azriona: (Mr Morton)
I think the Sherlock remix fic is finished - that is, I have written the ending and there's a beginnign and a middle, though whether they all work together is really beyond me.  At any rate, it's done, and I've just sent to some of the usual suspects to see if they can look at it for me.  (Deadlines, schmedlines - I could have all the comments and notes on it in the next couple of hours and I still probably wouldn't be able to get the thing posting in time, so whatever.)

The next writing project - which isn't so much a project as a task - is Charlie's first birthparent letter.  This particular agency has us doing them a whole bunch the first year, and then only once a year after that, and the first one is due next week.  Terrible timing - Andrew's off school, Bill's in North Carolina, and I have NO IDEA when I'm going to be able to do it because no one in the house actually sleeps.  Except for the cat.  The cat sleeps.  I need to find out her secret and then apply to Andrew and Charlie.

(Charlie is not colicky.  Yet.  He just likes to be awake between 10pm and 2am every night, and if you stop walking him in circles around the house, he informs you of all your terrible choices in life.  Also, he's advanced from newborn grumbling to full-on infant yells.  It's endearing, when someone else is holding him.)

Andrew, in the meantime, has advanced to the next stage of sibling jealousy.  He definitely likes Charlie - he wants to hold him and has really gotten into reading Charlie books before bedtime (which is my sneaky way of getting Andrew to start calming down in advance of his own bedtime), and when we went on a walk yesterday evening, Andrew was very excited to tell everyone that he was pushing his baby brother in his stroller.

Overheard at gymnastics earlier this week:

Other little boy: Come see my baby brother!
Andrew: No, that's okay.  I have one.

The sibling jealousy - and I'm assuming that's what this is - reared up yesterday, with the following conversation:

Andrew: Are you Charlie's Momma?
Me: Yes, I'm Charlie's Momma just like I'm your Momma.
Andrew: I don't have a Momma.
Me: Yes, you do, I'm your Momma.
Andrew: No, you're Charlie's Momma.

(Apparently, I can only be one person's momma at a time?)

But later:

Andrew: Momma, will you marry me?
Me: You bet.

So I guess I'm engaged now?  It's gonna be a long engagement, though, since Andrew won't be of age for another thirteen years, which does give Bill plenty of time to fight for my hand.  (Then again, Charlie might want in on the action, too.)

Anyway - in lieu of new photos (which are all on the camera and not the phone and I haven't transfered them yet) - I have a video of Andrew playing peek-a-boo with Charlie.  It's a bit older - we're still in Florida at this point - but I forgot to post it earlier.  I think.  I'm not sure.  Did I mention swiss cheese yet?

azriona: (cat in a box)
Andrew had a terrible day yesterday, and somehow that has bleeded over to me, though my day itself wasn't all that terrible.  I think it was made terrible by extension.  It was one of those days in which everything was going wrong - or at least it seemed like it - and no matter what, all he heard was "No."

Not the case, but I understand why he felt like it was; I've had days like that too.  And of course it was topped by being unable to find his copy of Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, which is the perfect book to read at the end of a very bad day, unless you've had a bad day and can't find it.


The Day in Not-Quite Detail )

But despite the fact that my day wasn't so horrible - I got a lot of cleanning and organizing done while Bill and Andrew were at their ill-fated bowling excursion, and the person who won the coconut rum cake I made for the cake walk yesterday ended up bringing me a big hunk of it to eat, which was extremely nice of her (it was really good, too) - I was feeling heartsick after Andrew went to sleep.  Partially the whole trampoline thing, which I'm not sure what to do about.  On one hand, it's their trampoline and their rules.  On the's such an abrupt shift from their usual acceptance that I wonder if something else wasn't going on, or if Andrew misinterpreted, which certainly does happen.  And what do I do, call their mother and say, "Your kids were being mean to my kid!"  Their mom is sweet enough....but she's kind of notorious for letting her pack of boys go largely unsupervised, so I'm not sure what exactly she'd do about it, assuming she was willing to do anything at all.

So at the moment, I'm trying to play it to Andrew as a life lesson (ugh, horrible life lessons at four years old) in Unfairness, with a side helping of Not Wanting What You Can't Have.  Yeah, it's unfair to be excluded.  Remember that when you're big.  If the club doesn't want you as a member, you don't want to join that club anyway (or however that saying goes).  I'm pretty sure all of those are going to pop up again for him, many times, over the course of his life, though, and that's probably what's hurting me the most, because I thought maybe he could be a little bit older before he had to learn them.

