Yesterday, I pulled a John C. Mayer on John P. Stamos.
(Read about pulling a John C. Mayer at http://www.mommywantsvodka.com)
We-hell...apparently John P. Stamos' publicists, or perhaps John P. Stamos himself, did not appreciate my efforts. Yesterday, a Google search of John P. Stamos had my blog at number 2. This was true even if you left out puctuation and searched John P Stamos, or even if you didn't capitalize and searched john p stamos. But today? Today, my blog is not even in the top five PAGES of a search of John P. Stamos.
In fact, Aunt Becky's blog www.mommywantsvodka.com shows up on page 3 just for mentioning my blog about John P. Stamos. Clearly, the army of John P. Stamos has layeth the smacketh down.
It isn't as if I besmirched the good name of John P. Stamos. John P. Stamos has had a lot of trouble with that recently and I just wouldn't do that to John P. Stamos. It was a cute recollection of my admiration of John P. Stamos and nothing more.
I didn't even go into how excited I am that John P. Stamos will be appearing on Glee this season, and how much I admire the vocal talent of John P. Stamos. I'd rather see John P. Stamos as a rival glee club director than a dentist, because I want to hear John P. Stamos sing at every possible opportunity.
I really thought John P. Stamos et al would have a better sense of humor about being John C. Mayer-ed. I mean, isn't my little blog about John P. Stamos better than those awful news stories about the couple who tried to blackmail John P. Stamos? (They went down, by the way. All allegations of John P. Stamos' misconduct are completely untrue.)
John P. Stamos, I have adored you for 22 years. Can't a girl get a little John P. Stamos love in return?
Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
John P. Stamos and I go way back.
Who didn’t love John P. Stamos as Uncle Jesse on Full House?
That mullet. That smirk. Those eyelashes. **sigh**
My 4 year old heard just couldn’t handle it. John P. Stamos was my first “bad boy”, and let me tell you, I’ve been addicted ever since.
My first run-in with John P. Stamos was when I was 5. The Beach Boys would be appearing with John P. Stamos on drums after the Tribe double-header at Municiple Stadium, and my mom decided to take me. I had never heard anything so loud in my whole life. My mom kept assuring me that John P. Stamos was indeed there, but we were in the nosebleeds so the band looked like little ants running around a drum kit to me.
But my primary concern at the time was NOT John P. Stamos, if you can believe that. My primary concerns were A. Is the stadium gonna fall down??! It’s shaking, Mom. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna fall down. B. Are they gonna play Kokomo? What if they don’t play Kokomo? It’s pointless to even be here if they don’t play Kokomo, Mom.
Mom, who also was unconcerned with John P. Stamos, but who just wanted to see The Beach Boys, damn it, was probably seriously questioning her decision to bring a 5 year old along at this point. But they did eventually play Kokomo, featuring John P. Stamos on the drums, as the encore. How on earth did John P. Stamos get into The Beach Boys, anyway?
Fast forward to 13 years later. I was now 18 years old. My aunts took me on a graduation trip to New York City. As a surprise, they bought tickets to Cabaret at Studio 54, starring…you guessed it, none other than John P. Stamos!!! I was thrilled. John P. Stamos was in the role of The Emcee. Molly Ringwald played Sally Bowles. Who knew that broad could sing, eh?
We had tickets to a matinee, and our table was right on an aisle that led down from one of two sets of stairs off of the stage. After intermission, John P. Stamos came down our aisle into the audience, in character, looking for someone to dance with. All of the little old ladies shied away, blushing and looking bashful and flapping their hands at him as if to say “Oh, stop!”. I, however, practically stood on my chair. I put my arm up and yelled, “I’ll go!!!” And wouldn’t you know it, John P. Stamos grabbed my hand and said “You’ll do.” And proceeded to lead me up onto the stage. At Studio 54. During a Broadway Production. Holy. Crap.
So John P. Stamos led me in a lovely little slow dance, during which he teased me about my height, told me I smelled nice, and then decided it was himself who smelled nice after all. When I responded that yes, he smelled like coconuts, John P. Stamos grabbed his crotch and said “Thank You!” with his penis. Then it was time for me to go back to my seat. So John P. Stamos leaned forward, puckered his lips, and coyly tapped them with a finger to indicate that I was to kiss him. Well, I wasn’t going to deny John P. Stamos a kiss, so I smooched him and turned to head back to my seat. It was at this point that John P. Stamos smacked my ass.
