Occasional Notes

Tour!! My favourite time of the year. Myself and the only other Tour fan are having a passive-aggressive war with the Wimbledon fans at work. There's a TV in the staff room and we all keep flipping the channels when no one is looking. Sadly, we're outnumbered by the tennis devotees and don't get a lot of cycling coverage, but we're trying!

Apparently, I only have the attention span to get half way through parenting books. I therefore introduce new techniques with great confidence and enthusiasm, only to descend into well meaning chaos.

I am currently half way through What To Expect in the First Year, the No Cry Sleep Solution, and Baby Led Weaning. As such, I know what to expect for the first five-odd months, how to get Prof Wrigglesworth into his crib to sleep but not how to keep him there, and why baby led weaning is good but not how to do it.

Oops?

Anyway, I'll push on with the weaning book until I learn how to keep the kid from choking and wing it from there.

In other news, season 4 of Heroes is annoying me. ( Does this still need a spoiler cut? I realise I'm rather late to this party. )

A belated happy new year to everyone. I have been on an impromptu Internet break largely due to the fact that I couldn't manage travelling to Canada with Professor Wrigglesworth, keeping up with my family and assorted friends, and keep track of online as well! It was a great holiday, but I'm pretty glad to be home. That said, Wrigglesworth was a trooper. I clearly have a future explorer on my hands!

In other news, today is the last day of my twenties. ( A round up of the decade. )

Anyway, on we go!

I am trying so hard not to be the asshole nerd historian going around correcting people about the so-called Mayan-predicted end of the world on Friday.

And I'm failing.

But! But!

The Mayans didn't predict the end of the world; their 5000+ year calendar just happens to end on 21/12/12! The calendar in my kitchen ends 31/12/12. It's just a sign that it's time to get a new calendar.

(And my asshole nerd historian husband points out that the calendar in the kitchen actually has a little January 2013 preview page at the back. We deserve each other, we do. We promised to love, honour, cherish, and spoil each other's punch lines until death do us part.)

Seriously, though, there are absolutely no ancient Mayan doomsday predictions for Friday. None. At all. The first reference to a 21/12/12 apocalypse came in a 1966 book by an archaeologist obviously willing to sensationalise and warp the truth for book sales.

Besides which, as a comedian on BBC radio pointed out a few days ago, if the Mayans had the ability to predict the future, there would still be Mayans. Given the fact that their empire crumpled and fell, I think we can all consider ourselves safe.

Making sausages baked over potatoes and peppers (with some adaptations) and watching the final of Masterchef: Professionals, which we taped and have been saving.

So, right, the thing is that before Professor Wrigglesworth was born, I had absolutely no intention of co-sleeping. Honestly, I made him his own room with a lovely crib in it and there's a mobile and a baby monitor with a video feed and a nightlight and the ability to play lullabies and everything! And we have a moses basket that he can sleep in for the first few months before he moves into his room or nap in around the house, right? So no co-sleeping, uh uh, not for us.

Of course, that was back when I thought that I would be in charge. Ha ha ha! No. Apparently not.

Since the two month mark, Wrigglesworth has thoroughly and totally rejected the moses basket. He screams like he's being beaten whenever he is put down in it. And this from a child who is otherwise pretty happy go lucky and utterly prepared to communicate through grunts and coos rather than crying. No. Wrigglesworth has decided he will sleep in the bed with us or NOT AT ALL.

I have gracefully given in. I'll fight this battle after Christmas, which we are spending in Canada for the first time in five years.

In other news, he also hates bottles and will make direct eye contact with you while he wails around the nipple placed in his mouth or starts coughing and spluttering because he refuses to swallow any liquid that does not come directly from the breast.

I've got four months to make cribs and bottles work before I'm back to work and he starts daycare.

I have now reached the special stage in pregnancy where I am sticky-outy enough that I am accidentally turning things on and off with my belly.

So far in the last two days, I have accidentally turned the gas on the stove on (which thankfully hisses a bit, so I noticed right away) and scrolled down several pages while reading something on AO3 because I had my laptop in my lap and shifted position, thereby hitting something or other.

Awkward and getting awkwarder.

*flappy hands*

In an interesting turn of events, I have decided that Clint Barton/anyone is my Avengers OTP, with a special fondness for Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis (after this fic).

And here I was expected to be sucked in by the Steve Rogers angst or Tony Stark's misunderstood genius playboy philanthropist thing.

Mmmm, shooty archer guy. Nice arms.

Happy HAPPY 2012 to you and yours, my darlings. I hope it is the best of all years for every one of you. xxx

Happy birthday, Canada! You are 144 today. That is 12², the 12th Fibbonacci number and also the sum of Bilbo and Frodo Baggins' ages at the beginning of Fellowship of the Ring (111 + 33).

I adore Canada Day. I am sadly missing the Trafalgar Square festivities this year, but Scooter is chaperoning the Yr 11 prom at his school until midnight. I am perfectly independent, but also not dead keen on standing around Trafalgar Square by myself for hours, even though they have Mounties and Canadian beer and bison burgers and hockey and Canadian music and things. Hopefully next year!

I am also madly jealous of those of you enjoying the full Canada Day in Ottawa experience -- now with added Will and Kate! I'm not terribly concerned about Will and Kate, I just really like Canada Day in Ottawa.