All the same, I'd kind of like to track down the bigger boys and slap them.  That's probably terrible, but there you are.
azriona: (cat in a box)
I finally had my birthday cupcake today - I've been trying unsuccessfully all week, and today was my last shot if I didn't want to also give Andrew a cupcake, which for multiple reasons is just a bad idea.  It was a delicious cupcake, chocolate with chocolate frosting and a marshmallow filling.  Yum.

But mostly, the best purchase today was at the children's consignment sale in town - two Wiggles CDs for $1 each.  You guys have no idea how happy these CDs are making me, because Andrew demands the Wiggles in the car all the friggin' time, and I have been playing the same 20 songs on repeat for MONTHS, and I am so tired of them that I have choreographed individual dances to them.  It's really kind of scary.  Anyway, now I have 90 additional minutes of brand-new Wiggles songs, and this is making me all sorts of irrationally happy.

(I lead a sad, sad life, people.)

I also found Andrew some jeans and shirts and a really fabulous winter coat that is probably too big for him but maybe if I'm lucky it'll last me more than one winter (and it was also $12) and a raincoat with Mickey Mouse on it.  And a new pair of Crocs that should fit by spring.  I'm pretty sure he won't throw these out the car window, if only because every time we pass the intersection where he threw the old ones out, we have an Andrew-initiated conversation about how (and why) his Crocs are gone.

In other shopping news, I used some of my Williams-Sonoma gift card and bought 7" pizza pie pans that will be used primarily for cake (yum, cake) and a cut-it-to-fit baking mat that I'm going to turn into rounds for as many of my cake pans as I can, because I seriously hate cutting circles out of parchment paper.  Plus the mat was on sale because for some reason it's being phased out (which is stupid, because the idea is GENIUS), so if this sounds like a good idea to you, go and buy it because it's long like anything and only $14 currently and once they're gone, they're gone.  (I should be able to get at least all three 9" rounds, and maybe 2 of the 8" rounds.  I would have bought a second mat to cover my bases, but there was only one in stock, and it's not available online.)

(Maybe they have something horrible in them.  No idea.  DON'T CARE.)

So I have $70 left at Williams-Sonoma.  I am still gravitating toward cleaver, but I don't know enough about cleavers to know which cleaver I want.


Today's example of why I am a Bad Parent:

Andrew: Can we go to Chik-Fil-A?
Me: No.
Andrew: But I want Chik-Fil-A!
Me: We can't go to Chick-Fil-A.
Andrew: Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaassssse?
Andrew: *adorable sweet baby eyes and hands clasped below chin, near impossible to resist*
Me: We...I...uh...CHIK-FIL-A IS CLOSED!
Andrew: Closed?
Me: They ran out of food.  All they have is coffee.
Andrew: No food?!?
Me: Only coffee.  Yucky, horrible, terrible coffee.  You'd hate it.

(Fast-forward a week.  Andrew is still under the impression that all Chik-Fil-A serves is coffee, because they have run out of food.  I heard him explaining this to one of his toys.  I am a terrible, terrible person.)
azriona: (This Sucks Penguins)
Andrew'd cold has developed into a stomach bug - or at least I think so, because his coughing got considerably worse, though his fever has abated, and twenty minutes after we arrived at the party this evening with Bill's co-workers, Andrew threw up in the front hall. (I'd been of two minds of bringing him, but Bill mentioned it to him and after that, he was so excited to go that convincing Andrew he couldn't actually leave the house would have been futile at best.)

So we ended up leaving the cake I'd spent the day making (those on Tumblr know it; those not on Tumblr, it's this one) and headed home, and Bill is in the process of putting Andrew to bed now.

Well, that went south fast. )

Edited to add: About an hour later and I'm feeling much better. I ended up writing 977 words in the Heart 'Verse and Andrew's asleep and Bill went back to the party, and I'm hoping he will bring me cake. And EGT was amused by me spamming her with cake on Tumblr (though my time ran out before I was able to respond).

