B is for Broomba

We are experiencing some serious weather weirdness over here. All day, it's been threatening to storm (and it stormed all last night—and Nora didn't sleep well through that), but every time I know in my gut that it's going to storm, the sun arrives. I give up! I keep running Nora outside to play every moment that I think we're good to go, and we keep missing that sunshine. She is now napping, so, of course, the sun is out. I'm seriously contemplating mowing our lawn, but I really can't be far from my work computer today. I've got a deadline, and I'm waiting to see about more changes to that project.

This morning, I realized that Nora's vocabulary is just exploding. Several words that she's used (just today) are: shoes, book, thank you (pronounced, "dankoo"), thanks, dog, kitty, juice, cheese, cookie, more, up (whenever I ask her if she wants down, she says, "Up!" and she always says, "Up!" during one of the songs on my cousin's kids' album), and no (of course). She says lots of other words, too. She said "monkey" yesterday when we were reading Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. I think that might be her first two-syllable word. She says Mommy and Daddy, and she pretty much will repeat any word when I say, "Say ____."

Speaking of Five Little Monkeys: one of these days, I need to get Willis to record me reading that book to Nora. Every time I say, "The mama called the doctor. The doctor said, 'NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!'" the kid wrinkles up her nose, gets this huge grin on her face, and she even growls sometimes. It's hysterical!

Oh, and speaking of books: I can now completely recite the book B is for Bear from memory. No joke.

I think Nora adores our neighbor, Zach, who is 13 years old and taller than I am. Every time she sees him, she gets this huge grin on her face, and she pulls her shirt up, exposing her belly. I always say, "Well, I don't know why she feels she has to flash you every time she sees you, Zach."

I think it embarrasses him a bit, and I do take some small joy in doing that. Muahahaha.

I've got a lot to do before this baby arrives, and it's hitting me pretty hard lately. I wonder if that's why my eye is still twitchy. I'm getting fairly stressed about it. Whenever Nora wakes up in the night (and after she's calmed down again), as I fall asleep, my mind races and thinks about all of the stuff that I need to do to prep for kid #2. Oi. I'm not ready!

In other news, Nora answered the phone yesterday. I was screening a call (the number actually said "Telemarketer" under it. Um. No. I will not pick up), and I let it ring. Nora ran over and grabbed the cordless phone. I'm pretty sure the person on the other end got an earful of baby tell-off. It was pretty fantastic. If I had been more on the ball, I'd have tried to get that on camera, but by the time it was happening (and by the time I realized she was probably, indeed, talking to someone), it was too late. Plus, I didn't want to miss it.

Could you imagine calling someone and getting baby gibberish on the other end? That would probably make my day—especially if I was a telemarketer.

In other, other news, I want a Roomba iRobot that follows my cat everywhere he goes to suck up all the freaking hair he keeps dropping all over the floor (and kitchen table). Is that too much to ask? I swear that cat thinks he's giving me "gifts" by leaving part of himself all over the place. I'm about ready to freaking punt him! He also barfs a heck of a lot more than a cat ever should (always immediately after eating), and he always chooses to do it in the stupidest places (for example: my ironing board or on the couch in the basement or in an out-of reach area on the ledge in our basement). Punt, punt, PUNT! Smash his face!

I'd also like a Roomba iRobot that follows my dog to not only suck up his hair but also to torment him (he's a huge wuss about vacuum cleaners, and if one was, like, sentient and following him, I think he'd just wig). That would be money. Then, I could, like, walk through the house without tripping on one of these punks (because they'd be too preoccupied to run underfoot every time I get up to move). Maybe.

Dilly out.