Later on, my aunts and I stood outside the stage door in hopes of getting my program autographed. Molly Ringwald, that cunt, “doesn’t do” autographs, but John P. Stamos sure does. John P. Stamos is not above interacting with his adoring public. So I got John P. Stamos’ autograph, and my aunt took my picture with him. But she was really excited. And this was before everyone had digital cameras. So when I had the film developed, I was crushed to find that I had a picture of myself with John P. Stamos’ chin. I had it re-developed, because there is often more on the negative than the photo they actually print out, and I was able to get all the way up to his eyebrows on the second try. So I now have definitive proof that I met, and danced with, John P. Stamos.
John P. Stamos and Rebecca Romijn divorced shortly thereafter. You do the math.
That mullet. That smirk. Those eyelashes. **sigh**
My 4 year old heard just couldn’t handle it. John P. Stamos was my first “bad boy”, and let me tell you, I’ve been addicted ever since.
My first run-in with John P. Stamos was when I was 5. The Beach Boys would be appearing with John P. Stamos on drums after the Tribe double-header at Municiple Stadium, and my mom decided to take me. I had never heard anything so loud in my whole life. My mom kept assuring me that John P. Stamos was indeed there, but we were in the nosebleeds so the band looked like little ants running around a drum kit to me.
But my primary concern at the time was NOT John P. Stamos, if you can believe that. My primary concerns were A. Is the stadium gonna fall down??! It’s shaking, Mom. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna fall down. B. Are they gonna play Kokomo? What if they don’t play Kokomo? It’s pointless to even be here if they don’t play Kokomo, Mom.
Mom, who also was unconcerned with John P. Stamos, but who just wanted to see The Beach Boys, damn it, was probably seriously questioning her decision to bring a 5 year old along at this point. But they did eventually play Kokomo, featuring John P. Stamos on the drums, as the encore. How on earth did John P. Stamos get into The Beach Boys, anyway?
Fast forward to 13 years later. I was now 18 years old. My aunts took me on a graduation trip to New York City. As a surprise, they bought tickets to Cabaret at Studio 54, starring…you guessed it, none other than John P. Stamos!!! I was thrilled. John P. Stamos was in the role of The Emcee. Molly Ringwald played Sally Bowles. Who knew that broad could sing, eh?
We had tickets to a matinee, and our table was right on an aisle that led down from one of two sets of stairs off of the stage. After intermission, John P. Stamos came down our aisle into the audience, in character, looking for someone to dance with. All of the little old ladies shied away, blushing and looking bashful and flapping their hands at him as if to say “Oh, stop!”. I, however, practically stood on my chair. I put my arm up and yelled, “I’ll go!!!” And wouldn’t you know it, John P. Stamos grabbed my hand and said “You’ll do.” And proceeded to lead me up onto the stage. At Studio 54. During a Broadway Production. Holy. Crap.
So John P. Stamos led me in a lovely little slow dance, during which he teased me about my height, told me I smelled nice, and then decided it was himself who smelled nice after all. When I responded that yes, he smelled like coconuts, John P. Stamos grabbed his crotch and said “Thank You!” with his penis. Then it was time for me to go back to my seat. So John P. Stamos leaned forward, puckered his lips, and coyly tapped them with a finger to indicate that I was to kiss him. Well, I wasn’t going to deny John P. Stamos a kiss, so I smooched him and turned to head back to my seat. It was at this point that John P. Stamos smacked my ass.
Later on, my aunts and I stood outside the stage door in hopes of getting my program autographed. Molly Ringwald, that cunt, “doesn’t do” autographs, but John P. Stamos sure does. John P. Stamos is not above interacting with his adoring public. So I got John P. Stamos’ autograph, and my aunt took my picture with him. But she was really excited. And this was before everyone had digital cameras. So when I had the film developed, I was crushed to find that I had a picture of myself with John P. Stamos’ chin. I had it re-developed, because there is often more on the negative than the photo they actually print out, and I was able to get all the way up to his eyebrows on the second try. So I now have definitive proof that I met, and danced with, John P. Stamos.
