Whatever happened to snakes and sparklers?



Remy tried to steal my New Years kiss by jumping on Shawn's face at 11:58am, but I prevailed!

This New Year's was a particularly low key affair, being 38 weeks pregnant will do that to you. Usually we do it up, dance-party-champagne-guzzling-scream-singing-style (one year we even got engaged). December 31, 2011 was spent eating copious Costco crab dip, watching The Walking Dead Marathon, and late dining at The OG with several families and retirees that wouldn't stop staring at my belly a half inch (no, but I wish I was kidding) from the table edge.

 We capped off the evening with a bottle of Martinelli's finest sparkling apple cider and Korbel for the Hubs. After chasing the dog in circles in the living room, we could hear fireworks in the neighborhood. As soon as I heard them, I looked over at Hubs. The gleam in his his, the 12-year-old mischief maker smile stretched across his face. "No," I told him. He ducked out the front door and came back in after another loud crashing boom in the not-so-far-off-distance. "No," I repeated. He was already in the garage rifling through a box of explosives before I could hear him say "Just one."

We were hoping for a New Year's baby and the hot baths and spicy foods didn't do the job, so maybe scaring Henry out of my uterus would work? I asked him if this was the reason for letting off two mortars, six bottle rockets, and some other loud fizzy things.

I tried to take a video with my iPhone of one of the bottle rockets, and upon listening to playback, I realize that I will never be asked to video anything and I sound a lot like Butthead. "Heh Heh, Happy New Year." Here's to o longer having a stuffy nose in 2012! Woo hoo! Heh, heh...