J and I always knew that I wouldn’t blog forever. Blogging no longer has a place in my heart or my soul. It still speaks to me. Yet is doesn’t. But that’s ok. Nothing can last forever. I am strong. Peace, sweet perfect peace. God loves me best. So, what now? I have prayerfully and soulfully made the decision to stop blogging. I will update The [SNORT] Files a few times a week to let you know how we’re doing. But I won’t be blogging here. Just updating. Make sense? Good.
Footlong is continuing to do well with his educational mentoring at the brick and mortar training center for disadvantaged youths whose mothers don’t homeschool them. He brings his lunch everyday because he is a hungry, growing boy. Healthy tidbits for his tummy to be sure. Today he has his ice-cube tray filled with raw green beans, cocoa-dusted hummus, mayonnaise, hunked up tuna, homemade jelly beans (roll tidbits of jelly or jam between your fingers until you get a ball shape. Place on organic, free-trade waxed paper and freeze.), a scoop of “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!”, leftover scrambled eggs, candied lima beans, a large dollop of sunflower butter, 2 Wasa crackers, and a bunch of cilantro. He asked if he could take music lessons, and I told him not right now because I just paid to have my fat froze and then chiseled off. What did that cheeky little man do? He built a grand piano out of 3 rolls of dental floss (mint, un-waxed), a pack of Twinkies, a handful of Mah Jong tiles, and a gross of cotton puffs.
6-inch has become stand-up mobile as opposed to hand and knee mobile. He can take 7 or 8 steps before plopping down into a controlled, disposable toileting apparatus-cushioned fall. I am staging an intervention for 6-inch because I am honestly worried that he has a drinking problem. When he fowardly projects, he takes halting steps, and often leans to the right or left. He can’t even really walk in a straight line. I don’t know where he is getting the alcohol, but I know a drunk baby walking when I see one. What would happen if he were to Tweet or Instagram whilst staggering around? Um, hello?!? He just might get arrested is what. I don’t cuss, except for when I do, but if I did, which I will, I’d say he would be safer playing on the fucking roof.
And how am I doing? So nice of you to ask. I’m hanging in there. I opted to hire a maid, so I will have to do a little longer without a good bra; not that it matters, but it is normal to tuck your boobage into your pants, isn’t it? I have also hired a gardener. I mean, our yard is nothing but rocks, but it gives me great inner joy (and peace) to say to people, “I have a gardener.” Tomorrow I am interviewing potential friends, potential blog fans, trying to get financing for a new Bentley, and interviewing someone to be my paparazzi. I anticipate a busy day.
Alas, dear sweet friends, the time has come for me to stop blogging. The timing is practically perfect. Remember to check here several times a week for updates and deets. And, you gals that e-mailed me about wanting to send me gift cards, you must have forgotten the fucking dot. Get your shit together and try again.