But I'm still sad about not going to to the party or seeing Noel or shopping at Penzey's. :(
azriona: (cat in a box)
So I'm in the bathroom, and I actually close the door because Bill's downstairs (1) and it's quiet so I check my email on my phone (2) and from downstairs, I hear the following:

Andrew: Momma....Momma...Momma? Momma! (3)
Bill: Andrew Dean, PUT THAT BACK IN MOMMA'S PURSE. (4)

Quiet weekend, mostly. We took Andrew to the playground at his new school - it's on the same campus as an elementary school, so he shares a playground with the kindergarteners. Why don't schools here have swings anymore? I mean, I'm sure it's to do with overly protective parents or whatnot, but they've got those toddler treadmill things, and I can't help but think those are way more dangerous. And I know at least one girl who broke both her legs on the monkey bars; I don't remember anyone getting hurt on swings. (Not like breaking both your legs, anyway. She was out for two months and had to pee through a straw. You remember stuff like that.)
azriona: (Andrew - grumpy face)
So Andrew had his first appointment with the Occupational Therapist on Wednesday. So much for a one-year wait...but then, we were lucky, because his speech therapist managed to snag a part-time OT, and Andrew was first up for evaluation.

Visits and partial validations )
azriona: (cat in a box)
I'm having one, anyway. No reason in particular that I can think of, either, which just makes the feeling that much worse, because I can't pinpoint it on any one thing. On the whole, things are pretty good: I've been getting to the gym every morning for the last week and a half, which means I'm all caught up on Cabin Pressure, and I'm trying to figure out if I can load stuff onto Andrew's iPad and watch movies or TV while I'm there as well. (There are televisions, but it's either CNN Business Week in Review or really hysterically bad Arabic soap operas. Which are possibly even funnier than Mexican soap operas.)

About Andrew )

Bill's father arrives tomorrow for a ten-day visit; apart from playing with Andrew, I'm not entirely sure what he wants to do. Bill seems to think that I am going to show him all over the city, but I'm not exactly sure how much sight-seeing one can fit in when you have to collect the toddler from school by 1pm.

(Which brings me to the rant of the day.)

So one of the embassy spouses has decided that she wants to have a writing group. I'm all about that; I was part of a very active writing group in Bishkek and it was loads of fun and I had a great time with it. This particular spouse even knows that I write fanfiction (another mom outed me, to my horror and her eternal glee) and doesn't seem to mind too much - or at least, she didn't make fun of me for it.

(The idea that fanfic is becoming legit, so to speak, is kind of rocking my world a little. But that's another discussion.)

Anyway. I got an email from her a few days ago saying that the first meeting is scheduled for next week. I asked what time, because Andrew's only in preschool in the morning, and the meeting is set to take place in another part of the city, about half an hour to 45 minutes away, depending on traffic (and road closures, and protests, etc and so forth - these are not a joke, nor are they terribly well publicized in advance, Andrew's gymnastics class was cancelled yesterday because the teacher couldn't get across the city because of those very things).

The response? No confirmation of the time, but the comment "You know, you might want to arrange for another mom to pick up your son from school once in a while, just in case stuff happens and you can't get there!"

Continued )
azriona: (Andrew - open mouth)
You know that saying about how kids who are quiet are generally getting into trouble?

Andrew defies that rule.

Step One: Wonder what that smell is. )
azriona: (Gratuitous picture post)
Perhaps I'm missing something. Yesterday Andrew and I went to a meetup with some new-to-me mommies at a local park. It was overcast, but not raining, though the ground was damp and a bit muddy. This particular park is a really good one for toddlers; the folks who live nearby have donated their old outdoor toys, push-cars, and sand toys, so it's kind of like Toddler Nirvana. Anyway, we get there and Andrew of course makes a beeline for the very large toy dumptrucks, which he proceeds to push around the park.

Because the mommies in my group are notorious for looking at the sky, and going "Eek! A cloud! Must not leave the safety of our house!", only two other mommies (out of the 12 RSVPs) showed up. Instantly, they looked at the park with fear in their eyes, and said, "The toys are all wet! I should have brought a towel!" Then they gingerly set their offspring onto the ground, but not before admonishing them to not touch anything because it was "dirty". And of course one of them (a boy, natch), leaned over and stuck his hands on the dirt. The mother instantly wailed and tried to wipe him off with a handi-wipe.

Meanwhile, you could hear Andrew crunching on some dirt he'd found somewhere. (Also, see today's entries for Cute Baby Monday.)