John P. Stamos and Rebecca Romijn divorced shortly thereafter. You do the math.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Things I Wasn't Expecting
Please be advised that this may be Too Much Information for the 3 of you who read this. If you don't want to know weird and possibly gross things about me, turn back now before it's too late. Thank you.
So. There are a lot of things people tell you when you are pregnant. Advice, horror stories, etc. that good intentioned veteran mommies cram into your ear canals whether you want it or not. So there are a lot of things that I was expecting, and did my best to prepare for.
Some things I wasn't expecting?
Female pattern baldness. All the books say that while you're pregnant you shed very little, so once you have the baby you might shed a little more hair than usual. No big deal, right? Except what's going on on my head is not merely "a little more hair than usual". Oh no. It's great big handfuls of hair. It looks like a horror film when I shampoo it, the clumps that come out in my hands. I have to clean the drain screen 2 - 3 times per shower. My hair is noticably thinner at the temples and it bothers me. I tried cutting my long hair off, because it was so damaged it was tangling and breaking and generally contributing to the problem, but the shedding has not slowed. Even more irritating are the little teeny tiny hairs growing in to replace the lost ones, which are starting to stick out the sides of my temples, no matter how much I try to slick them down. I look like the Mad Hatter in the new Alice in Wonderland movie. Not cute.
My body is betraying me?! The other day I tried to stand up with the baby, but went right back into a sitting position on the couch. Crying and laughing at the same time, I tried to feel my stomach muscles to see why it felt like a balloon had popped in my abdomen. No pain, during or after, to indicate a hernia, and yet, that's the only way to explain what it felt like. It felt like someone poking my abdomen from the inside...HARD. It was really strange and I freaked out
for a little while.
One day last week I couldn't put any weight on my right hand (like when getting up from sitting on the floor) without terrible pain. No reason. It went away the next day. Same thing happened 2 days earlier with the second and third toe of my left foot.
And my hips, if I sit indian style for too long, now not only creak and pop, but also hurt and lock up. I had a caesarean! The baby didn't even go through there!! What the hell, man?
Speaking of ceasarean...I was totally not prepared for this scar. It's actually pretty little and cute considering that an entire human came through there, but still. It's not the appearance that bothers me. Oh no. It's the itching. Because the internal organs that were cut open and sewn back together itch too...and now that they've shrunk, they don't line up with the external scar anymore. It's really a very bizarre feeling, to have an itch on the inside. Also? Ingrown hairs, dude. In. Grown. Hairs.
The "Glow" is bullshit. You heard me. That glow everyone talks about pregnant women having is nothing more than god damned oily skin. There is nothing happy and glowing about oily skin. It sucks. And mine has not gone away yet. And for me, oily skin = zits. So here I am, new mom, walking around looking like I went through puberty about 5 minutes ago. Fantastic. She's not my little sister!!!
And finally...Mommy Brain. Another thing I thought was supposed to go away once the kid came out. Maybe it's hormonal, I don't know. But I have forgotten people's names who I am RELATED to. I have had to pause and think about it when asked my own birthday. This is stuff that happens to old people. I am not an old people.
Am I?
So. There are a lot of things people tell you when you are pregnant. Advice, horror stories, etc. that good intentioned veteran mommies cram into your ear canals whether you want it or not. So there are a lot of things that I was expecting, and did my best to prepare for.
Some things I wasn't expecting?
Female pattern baldness. All the books say that while you're pregnant you shed very little, so once you have the baby you might shed a little more hair than usual. No big deal, right? Except what's going on on my head is not merely "a little more hair than usual". Oh no. It's great big handfuls of hair. It looks like a horror film when I shampoo it, the clumps that come out in my hands. I have to clean the drain screen 2 - 3 times per shower. My hair is noticably thinner at the temples and it bothers me. I tried cutting my long hair off, because it was so damaged it was tangling and breaking and generally contributing to the problem, but the shedding has not slowed. Even more irritating are the little teeny tiny hairs growing in to replace the lost ones, which are starting to stick out the sides of my temples, no matter how much I try to slick them down. I look like the Mad Hatter in the new Alice in Wonderland movie. Not cute.
My body is betraying me?! The other day I tried to stand up with the baby, but went right back into a sitting position on the couch. Crying and laughing at the same time, I tried to feel my stomach muscles to see why it felt like a balloon had popped in my abdomen. No pain, during or after, to indicate a hernia, and yet, that's the only way to explain what it felt like. It felt like someone poking my abdomen from the inside...HARD. It was really strange and I freaked out
for a little while.
