New Kid's On The Block

So, what’s new? Very little.

A very little girl who I am now going to have to uncle like a boss. July 17th was a hell of a day with a little bit of heaven. You know when you dig through the pack of raspberries and they’re all mouldy, but you find that one at the bottom that is just pristine and perfect? That was this week in a nutshell/raspberry pack. I’m not saying other little babies are mouldy, but if you leave anything in the heat for that long it’s bound to happen.

My god, get to it Rob. Yes, I’m just saying that the kid is beautiful.  If you know my philosophy on this, it’s that I believe all newborns are quite the unsightly mouldy raspberries, despite everyone proudly boasting that they’re just the most magnificently beautiful (breathtaking, anyone?)  things ever and they’re so unique and adorable and just got accepted to Yale Law.

Erroneous! Erroneous on all counts!

Now, I’m not being a hypocrite here, though I think I misused my “erroneous” reference… I’m admitting my bias toward this not-so-mouldy berry, but I didn’t come to this conclusion until she turned ten days old and gave me the first ever stink eye. And as the only objective baby analyst on earth, I can state that it takes a minimum of ten days for a child to approach any sort of cuteishness. We all know this, but no one’s allowed to say it; like saying your parents are most definitely, without a doubt, the second best ever.

For the record, mine are the best.

But they struggle a bit with CDs.


This is a baby. Not THE baby, but you get the point..10-Day rule, right? And I didn’t want to use flash photography and give her a Hollywood complex. Uncle skills at work already.

Unfortunately, I haven’t even held  the little Jabba-turned-angel yet, but there was a bit of a line-up of teary-eyed mothers and grandmothers (just one mother actually, this isn’t Ellen) waiting their turn, and I may or may not have been busy exercising my “Hello, nurse!” routine down the hall. I think it worked because one of them told me that she’d be doing rounds at 9.

The shame of it is that this little one’s a girl so the name Rob still needs to be bestowed upon a future child or I may be surprised by some late changes to the will. No pressure yet though, because if this kiddo’s relatives have shown anything, it’s that she won’t be an only child. And the Dutch mafia in my hometown is more than willing to wait nine more months for another Conservative vote.

While the poor liberals are still “choosing” to prevent some voters. I’m not judging, I’m just saying that the conservatives are getting more votes AND they can actually FEEL the creation process since they don’t believe in jails. And when I say jails, I mean con domes.

Anyway, as you can tell, my absence from this blog has been due to playing catch-up at work after the BC trip, and then driving back and forth from home at 16 hours a pop because “ya gotta see the baybay!” I’ll go ahead and admit that it’s mainly been the driving and not so much the “playing catch-up,” as the work part of the equation is about as enticing as cleaning up hundreds of maggots from my living room floor. And I would know, because I’m watching my drunk roommates do it right now. I’m tempted to shout, “hey, a broom is more effective than a shoe!” but at this point I’m trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Also because someone just said that maggots are caterpillars, so yeah, there’s that. If he were any smaller I’d sweep him up with a shoe and walk him to the door in my brooms.

I’ve got a busy rest-of-summer lined up, so you can be sure that I’ll be back on this thing keeping you updated when I get a chance. And you know I’m itching to get out of this town and back on the road, so I’m working on a few ideas. I’ll try to give details where possible, but as the saying goes, “don’t count your chicks before they hatch,” which I assume means don’t count your conquests until you’re sure they don’t have a future voter in the booth.

Ta-ta for now; like foreplay.