So, I missing something here? Because, okay, I'll grant you, toddlers should not eat random dirt, but seriously? Wiping down the the wet playground equipment? That's just a whole different level.

My only thought - and this is TOTALLY wrong and biased and I absolutely apologize if it offends anyone - is that these two other mommies are both working mommies, full-time or nearly. Their kids spend most of their weekdays in day care. So I have to wonder if the mommies, because they don't see their kids getting dirty every single day, are a little more reactive to it than, say, me, who has already changed Andrew's shirt three times before noon today.

Then again....Andrew woke up with a runny nose this morning. I'm attacking with saline drops and wipes, but seeing as he's determined to wipe his nose on anything but Kleenex I'm not holding out much hope.

In other news, we went to Meadowlark Botanical Gardens last week. ([ profile] lorelaisquared will remember it from when she visited last spring - it's much prettier now.) Andrew had a lovely time. Mostly because there was dirt. Yay, dirt.

Also, mmm, dirt. )
azriona: (Default)
I am fairly certain that there comes a point in every parent's life where they become a closet Republican. And not just any Republican, but a Reagan Republican. There is a very simple reason for this.

Suddenly, the idea that ketchup counts as a vegetable works. Who cares if tomatoes are technically classified as fruit? Smashing them into a pulp and adding sugar obviously turns them into vegetables. Andrew freebases the stuff, often dipping the same grilled-cheese sandwich corner into his ketchup multiple times. (He does the same with chips and guacamole, incidentally.)

Seeing as how he's currently on an all-veggie, all-protein strike, I'm happy to embrace my inner-Reaganite. Ketchup = Vegetable. I stand by my scientifically questionable stance.


In other news, I finally watched Doctor Who The God Complex yesterday. My reaction can be summed up as follows: Eh.

On the other hand, Bill and I watched Star Trek TOS 1.05 (The Enemy Within) the other day. OMG. I had no idea that Star Trek could be quite that homo-erotic. Egad. RTD would have had a frickin' field day with that storyline.

Edited to add: Does anyone remember a Firefox add-on that let you save photos directly to your photobucket account? I thought I had it several versions ago, but I can't find it now and I'd kind of like it back.
azriona: (Family)
So, I'm back to singling it again - on and off, anyway, while Bill is PCSed to parts unmentioned and Andrew and I wait for his medical clearance to clear again. It was only during today's playgroup that I realized the real downside to single parenting.

It's not the lack of sleep, or having to be The Enforcer. It's not even the five or ten minute when Andrew's attention is focused on the other adult and I can cook dinner without a toddler underfoot, trying to climb into the 400 degree oven. Nope. It's the inability to have grownup conversations that every so often do not mention poop.

Or birth stories, as it turns out. Now, I expected birth stories when I joined the group, when Andrew was two months old. I mean, it's to be expected. You get a bunch of new mommies together and the birth stories just start flowing. But then we all got to know each other, and the birth stories just sort of faded into the background.

Except now, there's a fairly sizable number of mommies among Andrew's age-mates who are pregnant again, or just had a new baby. And with those bellies and babies, come new birth stories, or recycled birth stories.

The first time around, I didn't mind listening. I saw it as either educational, or even another thing to add to the Why Adoption is Better Than Pregnancy list. This time, though, it's kind of getting on my nerves.

Or maybe it's the fact that today, the birth stories lasted for an hour of the 90-minute playgroup and I spent most of the telling in a different part of the room, sitting by myself and staring out the window, because I had nothing to contribute and couldn't be worked up enough to care, because it's been three days since I talked to another person in person who could actually talk back and did not demand that I read him "Good Night Gorilla" twenty times in a row before naptime.

(I'm a little testy. Bedtime did not go smoothly.)

(Also, another twenty minutes was spent on the Virtues of Cloth Diapering, which is yet another conversation I thought we'd left behind 18 months ago. Yes, I use disposable, but they're the 7th Generation not-as-bad-for-the-environment-as-some diapers, so as far as I'm concerned, I have nothing to be ashamed of.)

(Except maybe ending a sentence with "of", but I'm not going to expend the mental energy to rephrase that sentence so it's grammatically correct.)

