feel free to jump in and tell me about Ewan McGregor in the Island. I won't complain. I won't mind. In fact, I'll probably thank you for sparing me further humiliation and foot-in-mouthery in public.