oh dearest the grumbles,

October 20, 2008

Why did you start a blog?
I knew we were going to be starting a family and I wanted a way to remember it all. What I didn't expect was finding all of you. Far more eloquently explained here: Why we do this.

Why "grumbles and grunts'?
"Grumbles" is cockney rhyming slang. A grumble and grunt, that's a cunt.

Every once in a while someone new comes along and coasts through a few posts before they're suddenly scaldingly offended by my language. Here's a pro tip: I tried to warn you. I did! I tried! Now you're just making yourself look bad. Stop.

That post title/caption/comment sounds exactly a quote from this movie/song/tv show.
Congratulations, you can read at a first-grade level.

What about your friends and family– do they know you have a blog? Do they read it?
Yes. This is pretty much my secret brain diary floating out in public. I try not to think about it.

Where did the jude's name come from? Is he named after someone? 
He's not named after anyone in particular. It felt right, and we both liked it. End scene.
(And if you've ever wondered why he's the jude, you can find out here.)

So the jude's birth was unmedicated, yes?
Halfway through my pregnancy I suddenly up and decided I wanted to go for an unmedicated delivery for a long list of reasons I'm sure no one cares to hear about. It was a complete reversal on my previous stance of drugs drugs and please, more drugs. SURPRISE!

How'd it go?
Super, actually. You can read more about it in the jude's birth story.

Did you take a class for that?
We used the Bradley method, but we were unable to take an official class because we wouldn't have been able to complete it before his delivery.

If you're serious about pursuing your full range of birth options I highly recommend Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way by Susan McCutcheon-Rosegg. I read it every single day of my last trimester and I credit it, along with luck and hard work, with our very positive experience.

(pre photobomb) extreme photobomb

What ever happened to that big black dog on your about page?
He died and my heart is in a million pieces. We have a new dog. He is... a dog.

Why don't you capitalize anything?
{This is a non-issue these days, but if you're delving back into the archives...}
I don't like to capitalize the subjects of sentences or proper nouns. I have a firm understanding of grammatical rules and regulations, promise. In fact in formal writing situations I'm a picky stickler for grammar. ...but nothing about this place is formal. It's my brain explosion. So you get what's in my head and I like to be creative with my punctuation.

If you were to be part of an ultimate fighting force what would your superhero name and power be?
Lazer-deathbeam-eyes sounds like a cool idea, in theory, but I don't want to be associated in any way with that douchebag cyclops. We decided long ago that my super power is the power of sleeping. I can fall asleep at any time in any place. I'm the sleepasaurus, in dinosaur jammies.

Sometimes I find myself talking to ....myself ...but in my head I'm talking to you, and you're all, "Fuck yeah dude, high-five!" that ever happen to you?
No. The inside of my head is a world of silence. However rest assured that if I were really there I WOULD give you a fuck yeah high five. And probably a YOUR MOM for good measure. Or a YOUR FACE.

If you could choose, how would you like to die?
Stabbed to death by a space unicorn. At least then I could: A) take credit for discovering unicorns B) go to space* C) be famous**

*I actually have very little desire to go to space. It looks cold.
**Or to be famous. Except maybe internet famous.***
***Really maybe not that either. Let's just scrap the whole thing.

Can we be best friends?
We totally already are. You're inside my brain right now. One of the major down sides of the whole "blog" thing is that people get to know me and I don't get to know them in return. Let's strike that and reverse it.

You can always contact me or find me on twitter.
Notes from you are the best part of my day, unless you're an asshole, and then they're not.
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