Virtual Boy

The Virtual Boy gaming system made its 1980s debut as they only system of its time to boast 3-D graphics.  Awesome!  Since none of you have any idea what I am talking about, the idea obviously was a flop.  

My assessment of this product's failure is two fold.  First, the lack of human interaction.  The Virtual Boy has the capability to cut one off almost completely from the outside world.  The eye piece in particular wraps fully around the sides of the head, I imagine to enhance its 3-D capabilities, but also succeeds in entirely eliminating any distraction from the outside world.  Video games of their own accord often create tunnel vision,  but this product, conveniently, also comes with the tunnel.

And second, its widespread ability to cause seizures. Yep.

While the Virtual Boy was admittedly a failure, a few thousand did make it into the hands of the public.  My teenage husband and his friend Heber, were two of these lucky few who were able to purchase the item at DI for a whopping $30.  If you can survive the seizures, it does pay to be co-owners of a Virtual Boy.  Time and the limited amount of circulating systems have caused it to become a gamers collectors item and can now be sold on for upwards of $350.

But who could part with such a beloved childhood toy when it fits Lance so perfectly.  He truly is a Virtual Boy.

Valentine's Day

Wove.  Wove.  Wove is what bwings us togevver today.

In an attempt to more fully develop my culinary side, I set out to bake Lance a Valentine's day bouquet.  The result, this lovely arrangement of 6 cupcakes which only left about 29 extra.  Thanks to Brian and Shelley's family and Brian's co-workers for disposing of our surplus.  This fabulous prize also came with a bottle of Olive Garden's famous salad dressing, a 2 liter of Root Beer, and a love note (something I hope to make into a Valentine's tradition of making a list of things I love about each person).  I know, I out-did myself.












Lance also presented me with a token of his love, as seen below.













Yes, you're right.  It is a scale.  Now, you may be wondering what kind of husband gives his wife a scale for Valentine's Day and now you know.  Mine does.

Okay, your bad opinion of my husband has gone on long enough.  The request of the scale was actually my own in an effort to put on a few pounds (which I hate to mention because now you will probably all hate me - but I sacrifice myself so that you can know the wonderfulness of my husband) in hopes that this might help in our quest for child #2.  See, it's true.  This is the second portion of my gift.

So you see, I did not marry a monster, but rather a truly wonderful man who was willing to buy his wife a scale for Valentine's Day to aid her in her efforts of getting fatter.  Now that is true love.

Natural Disaster

On Friday February 5th, disaster struck our home.  The first of its kind, I felt particularly unprepared.  Like any normal day, I had undressed Alex in preparation for a bath, and being the somewhat absent minded person that I am, I didn't begin looking for her lotion until after she was in the buff.  She was delighted with this rare occurance of being left in the nude and quickly grabbed a book and climbed into the rocking chair for a quick read.  Cute.  Sure, but then I noticed it.  A small ring of wet growing steadily larger upon the seat where she sat.  Cute turned to Gross, but I thought as I ran to get some carpet cleaner, it's better than throw up.

I came back upstairs to find Alex hiding behind the chair.  Ohh, she must think she is in trouble.  Poor thing, but I still needed a rag so I stopped at the hall closet.  Those of you who have children and experienced similar disasters may have guessed by now that this was no ordinary hiding place, and that there were no thoughts of remorse behind her decision for choosing this unusual location.  I give you leave to chuckle at my ignorance, but please a little sympathy as well.

My rag searching was interrupted by sudden wails from the next room.  I rushed in to find my daughter with pleading outstretched hands full of POOP!  She had POOPED ON THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  And not just pooped and walked away, but became curious about this fascinating thing that had just come out of her body, picked it up, decided it was gross and tried to wipe it off on her bare stomach, stepped in it in her haste to get out from behind the chair, and came running for the door leaving tiny poop footprints.

It was time for action.  I grabbed the distressed child and began the decontamination process.  Once again poop free, I placed her on the floor instructing her to stand there while I pick up the large poop pieces before we got in the bath.  I bent over the chair, grabbed the two main pieces of poop and looked up to find that she had peed where she stood.  (she was obedient though, she hadn't moved) 

Lest you think by the length of this post that this was a large span of time, I should inform you that this all took place in less than 3 minutes.  3 minutes, 3 separate bodily functions all deposited on 3 different pieces of furniture.

I could think of no words, which is probably good because if I had at least one may have had four letters, but my face must have been worse because Alex had a very reverent bath time.  One bath, 45 minutes of scrubbing, and an entire bottle of carpet cleaner and cleanliness was restored.  I threw the rag away.
I do apologize that there are no pictures, but let's face it.  You didn't really want to see that.  Here is a picture of a happier time taken sometime after the incident, proof that my child is still alive.

Dirty little secret

I have a confession to make. I will be 27 years old in a matter of weeks and I still love McDonalds. I have been waiting for the maturation of my pallet to occur, which I was always told would happen when I grew up, and still nothing. Maybe it's because of the price, maybe it can be blamed on nostalgia, but there is something about a double cheeseburger (no onions), fries, and a sprite that brings warmth to my heart and plaque to my arteries.

I have been to wonderfully fancy restaurants such as, The Timbermine, The Roof, and Marie Calendars. But they all require presentable appearance and a reservation. What kind of friend is that?! No no, a true friend is someone who doesn't care what you look like, who will still be there for you on your worst day, and doesn't have to pencil you into a schedule. So on a rainy Saturday night you know you can always strap on your elastic waist pants and head to McDonalds.

To comfort food. (Even if it doubles as a guilty pleasure)

Whew, glad I got that off my chest.

Gene Pool

As each day passes I realize more and more how much Alex is like Lance. Although I carried this child for 9 months and developed her every cell, I seem to have contributed very little to her genetic makeup. Case in point: her newest character development of loving everything technological. More specifically the iphone. She knows how to unlock the phone, navigate its many pages, drag, click, drop, etc. She is highly disappointed with my lame phone due to its 1980s appearance and obvious lack of touch screen.

Lance has even downloaded some games just for her, which we now use to demonstrate to our friends how brilliant she is. Alex is constantly peering over Lance's shoulder or snuggling under his arm to get a better look, and even sneaks off with it alone should the opportunity arise. But who can complain when one small device can occupy the attentions of two individuals, giving me a few extra moments to write about it.

But I still have claim on her eye shape.