I know I missed the adult conversations last year, during that long stretch of time while Bill was overseas. I think I got spoiled, though, during the ten months he was home, when I could get them on a regular basis (and did). Calling people is all well and good - and helpful, and I do call friends, usually at least once a day, toward the late afternoon when I'm really hurting for a poopless conversation. But the ebb and flow of a telephone conversation is different from one you have in person. There's something about being able to see someone's face, and get a sense of their reaction, that you can't get if you're on a telephone.

On the drive home from the playgroup (which Andrew enjoyed immensely - he knocked over the water table twice and had a shouting match with the two-months-younger host), I thought about creating a playgroup where I could say up front that no birthing stories are allowed, period.

Except I have the feeling no one would come. And if they did, they'd ignore the rule anyway. *sigh*

I can feel my brain atrophying over here. Although I suppose the fact that I still know the definition of "atrophy" is a good sign....

A Reminder

Jul. 20th, 2011 09:40 pm
azriona: (Andrew)
This morning Bill and I attended a seizure seminar run by the Children's Hospital. It was, I'm happy to report, nowhere near as awful or touchy-feely-kumbaya as the adoption training classes. Maybe because it was run by nurses, who are about as down-to-earth and non-kumbaya as you can get. (Says the daughter of a nurse, mind you. The only time I ever saw my mother kumbaya was at Girl Scout camp, and according to family lore, she once sat on a drunk guy who'd just crashed his motorbike in order to get him to lie still until the ambulance came.)

The hospital runs these seminars every month, and the nurse commented that attendance goes in waves: not whether or not people attend at all, but for what reason. Last month, everyone attending was febrile seizures; this month, it was epilepsy. (We were the lone exception.) As we left, Bill turned to me and said, "I'm going to say something awful. Thank God we aren't them."

Awful, maybe. No less true, though. One of the things the nurse had everyone do was have us introduce ourselves and say why we were there. (I should note that none of the kids in question were present - parents only.) Bill and I, as luck had it, went first. Bill says, "Our son had a complex febrile seizure which lasted an hour--" and just then, you could hear the collective gasp from the other parents.

Why, I'm not sure. Frankly, I think their stories were more frightening. Andrew just had the one seizure (although a long one, I'll grant you). But their kids have had multiple seizures - one had 20 in a single hour. Andrew was on 1ml of Keppra twice a day, and he's been off it for two weeks - these kids are on 50 times that, up to three times a day, and still climbing. Andrew will grow out of the febrile seizures by the time he's 5 or 6 (depending on what you're reading). These kids will have epilepsy for the rest of their lives.

The seminar was good, not simply because of what we discussed and learned (among other things, how to work Andrew's Diastat, which is basically the seizure equivalent of an epi-pen), but because it was a potent reminder of how lucky we are. Certainly we knew this - after all, the PICU at the hospital, where we stayed for the first two days, is right next to the children's cancer unit - but it's nice to be reminded, from time to time.
azriona: (Default)
If you didn't know that Andrew had a seizure last month, you probably wouldn't. He's not only back to normal, he's beyond normal: he's babbling more consistently and with greater variety, he's figured out how to push the chairs in the dining room into other parts of the house in order to reach what he wants (the counter top, the kitty's food bowl, the light switches, the window), and he's been successfully transfered from his crib to a toddler bed.

On top of that, he's managed what Bill and I are fairly sure is an actual word: cat. Said while pointing at Cleo, of course. He's since managed "mama", and I think he means me, but he only says it when he wants something. (This, I suspect, will become a theme.)

His parents, on the other hand.... )

On the bright side: the State Department has cashed the check for Andrew's passport, so theoretically, they're in the process of actually making him one, and not pocketing the money and then saying, "Ooopa, you also have to provide three witnesses, a DNA sample, and have the applicant stand on his head, bounce a ball with his feet, and sing the national anthem backwards with a kazoo."

I mean, I wouldn't put it past them. Would you?
azriona: (Peppers)
Man, my mommy group is full of wimps.

So the group was planning to go to Reston Zoo this morning. Yesterday, some of the mommies started making noises, having looked at the weather report, which predicted *gasp* rain. The mommy in charge of the outing was calm, though, and said, "We'll make a decision in the morning."

So this morning, Andrew woke up just as I did, and there wasn't a chance to check my email until about half an hour ago when I figured, "Screw it," and turned on the Muppets. (Current viewing: Sam the Eagle doing Stars & Stripes Forever.)

