Happy (Belated) Birthday!

Twins are officially a year old.  Well, one year and five days old.  It would only be four days, but, leap year.

Which isn't to say that I didn't wish them happy birthday in person.  The update is that they're crawling around like... like babies... and have both acquired... dare I say "intelligence"? in their eyes.  Not so intelligent that they don't try to eat things like tissue paper and cardboard stacking blocks and have to be supervised like a couple of terriers.  But.  Still.

Anyway.

Personality development is in full swing.  Both have recently started exhibiting facial expressions specific to Chris.  Or, specific to Chris when he's being kind of a bitch.  But that is neither here nor there.

On a completely unrelated note, I feel like I should mention that Chris recently voiced some displeasure regarding the infrequency of posts and the erratic subject matter since... well, since the twins were born.  I've been going through the old posts little by little, both to explore that accusation and, for reasons of my own, to check to see if I've said anything overtly offensive or incriminating in the event someone tries to Google me.  Jesus H.  I'm so sorry.  Erratic rants indeed.

Anyway.

I've had some stuff going on that really trumps the blog in terms of priorities.  Not to say I've been accomplishing much on that end, considering I've spent a lot of the last week reading old Nancy Drews*.  But continuing ability to pay my rent really should come first.

Anyway.  Not sure where I'm going with this.  I'll leave you, for today, with yet another dream to be interpreted.  It went like this:

I was having one of those awesome afternoon/after-work naps where you lose just enough consciousness to start dreaming, but not so much that you become completely unaware of your surroundings.  I knew all the while that it was early evening, and that I was relaxing in bed, windows wide open, and it was raining.  So it was very realistic when all of a sudden I was making out with an under-privileged third-world kid of my acquaintance.  But there was something wrong in terms of suction.  "Hold on," said I, "I have to take out my retainer".  And then I woke up.

What could that possibly mean?


*I've also done some Nancy Drew-related research and have discovered two things:

1.  Many of the earlier Nancy Drews have been edited over the years so as not to be culturally offensive.  I give you the the culturally-sensitive first line of The Secret of Red Gate Farm:  "'That Oriental-looking clerk in the perfume shop certainly acted mysterious,' Bess Marvin declared, as she and her friends ended their shopping trip and hurried down the street to the railroad station."

2.  So much for that Master's thesis.  In about 2008, I had the idea to do some digging into female detective serials, the rise of feminism, etc.  I had this notion that if I were to do a survey of powerful women who would have been coming of age at the time when the Dorothy Dixons, Nancy Drews, and Trixie Beldens of the world were most popular, I would find a distinct correlation between the appearance of these fictional, intelligent, independent and empowered amateur sleuths and the rise of non-fictional powerful and influential females starting in the mid-20th century.  Apparently a copy-cat named Jennifer M. Woolston beat me to it in 2010.  Damn you, Jennifer Woolston!  I could be lecturing on cultural theory at Harvard now, if not for the  F I received in Rock n' Roll and its Roots, which precluded me from admission into even the worst graduate programs offered at Canadian universities.  This F has since been rectified, but that's another story entirely.