One day last week I couldn't put any weight on my right hand (like when getting up from sitting on the floor) without terrible pain. No reason. It went away the next day. Same thing happened 2 days earlier with the second and third toe of my left foot.
And my hips, if I sit indian style for too long, now not only creak and pop, but also hurt and lock up. I had a caesarean! The baby didn't even go through there!! What the hell, man?
Speaking of ceasarean...I was totally not prepared for this scar. It's actually pretty little and cute considering that an entire human came through there, but still. It's not the appearance that bothers me. Oh no. It's the itching. Because the internal organs that were cut open and sewn back together itch too...and now that they've shrunk, they don't line up with the external scar anymore. It's really a very bizarre feeling, to have an itch on the inside. Also? Ingrown hairs, dude. In. Grown. Hairs.
The "Glow" is bullshit. You heard me. That glow everyone talks about pregnant women having is nothing more than god damned oily skin. There is nothing happy and glowing about oily skin. It sucks. And mine has not gone away yet. And for me, oily skin = zits. So here I am, new mom, walking around looking like I went through puberty about 5 minutes ago. Fantastic. She's not my little sister!!!
And finally...Mommy Brain. Another thing I thought was supposed to go away once the kid came out. Maybe it's hormonal, I don't know. But I have forgotten people's names who I am RELATED to. I have had to pause and think about it when asked my own birthday. This is stuff that happens to old people. I am not an old people.
Am I?
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Don't call her Princess.
When I was a kid, I don't think my mom ever called me "Princess" as a pet name, or put me in "I'm a Princess" t-shirts or anything like that. I don't know if that's because it wasn't the trend at the time, or if she made a conscious decision not to...it was just the way it wasn't.
I think that the whole "Princess" trend is pretty new. I know there have always been people who called their spoiled little girls Princess as a pet name, but as far as being a marketable trend, I think it's new. And I have to say, I don't like it. People have given me princess clothing for Layla, and I rarely put her in it...maybe for bed or if I know she's going to get messy. I never take her out while wearing it. The idea makes me cringe.
Don't get me wrong. When little girls are playing pretend, or dress up, there is nothing wrong with pretending to be princesses. Because it's PRETEND. But to be CALLED princess, to be clothed in outfits that declare princess status, to me is going too far. That's when it stops being pretend and starts being disgusting.
My opinion is that pounding the princess mentality into their little heads just sets them up to have it as adults. The need to be "taken care of" (read: spoiled). The belief that being pretty is more important than anything else. The sense of entitlement.
I don't want that for my kid. I want her to be able and willing to take care of herself. I don't want her to have to rely on a Prince Charming to come along and do it for her. I don't want her to think that she isn't worth anything if her hair isn't perfect and she isn't wearing lip gloss. I don't want her to think that she deserves things she won't work for.
Am I being overly psycho about this?
I think that the whole "Princess" trend is pretty new. I know there have always been people who called their spoiled little girls Princess as a pet name, but as far as being a marketable trend, I think it's new. And I have to say, I don't like it. People have given me princess clothing for Layla, and I rarely put her in it...maybe for bed or if I know she's going to get messy. I never take her out while wearing it. The idea makes me cringe.
Don't get me wrong. When little girls are playing pretend, or dress up, there is nothing wrong with pretending to be princesses. Because it's PRETEND. But to be CALLED princess, to be clothed in outfits that declare princess status, to me is going too far. That's when it stops being pretend and starts being disgusting.
My opinion is that pounding the princess mentality into their little heads just sets them up to have it as adults. The need to be "taken care of" (read: spoiled). The belief that being pretty is more important than anything else. The sense of entitlement.
I don't want that for my kid. I want her to be able and willing to take care of herself. I don't want her to have to rely on a Prince Charming to come along and do it for her. I don't want her to think that she isn't worth anything if her hair isn't perfect and she isn't wearing lip gloss. I don't want her to think that she deserves things she won't work for.
Am I being overly psycho about this?
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
4 months....
Layla is 4 months old today.
It's very weird...before I had her, 4 months was never a significant portion of time. I could look 4 months back and see that my life was pretty much the same. Work drink sleep eat repeat.
