T.M.I-T.I.M.E?

I guess so.

I've gotten some grief over my last posting. I've mortified my inlaws.

This is how I look at it: Just about every woman of child-bearing age is either a) trying to get pregnant or b) trying not to get pregnant. I didn't consider subversive a topic in which on any given day you have a 50/50 chance of guessing.

But to save the sanity of my family, I am here on out instituting a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. If it works for the military, it can work for me.

So, ignore my last post. Besides, I didn't mean any of it anyway. Maybe I was just saying all of that to throw everyone off the scent. Maybe right now, I'm pregnant... with triplets. No! quadruplets! No! I'm going to be starting a new reality show called Manus and Kate Plus 8... I'll have eight babies all at once and the first episode will be about my funeral because my womb exploded.

Awesome.

On a related note, I did actually pull one of my old posts... someone came across it and wrote some very offensive comments on it. It was one from our trip to London and while I thought it all in good fun, someone else out there didn't. I must remember that strangers can read this blog and certainly, some are stranger than others.

Next post - nothing but good wholesome Christmas pictures!

Merry Christmas to everyone out there. I hope everyone is spending the day with the ones they love. I am so thankful that I am. Thanks mom and dad for making the trip over. I love you. Merry Christmas to all the Rices, my family in Pennsylvania and my beautiful Mum-mum. To the Loud-wigs and my (other) beautiful Mum-mum, we love and miss you and wish you were here! Have a shot of tequila for me. Can we play Pictionary over Skype?

Economic Crisis Hits Home

After yet another month of less-than-desired production, the Walsh family baby factory has announced some lay-offs.

That's right, it's another month with all of the baby fat and none of the baby.

On the bright side, the Kilkenny pub economy is expecting a boost to their revenues. Effective immediately.

Sick Ain't Pretty

It's official: Katie is allergic to Ireland.

She got sick shortly after we arrived here in April and she is sick now. The first time she had a stomach bug and she was puking on me and the couch and the bed and aisle 5, but somehow even considering all that Vomitus Projectillus, this current cold/flu/upper respiratory infection is even more disgusting. The spaniards call it La Gripe and so do I.

Yesterday morning I went to get Katie out of her bed and found that she had been replaced by a mini Fuhrer. All of the snot that had escaped her nasal passages in the night had hardened and darkened into an Adolph Hitler mustache. I was repelled and intrigued at the same time. I was going to take a picture of her, looking so pathetic and yet dictatorial but, I, the girl who talks about poop at the dinner table, was so grossed out by the sight of her boogers I would not have been able to focus the camera. It was like petrified tree sap that turns into amber. I should have searched it for dinosaur DNA.

But then the question; how do I get this stuff off her face? 1) I don't want to touch it 2) if we just try to pull it off the top layer of her upper lip would have come with it. We hot compressed it with some wet washcloths, then burned said washcloths in the backyard.

This morning the nose was not so bad. However the 14 coats of mucous mascara had her eyes glued shut. We greeted the day with more warm water, permanently ruined washcloths and Katie screaming bloody murder, leading to more nose running, choking on spit and me cheerleading, "thats right baby, bring it on up" as she coughed and sputtered.

So now her eyes are goopy and puffy. Her nose is running. Her upper lip is glistening from the neosporin I have on the red chaffed skin. Her hair is matted with snot and I actually rug-burned her left cheek when I tried to wipe her clean while we wrestled this morning.

It is not pretty. But thank god she is whiny and irritable. That evens the whole thing out.

Friday Night Lights

We're just two wild and crazy kids living it up here in Kil-tothe-Kenny. Check out our HOT HOT HOT Friday night..



Apparently nobody can sleep around here...

Home Is Where The Hearth Is

God that is clever!

Manus said he's seen that saying before though, on a mug or a tee-shirt. Yeah right, who would put that on a tee shirt? I think he is jealous because I'm so punny.

Alas... I stand corrected.

Anyhoo, we have been working hard to get our house a bit more homey. This isn't like we put baggy jeans and a skull cap on our house - it's just not that kind of homey. But I think we've done a really good job. I refer you to a picture of our first floor circa May '08.

And now look at her -

You should see it at night when we have a fire in the fireplace. Last night we had a fire going, the tree lights on, Christmas music piping through the house speakers, Katie was playing with blocks on the rug and Manus and I were in the kitchen preparing mashed potatoes and brussel sprouts for dinner, sharing a bottle of red wine and I said, "Ugh, aren't we just Norman Rockwell's idea of an all-American family right now?" Note: Irony. We are in Ireland... But, okay, so I got the nationality wrong, but it was all just so picture perfect.

It warmed the cockles of my ice cold heart.

Home Sweet Ireland?

We are here. We are home.

We survived the trip with minimal cuts and bruises.

It is freezing. I am cold.



Will update more when my brain defrosts and I can feel my fingers again.

That's not MYami

I, like scores of other young children that grew up in South Florida, used to get a little confused by the name of my town. I thought adults were talking about it in the possessive like, "we are going to my Ami". It was as though the town had a counterpart of 'Your-ami'. I'm pretty sure I got pissed off when people would try to claim the Ami for their own. Cuz, it was mine. However, if there ever is or will be a town called YourAmi, I've got your very first citizen. We here in Myami are willing to give him up...

Yesterday we got home to a notice on the front door from FPL, the local power company, and their inability to enter our yard for the scheduled maintenance because Poochie the Man Killer was loose in the yard. However, the message continued, if we could "Keep the dog in the house, they would combat tomorrow."

Maybe Ireland isn't such a bad place to raise our children....