It's a go.

Dudes? I'm knocked up.

Pee test confirmed it. Doing blood work tomorrow. So far we haven't even told our families (except my sister, who knew we were trying) so no one call my mom and steal our thunder.

Remember last year when I first told you all about becoming foster parents, and promised I wouldn't make this blog a "family-friendly love-fest"? I still cuss a lot, but I definitely talk WAY more about parenting than things that will always piss me off or my thoughts on pajamas or the general weirdness of strangers.

I just reread a bunch of stuff I wrote, and I liked it. When I'm awake enough, I'm going to try to start incorporating more of that shit, because I do in fact have a personality outside of mothering.

So, you know, hooray! I'll keep you updated!

In which I come through, sort of.

Andy's younger sister has been dealing with some pretty serious health issues. I mentioned that a while ago. She got better, then got kind of worse, there was an allergic reaction, and she spent several more days in the hospital. She's out now, thankfully, but with instructions to take it easy or else. The "or else" here is "or else you'll end up back in the goddamn hospital, so seriously maybe take some more naps and do nothing strenuous."

I asked her if some more ridiculous books would help her recovery. She decided, hey, they couldn't hurt, right? What followed was this series of texts:

Me: Do you need more trashy novels to help your recovery? I recently discovered a "Christian fiction" section at Wal-Mart. There were bonnets.
SIL: Haha! Couldn't hurt I suppose. Trashy passes the time.
Me: Deal. I was scared to look too closely, but I'll see if I can find anything about the Amish.
SIL: LOL You're too funny
Me: If they don't have Amish stuff, I'll try to find one involving a gruff policeman with a heart of gold, or a female attorney who realizes she's missing out on all life has to offer so she becomes a slut.
SIL: Sounds good.

I popped over to Wal-Mart on my lunch break, and managed to find these two gems:
Abby and the Bachelor Cop, AND Hannah's Journey.

Turns out, romance novels really are that formulaic.

WHICH COMES IN HANDY, AS I'VE HAD A REQUEST THAT I WRITE ONE. Not kidding. Some good friends of ours host art shows in their home, and they're having one at the end of summer entitled "In the Garden." Seeing as how I'm the only one of the group who does not create art (unless you count knitting, which I don't know, maybe counts or something, I'm good at it and all and I AM NOT DEFENSIVE ABOUT MY NON-ARTISTIC NATURE), they suggested that I write something. I can handle a few haiku, maybe knock out a tortured sonnet, but my English degree is the other sort, the kind where you get to discuss shit other people wrote. But a friend of the friend hosting the show has a secret, quite lucrative career writing weird, fetishistic romance novels. We died laughing about how funny it would be for us to write a garden-themed romance short story ("he gently pulled back the petals of her most delicate flower" OH MY GOD IT'S SO EASY), and somehow by the time we left, many beers later, I had been elected the author.

A. Please, for the love of god, help me out with this. Suggest your most ridiculous garden-ish romance novel clichés and phrases. B. Please don't call the foster care people about this. Thanks.