But so much has changed that 4 months feels like forever.
People talk about how much your life changes when you have children. Well, I have the same apartment, same car, same job, same friends, same cat. So most things aren't very different. I think it's more that how you feel about life changes when you have children.
I think about her every second. Everything she does is the cutest thing I've ever seen. I'm so much more paranoid about things now. For instance, thunderstorms never scared me and they don't seem to bother her, but I can't help but think "Oh my god what if the building is hit by lightning!" everytime it starts to storm out.
4 months ago she was just this teeny tiny little bundle that I was almost afraid to unwrap. She didn't do anything but nurse and sleep and poop. She has grown so much since February. She interacts, with coos and laughter. She is so expressive, she makes the best faces and between that and her body language she can pretty much tell you exactly what's going on in her head. I can see her learning...her face when she is curious and inspecting something is just amazing.
How could all of that happen in just 4 months?
It's very weird...before I had her, 4 months was never a significant portion of time. I could look 4 months back and see that my life was pretty much the same. Work drink sleep eat repeat.
But so much has changed that 4 months feels like forever.
People talk about how much your life changes when you have children. Well, I have the same apartment, same car, same job, same friends, same cat. So most things aren't very different. I think it's more that how you feel about life changes when you have children.
I think about her every second. Everything she does is the cutest thing I've ever seen. I'm so much more paranoid about things now. For instance, thunderstorms never scared me and they don't seem to bother her, but I can't help but think "Oh my god what if the building is hit by lightning!" everytime it starts to storm out.
4 months ago she was just this teeny tiny little bundle that I was almost afraid to unwrap. She didn't do anything but nurse and sleep and poop. She has grown so much since February. She interacts, with coos and laughter. She is so expressive, she makes the best faces and between that and her body language she can pretty much tell you exactly what's going on in her head. I can see her learning...her face when she is curious and inspecting something is just amazing.
How could all of that happen in just 4 months?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
How to go grocery shopping by yourself with a small baby.
We have a system. It's a good system as long as I dont need that many groceries.
First of all, it helps if you have a good baby. (Have I mentioned that Layla is damn near angelic? Oh, I have? Well let me say it again. She's awesome.)
This is because if your baby is crying in the grocery store, people will look at you like you must be pinching her. They will whisper in asides to one another. "That baby isn't happy. Why doesn't she do something?" and other such nonsense. They don't care that the child is neither too warm nor too cold, is dry, has already rejected a fresh bottle and 3 varieties of binky, and simply wants to go home. But you can't go home, because there's no food there, and this is where they keep the food.
So. Having a good baby is definitely a plus.
First things first I find a parking spot near the cart corral, so I can just snag one right there instead of carrying the car seat thru the lot. Why don't I use a stroller, you ask? Have you ever tried to push a stroller and a shopping cart at the same time? It's ridiculous.
The baby's carrier goes into the basket of the shopping cart. This is why my system is best if you only need so many groceries. I can't put the carrier on top of the seat thing, because although I'm fairly certain it would be safe, I'm less than 5 feet tall and I can't see her if she's way up there.
I shop the way my mom always shopped. It's force of habit. Through the produce, all the way around the outer edge of the store, then up and down the aisles. Items are strategically placed around the baby seat in such a way that they probably wont topple over onto her, but if they do for some reason, she wont get hurt or cold. Milk and ice cream actually goes under the head of the carrier, because they're big and cold and it just makes the most sense.
The tricky part is when we get home. I came up with a system that works pretty much like a relay race with a relay team of me. Luckily I live on the first floor.
Park in front of building. Baby into apartment. Leave her in the car seat in the living room.
Then, run the groceries from the car into the vestibule. Run back and lock the car. Open the security door and move all the groceries to the other side. Let the door shut, unlock apartment door. Move all the groceries from the hallway into the inside doorway of the apartment. Shut the door so the cat doesn't escape. Then move all the groceries from the doorway to the kitchen. Put anything that might melt or spoil away immediately.
Unhook the baby, change her, and give her a toy to lick (she's really into licking things right now.) Then put away the rest of the groceries while simultaneously warming up a welcome home snack baba for the baby and eating something yourself quick before you pass out because you didn't eat before you went to the store. Mostly because going to the store is such a pain that you waited until there was nothing in the house but seven week old oranges and a box of Uncle Ben's.