The meetup, which was supposed to commence at 10am? Cancelled. Rain.

The actual forecast? Cloudy and cool this morning, no rain until 3 or so, and then very light.


So in about fifteen minutes, I'm going to brave not the weather, which is negligible, but tearing Andrew away from Muppets so that we can go and see actual animals, and not Muppetized chickens/bears/penguins/etc. (Also, Andrew has recently starting mooing. I feel the need to reinforce the mooing by showing him a cow, and Reston Zoo has cows.)

I'm not sure if I'm so blase about this because we have a membership to the zoo and don't have to pay the $12 to get in, or because HELLO, it's not even supposed to rain until NAPTIME, and if we stayed in every time a drop of water fell from the sky, there are weeks when we'd never actually go out. (And I'm saying that as a person who, having grown up in the desert, thinks water falling from the sky is intrinsically wrong.)

A quick word on the Original Story, believe it or not. )
azriona: (Andrew - open mouth)
3.01pm: Mommy and Andrew head out to run some errands.

3.00 and 36 seconds: Andrew makes a break for it, races across the parking lot, and into the trees on the other side. He looks back, flashes a great big baby grin at Mommy, as if to say, "HA HA, YOU CAN'T CATCH ME."

3.00 and 45 seconds: Mommy reaches the trees, but Andrew slips through her fingers and proceeds to run headlong down the hill in an attempt to fly.

3.01: Predictably, it does not end well. The resulting "SPLAT/CRUNCH" when Andrew's nose meets the concrete sidewalk is head throughout the neighborhood.

No, really. You could totally hear it.

3.01-3.10: Tears, blood, screaming. Not all of these are from Andrew alone.

3.11: The blood and screaming abated, Mommy determines that Andrew is not in pain. It's not certain where the blood came from, but Andrew does appear to have all of his teeth, as well as some scratches on his nose and chin and lip.

3.12-3.19: Cuddling. Not solely for Andrew's benefit.

3.20-4.30: Errands, as previously indicated.

4.30: Home. Andrew is dosed with newly purchased baby ibuprofen (Tylenol doesn't seem to have any affect on him, unfortunately), and a further inspection is allowed.

Result? All teeth present, but one of the upper front teeth appears to be chipped: at least, there's a sharp part that wasn't there before.

Also, his lip is majorly swollen. I'm sure there will be pictures at some point, but not at the moment. Right now, we're watching Muppets on YouTube (current viewing: the chickens singing "Baby Face").

Anyway, he's had dinner and water and juice and milk, and doesn't seem to be in any pain and he ate all his food, so I'm thinking it's just a chip, and not anything major. (Also, I have to think he'd still be in pain if it were more than a little chip.)

At least it's a baby tooth - I chipped one of my permanent teeth when I was a kid, and I still have the cap. Well, I have the third cap. Stuff happens, to caps.


On the plus side, I made a carrot cake for Bill's birthday today. That'll be a fun conversation when he gets home.

Bill: So how was your day?
Me: I made a cake, and Andrew made a failed attempt to eat the sidewalk.


(Also, he's now headbanging to Muppets Bohemian Rhapsody. [ profile] ashfae, you would DIE, it's just too funny.)
azriona: (Default)
Frankly, I want to know how anyone with more than one kid has the energy to create the second kid, because by the time Bill gets home, I'm so tired I just want to hand Andrew over and go to bed. Alone.

Today, we went to the Playseum in Bethesda. Andrew spent twenty minutes dumping all the sand out of the sandbox, then another ten minutes taking all the fake food off the shelves in the fake grocery store, then another twenty minutes trying to stick his fingers into the bunny cages (very real bunnies, who were mostly blase about the whole thing), and then another five seconds attempting to use the fake fishing poles to beat another child over the head (seconds because Mommy can be way quick sometimes), and then a blissful twenty minutes banging away on the cymbals and drum set. I say blissful, not because it was quiet - it really, really wasn't, and I may now be deaf in my right ear - but because he wasn't actually destroying and/or hurting anyone. Annoying, yes, but those other moms could have left the room, I wasn't forcing them to stay.

Anyway, the Playseum was a hit. Andrew loved it. I'm wiped.


Dear Inventor of Windows 7's split-screen ability, allowing me to type while Andrew watches Muppets on YouTube (current viewing: Lynda Carter singing Orange Colored Sky):

I love you.


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