Oh, man. Heather and I were squirming all night. It wasn't just because she went to bed the same time I did-- a surefire way to add 15 minutes to my fall-asleep turn-around-- but because we'd suddenly loosened the reins on ourselves and couldn't get used to the freedom.
It's not all you'd want it to be. It isn't like we realized we could steal a baby the next time we were at the zoo (it would be way easy, though), or that we concluded that having a baby isn't such a priority and we could just move on with our lives. Those reins are still there.
What we first realized, via an episode of House Hunters International (making its second blog appearance), is that we could totally move to Costa Rica and live comfortably without jobs. Like, for realz. Just wander around on the beach with a little kid or two, eat local produce, and nap in the afternoons. Skype with family and friends, host them every now and again, and all learn fluent Spanish. Everyone should speak Spanish, right?
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Chico has a lot of personality, he's a devoted snuggler, and he's a fine greeter. However, he is a grotesque failure when it comes to choosing appropriate locations to relieve himself. He's small, so the pooping part is more of a, "Goddamn it, Chico. Again?" The only time our Rottweiler let loose, I felt as though a Dementor had flown invisibly through our front door; everything went cold and dark, as though we would never be happy again. Chico's defecation barely merits a Patronus. (Bonus points or penalties for the Harry Potter metaphors?)
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
I guess that does something to explain my laziness in posting lately, although other excuse candidates include not-enough-happening and needed-a-nap.