Some women do this with multiple small children. My mom, for example. I can't for the life of me figure out how.
First of all, it helps if you have a good baby. (Have I mentioned that Layla is damn near angelic? Oh, I have? Well let me say it again. She's awesome.)
This is because if your baby is crying in the grocery store, people will look at you like you must be pinching her. They will whisper in asides to one another. "That baby isn't happy. Why doesn't she do something?" and other such nonsense. They don't care that the child is neither too warm nor too cold, is dry, has already rejected a fresh bottle and 3 varieties of binky, and simply wants to go home. But you can't go home, because there's no food there, and this is where they keep the food.
So. Having a good baby is definitely a plus.
First things first I find a parking spot near the cart corral, so I can just snag one right there instead of carrying the car seat thru the lot. Why don't I use a stroller, you ask? Have you ever tried to push a stroller and a shopping cart at the same time? It's ridiculous.
The baby's carrier goes into the basket of the shopping cart. This is why my system is best if you only need so many groceries. I can't put the carrier on top of the seat thing, because although I'm fairly certain it would be safe, I'm less than 5 feet tall and I can't see her if she's way up there.
I shop the way my mom always shopped. It's force of habit. Through the produce, all the way around the outer edge of the store, then up and down the aisles. Items are strategically placed around the baby seat in such a way that they probably wont topple over onto her, but if they do for some reason, she wont get hurt or cold. Milk and ice cream actually goes under the head of the carrier, because they're big and cold and it just makes the most sense.
The tricky part is when we get home. I came up with a system that works pretty much like a relay race with a relay team of me. Luckily I live on the first floor.
Park in front of building. Baby into apartment. Leave her in the car seat in the living room.
Then, run the groceries from the car into the vestibule. Run back and lock the car. Open the security door and move all the groceries to the other side. Let the door shut, unlock apartment door. Move all the groceries from the hallway into the inside doorway of the apartment. Shut the door so the cat doesn't escape. Then move all the groceries from the doorway to the kitchen. Put anything that might melt or spoil away immediately.
Unhook the baby, change her, and give her a toy to lick (she's really into licking things right now.) Then put away the rest of the groceries while simultaneously warming up a welcome home snack baba for the baby and eating something yourself quick before you pass out because you didn't eat before you went to the store. Mostly because going to the store is such a pain that you waited until there was nothing in the house but seven week old oranges and a box of Uncle Ben's.
Some women do this with multiple small children. My mom, for example. I can't for the life of me figure out how.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
I'm not allowed to eat.
Can anyone explain this phenomenon to me?
I know it's common.
I have a happy baby. She's sweet and good. She often amuses herself for upwards of an hour while I do things like wash bottles, do laundry, fold clothes, etc.
But the very SECOND I try to eat something, she immediately needs to be held, changed, burped, looked at, SOMETHING.
I don't get it.
I've tried eating in the other room, really fast, over the sink, with the water running, to try to make her think I'm washing dishes.
No good. She KNOWS.
I don't know how she does it. Whatever gene made my mom able to know I was making faces at my brother in a completely different part of the house must have skipped a generation and gone straight to her.
So I eat a lot of cereal. Minimal preparation time, and if I let the baby fuss for as long as it takes me to eat a bowl of cereal, (35 seconds,) that's not so bad.
If she sleeps in or takes a morning nap I sometimes get to have toaster waffles.
Heaven.
I know it's common.
I have a happy baby. She's sweet and good. She often amuses herself for upwards of an hour while I do things like wash bottles, do laundry, fold clothes, etc.
But the very SECOND I try to eat something, she immediately needs to be held, changed, burped, looked at, SOMETHING.
I don't get it.
I've tried eating in the other room, really fast, over the sink, with the water running, to try to make her think I'm washing dishes.
No good. She KNOWS.
I don't know how she does it. Whatever gene made my mom able to know I was making faces at my brother in a completely different part of the house must have skipped a generation and gone straight to her.
So I eat a lot of cereal. Minimal preparation time, and if I let the baby fuss for as long as it takes me to eat a bowl of cereal, (35 seconds,) that's not so bad.
If she sleeps in or takes a morning nap I sometimes get to have toaster waffles.
Heaven.
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