We moved our computer upstairs. It's conveniently out of the way from babies who like to chew on wires (still haven't figured out what to do about the walls), but very inconveniently out of the way of stay at home mothers who feel like blathering on about nothing in particular and hitting "publish now" counts as a "creative outlet". Hmmmm, when I put it that way, maybe it is conveniently out of the way.
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So, we recently celebrated our tenth anniversary. At the county fair. With the kids. Hey! We eloped to Vegas, were you expecting just the two of us to head to a Balinese resort for couples massages and snorkeling? Mini-Pear and Mr. Pear went on all the vomit comets. I held the baby and our water and just-in-case long sleeves and watched teenagers performing the dance of summer courtship. I had a funnel cake, which was excellent, because really, who fucks up hot fried dough with powdered sugar on top. A couple of hours later, I had a totally nasty barbeque beef sandwich. Not nasty like Janet Jackson, just regular nasty. I threw it away after two bites. Which left me with plenty of room to share a caramel apple stack. Caramel apple stacks are a vast improvement on the lowly caramel apple. No swiveling away from your eager little teeth and rolling off down the midway, plus there's all that caramel left in the bottom of the cup for you to slurp.
Love caramel. Also, obviously, love Mr. Pear. Like, more than caramel. And sometimes with caramel, but that's a whole other (private! locked!) entry.
