Love and pain and Hallmark.

Love and pain and Hallmark.

This weekend was a doozy.

We're talking a birthday party for a two-year-old. {Someone hold me.} A birthday party, might I add, I had an extensive amount of confirmed attendees with chitlins, who, well, failed to follow through. Times like that, though at this point other kiddos at the over-the-top birthday celebration is more for me than Nugget, I wish my bloggy pals in faraway lands lived a wee bit closer or were independently wealthy enough to hop in their private jets just to shower my child with nonsensical gifts. End pity party. Those who attended did make it fantabulous. The infant was a bonus, mainly because he is my to die for adorable nephew, and Liam Danger was, by default being the only other chitlin, bad ass fun! With a middle name like Danger, you'd expect nothing less.

Valentine's Day, doubling as Husfriend and my three-year-anniversary in 2010 was...interesting. Planning a day of walking and sitting and watching movies at a real life cinematic establishment were cut short when "The sangria isn't helping the pain!" and "Pretty sure my hips didn't get the memo that they still have 50+ years time to "go out" on me."-esque gripes began spewing from my mouth. Husfriend is pretty aware that it won't be a day with me without my incessent complaining. I held out for a while though. Since it was a *special* day and whatnot. I'm so sweet.

Then...THEN...I whacked my knee. Hard. Right there on the unnaturally oversized door jamb of the entry to our bedroom. Seriously?! Plus side, it happened at the END of the day. Down side, I have discovered how incredibly difficult it is to cry while dying of laughter at your own failed attempt at appropriate depth perception. Writhing on the floor at the top of the stairs will also convince your spouse that something serious has happened. He will be baffled when he reaches you to see you grabbing your knee, crying, and holding your chest to control your laughter. Because your boobies hurt for female reasons beyond male comprehension. Also, sneaking in the question about BlogHer you sacrificed your ability to walk for, is tough to do as you limp pathetically to the bed. I still managed to squeeze it out between tearful guffaws. By the way, it was answered precisely to my liking. Squee! (More to come soon, keep your panties on!)

Now, excuse me while I hobble to grab my weepy Nugget from his bedroom. Sigh.

Oh yah, Happy Valentine's Day jerks!

xo,
Jess