He's not going to quit bouncing, I'll tell you that.

     Excuse my absence.  Again.  I feel like 80% of my blogs start with some kind of apology these days. Sorry for that, too.  My family has been mega busy the last few weeks.  We've joined the gym, ended the school year, had a trip to the E.R. after dropping the baby on her head.  You know, the usual.  Don't worry, I'll elaborate that last one for you.

     Our theater has a summer program where they run old children's movies on the big screen for $3.  Michael loves it because he can go to the movies every week.  I love it because it basically costs pocket change and it includes popcorn and a drink.  This kid is a movie junkie.  We've seen almost every children's flick in the theater since the second Chipmunks came out in 2009.  Movies aren't cheap any more, never really were.  But now, even matinee showings are $7 a ticket.  For 3 tickets, it's 21 smackers!  If you factor in enough snacks and drinks for all of us, we're looking at having to sell organs on the black market.  Once Ivy is old enough that we have to pay for hers too, we might as well just give them Dom's nuts because we won't be affording any more children.
    
     That is, if Ivy lives past a year.  With my divine parenting skills and all, I mean.  I've got some mean baby dropping moves, let me tell you!  Moral of the story: "Don't try to pee with your infant in a baby sling."  I leaned too far forward and she popped right out of the front of it, smacking her head on the bathroom floor.  So not only did I have to worry about a concussion, her brain hemorrhaging, and cognitive delay, I also exposed her whatever the hell was growing on the floor of the public toilet.
     We made it in and out of the emergency room pretty quickly.  She wasn't showing any signs of trauma and after answering all the questions about the fall, the doctor gave me a why are you even here? look. But Michael reminds me any time that I use the carrier that "If Ivy falls out, we'll have to take her back to the hospital.  So be careful!"

     But when I'm not throwing my children on the ground, I've been spending my free time preparing for my sister-in-law's upcoming destination wedding.  We're headed to Denver on Friday and I'm extremely excited to be going out there.  DiMaggio weddings are inexplicably fun.  It's a banquet hall full of loud Italians with Dom's quirky sense of humor.  What's not fun about that?
     Finding an outfit for the wedding, was not so enjoyable.  I went to seven stores over three days before I found something that fit well enough.  I could have given up earlier, but most of the ensembles looked like a strapless trashbag was draped around me. That's because my body is an asymmetric blob consisting of about 3 different dress sizes throughout. 
     My top was somewhere between a 12 and 14, my ass was a 10, and my gut a 12.  Seriously, did you know that when you have large breasts and then have two kids, they get even BIGGER?  I got fitted by a specialist and these ladies are a 34 FF.   The Victoria's Secret "bra wench" tried to stuff me in a 36 DD the day before that.  Ha!
     I was able to find a decent pick.  It's a simple, yet elegant, blue dress that I'm spicing up with a belt and strappy shoes.  Know what the final size was?  An 8. 

     I  should just change my name so that my initials are WTF.  Those would make a nice monogram for a set of towels, don't you think?

Today's subject line quote is from Kung Fu Panda  (2008).