I have no point

I'm tired, I have nothing really valuable to say. I just kinda feel like typing. (I guess this is not significantly different than other posts.)

Poor Phook. She's been dragged over the river and through The Woods for days on end, what with all this holiday excitement. I'm afraid it's taking its toll even on my most good natured of babies. Last night, she just went ape shit like I've never seen in my (her) life. We were over at the Grandparents J home, because it was Auntie Hode's last night in town, and she was kinda fussy. She'd actually been weird all day - woke up with puffy eyes and was really nappy. But I strollered her over there nonetheless, kind of knowing it wasn't going to go so hot. After some incessant snacking and fussing and whatnot, she just sort of lost it. She started with the "Heh, heh, heh" sounds, which usually means uncomfortable according to the Oprah baby language. For her, this is usually a too tight or otherwise bothersome sleeper. So I stripped her, but she just kept screaming. I can almost always console her in under a minute if she gets fussy...but this was not "fussy." This was all out screaming...she could hardly breathe and she looked like she was just in terrible, terrible pain. Big K and I pretty much wanted to call 911 because it was so out of character for her and so different from anything we've ever seen her do before and we were pretty much positive she was dying of something. Well, after about 20 minutes, I swaddled her up (something we don't normally do because she usually just busts out of it) and started rocking her hard and it was like she just gave up. She got really quiet and passed out in my arms and took about a half hour nap that way. Then she woke up and smiled at us, at which point we re-dressed her and hauled her home, and put in a pretty normal night. I don't know man, all I can say is it was terrible. I guess I have taken for granted that it seems like my kid has just been talking to me for most of her life, and I just listen to her and know what she wants...but this time, all bets were off...way off. Now, my parents raised two colic monsters (according to my pediatrician, I was apparently the worst case of colic he'd ever seen), and they had serious flashbacks with this occurring in their house. They said her screaming like that was what I did as an infant for months on end. I have no idea how people survive a colicky baby. What do you mean the baby just screams? Holy, holy, holy balls. I laud all you parents of the colicky babies. Especially those of you who are brave enough to have additional children. We just felt so helpless and it was such tremendous suck. And it was only 20 minutes.

So anyhow, today was our final Christmas. Big K's 'rents are divorced, so there are multiple families to have a shindig with, and today was his mom's event. I received one of those vacuum sealers for food. Now, I rarely have the experience where I receive something I didn't know I wanted...but this was just such a case. This is the kind of gadget a headcase like me gets pretty freakin' excited about. I'm already planning a bigger garden next year because you can freeze shit for about a quarter century after you suck the air out of the bag with one of those things. If you find any roadkill that still looks semi-fresh, bring it to The Woods, and I'll vacuum seal it.

I am tired. Tomorrow is the 8 year anniversary of Big K and Big W love. Yes, we got together on New Year's Eve, when Big W was a spritely 19-year-old. We were in a dingy basement at a party, and we marveled at the size of each other's muscular calves and speculated that we might be able to breed some kind of superhuman, should it ever come to pass...and then he handed me a nasty beer and I drank it...and he said, "Hey, aren't you supposed to kiss somebody at midnight?" and we did. So, we're going to stay home tomorrow and hopefully heal our tired Phook and our tired selves. It's a Sunday, so I suppose church could happen. But other than that, I think we're gonna lock the place down. Maybe even take the phone off the hook, or flush it down the toilet or something...or use one of the "Do Not Disturb" signs my Grandma gave me when Phook was born. Or some shit like that. It's not like we have any social life to speak of, but the holidays can be taxing even for the biggest losers.

I did accomplish something somewhat exciting (to me). You see, we of course have a digital camera. But all those digital pics just end up on our computer/network/secure, firesafe offsite backup redundant whatthefuck server and never get printed out. We have a printer and photo paper of course, but we aren't really good at making it happen. So I've been thinking that if too much time passes, it would be too overwhelming to even consider doing something with the 8 billion pictures we've taken lately. So I went throught them all and selected those I wanted printed (368 pictures from 2006, if you want to know), and uploaded them to the website of a large superstore that I refuse to name because I am morally opposed to its existence even though my coordinates make it really the only viable option for acquiring certain necessities. So in another day or two, my 368 photos will be ready to be picked up, at which point I will lovingly put them in albums for peoples to enjoy for lifetimes to come. This is costing me just under $60, which I consider highly reasonable. (Big K kind of pissed in my Cheerios by claiming that people will not look at photo albums in the future, but will rather view them on a TV from their media server or something like that, but whatever. I want photo albums.)

So anyhow, that's it. Phook has woken up and I think I am needed. I hope she goes to sleep soon, for Big W needs to go nigh-nigh.