In case you ever wondered why people yell “FREEBIRD!” at concerts.

My weekend is over, but unfortunately it was not so much of an “end.” Freebird has had a fever off and on since Thursday, and is no better - which means one more missed day of work for Hubby and a trip to the doctor for the Bird. We’re both exhausted from bad nights of sleep, and generally trying to wrangle a cranky, tired toddler. He hasn’t wanted to eat or drink much - I think he’s eaten about 10 cheerios today total plus some mac & cheese for dinner - and he’s just miserable. And I can’t get irritated because I know he must feel like absolute shite. Poor kid.

But when he feels better we’ll feel better, so off to the doctor he goes. 

The pastor entered his donkey in a race and it won. The pastor was so pleased that he entered it in the race again, and it won again.

The local paper read: PASTOR’S ASS OUT IN FRONT

The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the pastor not to enter the donkey in another race.

The next day, the local paper headline read: BISHOP SCRATCHES PASTOR’S ASS.

This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid of the donkey. The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent.

The local paper, hearing of the news, posted the following headline the next day: NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN.

The bishop fainted. He informed the nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey, so she sold it to a farmer for $10.

The next day the paper read: NUN PEDDLES ASS FOR $10

This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the nun to buy back the donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run wild.

The next day the headlines read: NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE

The bishop was buried the next day.

The moral of the story is:

Stop worrying about everyone else’s ass and you’ll be a lot happier and live longer!

I got one - ONE - Friday referral. Perhaps this is an omen for a weekend in which I don’t feel like I have six million things to do and five minutes in which to get them done? Not likely, but I can dream.

People still search for the lolrus bukkit, and even the lolrus can’t find it.

Freebird has a buckle, but I don’t think he’s willing to share. 

Without giving away too much of the factual details, I think Hubby is worried that I’m becoming more conservative than he is politically. I couldn’t disagree with him more, though I do understand his perspective. Due to a few outside factors, which I don’t talk about online, I’ve been exposed to the political perspectives of a completely different side of the national and international spectrum. At a job I used to have, I listened to world leaders discuss world-leader type stuff all the time. But the political positions of the organization for which I worked were a bit different from my own, as were the positions of the primary members of that organization.

Did this change me into a raging Republican? Not hardly.

But I think Hubby is worried that I’m getting more conservative. I say I’m not really, though he doesn’t agree. I think I’m getting more libertarian, and am personally less and less interested in having any part of any American government involved in any part of my life, from my taxes to my uterus. I’m becoming resolved that I cannot do anything to ease the cranio-rectal impaction of a great many people, from those who don’t wear their seatbelts to those who want to legislate what I can do with my vagina and my sex life.

The other night, Hubby and I were talking about socialized medicine and his position that America needs a national health plan to guarantee health coverage for every citizen. I can agree that every citizen needs health coverage, but I don’t think it should come from the government. The logistics of what could be offered and from where such coverage should originate is a detail I can’t even begin to work out, but my bottom line: should government the have absolutely anything to do with it?

This pregnancy isn’t much different from my pregnancy with Freebird except that I am much bigger, much sooner, and therefore experiencing all the little things that come with “popping out” so soon. I have heartburn and have to take antacids on a 12-hour schedule (not a big deal - done that before), and my hands and feet are swollen most evenings, which didn’t happen until much later with the Bird. Of course, I’m 25 weeks now, and I’m MUCH bigger than I was at 25 weeks with the Bird, so the swelling makes sense. I also feel a lot of movement. I think Freebird had a Yugo to tool around in, while this baby has, like, a Lincoln Continental, since I’m quite elastic in the accommodations.

But this morning, while looking for a pair of pants to wear, I grabbed a pair of late-pregnancy pants, the kind with the big soft cotton stretchy belly pocket in the front. Instead of a wide elastic waistband, these pants literally have a soft pocket that comes nearly up to my rib cage. I happen to love belly pocket pants, because having an elastic band around my middle really gets irritating after a few hours. But I didn’t expect to FIT into them so early! I was nowhere NEAR able to wear the pocket style at 25 weeks with Freebird. This time around? No problem. I am so comfy. I feel like a mammoth but I’m very comfy. 

In the mornings, I’m at my desk at an undisclosed location by 8am. Hubby is usually on his way to Freebird’s school with Freebird chattering in the backseat. Usually Hubby and I chat for those 15 minutes or so, because he and I are both really busy during the day and don’t chat much while we’re working.

Hubby’s bluetooth is part of his car - which is way cool - and the speakerphone is in the ceiling of the car. Sometimes Freebird talks to me, and sometimes he sits in the backseat and sings while Hubby and I talk.

This morning, Hubby got stuck in traffic at a school crossing where the population of at least four high schools appeared to be crossing the street en masse. Freebird usually gets pissed off if that happens because the traffic stands between him and his breakfast at school. O’s are not being eaten. Waffles remain unconsumed. The Bird is hungry and this makes for an angry, screechy Bird.

But today, Freebird sat in the back sat singing a song to Hubby and I. Only he does the tune (and carries the tune well, I think) but doesn’t know all the words.

Freebird: I ruhh doo! Ree ruh ree!
Sarah: What’s he singing?
Hubby: I have no idea.
Freebird: Ree ruh ree ruh ree ree ree.
...
Sarah: Oh, no.
Hubby: What?
Sarah: It’s the Barney song.
Hubby: Oh, no, it totally is!
Freebird: I ruv yoo! Yoo ruv ree!
Sarah & Hubby: We’re a happy family!!!

The indoctrination has begun. Now to teach him some Beatles.