On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

... a dishwasher!

The gentle hum of clean dishes is serenading this blog post. While a dishwasher may not be the most romantic of gifts to many of you, there is nothing sexier to me at this point in my life than the cold steel of this hard working beast: the auto cycle working its gentle fingers over my dinner dishes, caressing the flatware, romancing the pulp off my orange juice glasses, scrubbing the sh*t out of my chili pot. And don't get me started on the Jet Dry. We've already run this b*tch twice tonight and its not even 9:00.  I know, right? Twice in one night!

Accompanying my very first dishwasher, is 24" of long, hard (wood) cabinet and drawer space, effectively doubling if not tripling my counter and kitchen storage. Can a sister get a "woot woot"! My cupboard options are now endless--spices are no longer homeless; Tupperware can free itself from the poverty of the cardboard box under our sink; and I no longer have to awkwardly explain to anyone who walks into the kitchen what a "nipple shield" is now that my breast pump equipment is safely stowed away. Hallelujah! It's a good night in the Orange household.

Now you'll have to forgive me, I'm going to go and wait for the second cycle to finish so I can sob into my immaculate dishes.

I got a new phone and downloaded the Blogger app!

All my mom wants for Christmas is a new blog post (well, that and an HD TV...) Getting my butters in gear for her is the least I can do so I'm warming my writing fingers up with some pre Christmas musings.

Not having blogged in, ooo, 4 months, a few things have come to pass. Bert got an automatic food dispenser. So that's new. We bought a Subaru, which means Orange's transformation into a hipster is nearly complete. Oh, and then there's this little missy:

Doodle Bug bust onto the scene a few weeks early and has quickly learned to rule our home with a tiny, chubby, iron fist. Even though she's a few months old I still wake up most mornings to her baby grunts and bassinet boobles and think "oh, you're still here... right... I have a kid now." It's a bit shocking really, that Jebus would give her to us. But she is the jam on my bread, and I couldn't be happier she chose us to be her people (and Mama LL is just pleased to finally have someone to buy tiny fur coats for...)

DB will most likely influence this blog quite a bit being that my days now revolve around trying to get her to giggle. But I promise this will not become yet another "mommy blog." I still have very strong opinions about the Kumon logo, inserts in magazines that make it difficult to flip the pages, and the nubbin that forms on top of the mustard bottle.

With that in mind...

I spend a lot of time walking these days, pushing DB around town to work off my baby butt/the daily hit of TCBY I took most of last summer. The mind goes to funny places when your side kick is a 9 lb munchkin. I have lots of time to ponder, and ponder I do. For example:

Who owns Antarctica?

How does mail get from here to, say, Ottawa? You never see "Canada Post" trucks on the highway. And while $1 a stamp is ludicrous I don't think it would cover a Canada Post flight. Does it travel by train? Unmarked cars? 

Why do people pay so much for Canada Goose jackets? Canadian Geese are vermin. They are a dime a dozen down by the waterfront, poisoning the lake with their toxic green poo. In fact, a friend of mine not willing to pay $1500 for a coat has a knocknoff CG parka and recently discovered it's stuffed with (wait for it)... hair. Yes, human hair. And no, i have no idea where she got it. Maybe that can be a maternity leave crafting project... hair jackets for $1500. I certainly have the supply what with the way I'm molting postpartum. And folks I will even cut you a Christmas deal: buy two and I'll cover the shipping (once I figure out the tricksy Canada Post thing...)

Beef yelled at me for posting nonesense about the Trivago guy.

She thought I should be posting about other, more important things. 'Like what?' I ask. 'Like this,' she says:

37.5 weeks and counting...

Oh, right. I'm pregnant. Really pregnant. I suppose this is blog worthy news.

She then proceeded to yell at me for not having provided she or Mama LL with pictures of myself while pregnant. I wasn't aware this was an official duty, nor something people actually wanted (I don't typically spam my family with selfies...) And besides which, with all the yelling going on you'd think Beef was the pregnant one... *wink*

Maternity photos. This is something people do now, yes? Actually, I know it's something people do as there are multiple posts on the Babycentre.ca group I lurk on of moms-to-be in various poses fondling their bumps: a mom wrapped in wind-blown sheets; a mom in underwear sprawled across a bed; a mom embracing her baby daddy who is in turn belly cupping his wife. To each his own, I suppose, although I remind Orange on a regular basis how lucky he is that I'm not subjecting him to THIS.

For the enquiring minds: Baby LL is due to drop September 2nd, or thereabouts. Bert is over the moon with the new bedroom set he thinks we've purchased for him, and will no doubt spend the better portion of the fall months wedged behind the furnace, pouting, when he realizes I haven't recovered the glider to lull him to sleep at night. Orange has been a champ, although spends most of his downtime pacing the house mumbling about wills and life insurance and mentally running through the estimated increase to our hydro bill. I drink a lot of milk as a means of justifying the stack of cookies that accompany each glass.

All in all, typical first timers.

Satisfied, Beef?

I don't understand the Kumon logo.

Is that sad little face meant to inspire me? And this coming from someone who could actually use a little Kumon in her life (damn my father for being right... math really is in everything!) Although I've never attended a Kumon tutoring program, looking at that logo I'm left to assume that I've actually managed to avoid a certain sect of evil. It's exactly what I've always imagined it to be, right? Grey cubicle buildings stuffed with communist-style desks; unhappy children being yelled at by hairy, eastern European-ish women in ill-fitting suits, muscled into practicing things like linear algebra and functions (whatever those are...) until their fingers bleed, shamed publicly for incorrect answers, and forced to recite the 9-times table before being allowed to relieve themselves in a grate on the floor. God, I hated the 9-times table. And I bet the room smells like sauerkraut, too. Old sauerkraut.

That's it, right? That's what happens at Kumon? Sauerkraut and Stalinism? Until they change that depressing little logo, you'll never be able to convince me otherwise.

Speaking of poor advertizing, let's talk about the Trivago guy. When they pitched the idea for this commercial, what exactly did this all-start team of advertising execs envision? This man looks like he woke up on a bare mattress in downtown Detroit with a smoke still in his hand; like he's a castoff extra from the movie Contagion. And why isn't he wearing a belt? Why does he look sweaty?

I'm guessing his checklist for hotel necessities does not match that of my own:

Me: clean sheets, a room with a window, a bathroom I feel comfortable being barefooted in, and free wifi...
Him: proximity to a KFC, a private entrance so no one can see you coming or going (or what you're dragging in behind you), and an hourly rate.

This commercial makes me happy smell-o-vision hasn't been invented yet. Needless to say, I won't be making use of Trivago the next time I travel, unless my vacation goals change and I actually plan to to contract Hepatitis on my holiday.