First post at Dreamwidth! Not much going on, but a few amusing things to share. Squiddle, ever more articulate, told me the other day that "The moon is a planet made of cheese." And Wonderful Husband came up with the idea that the little mermaid wasn't really walking on knives and glass, just no one had told her not to walk on the Legos.

While Squiddle and Jazzy are napping, I am working on a replacement wing for Squiddle's Toothless costume. (The original was lost at Comic-Con, and we're going to a Halloween party tomorrow.) And musing on the quilt I'm working on getting quilted. I finished the top nearly fifteen years ago, and I can see every single mistake in it. But I'm not taking them out and fixing them because I don't have interest in doing that, and if I tried I'd just shove it back into the storage box and NEVER finish the thing.

There's a saying "finished is better than perfect."

And somehow that saying is getting tangled up in my head with Soundwave from the original (1980s) Transformers movie: "Soundwave: superior. Constructicons: inferior."

I now NEED to make something that says "Completion: superior. Perfection: inferior."

In the great world of crossover possibilities, one of the burning questions in my mind is not "What Hogwarts house was Mary Poppins in?" but "How did Eglantine Price miss getting her eleventh-birthday owl?"

...somewhere in Starfleet there is a vessel named "Spacey McSpaceFace."

(The Vulcans were appalled.)

(The Vulcans were outvoted.)

Off to SDCC in about half an hour.

So what does it mean when you're pretty sure both you and the other person have the same wish, and the wishbone breaks so that neither of you has a long piece?

And then the second wishbone does the exact same thing...?

Signs that you may be a parent: the ability to recite large chunks of Dr. Seuss books from memory.

Signs that you may be a parent: the possession of large numbers of Dr. Seuss books.

Ah, Election Season. That magical time of the year when half of my mail goes automatically into the recycling bin.

Things that are funny: when you've just typed your home phone number into the baby's playphone... and the phone actually rings.

(No, it wasn't him on the other end of the line. But still! ^_^)

It's 94 Fahrenheit inside the house, and I haven't got much done today. I am also refusing to cook dinner. Today is one of those days I think we should have gone for central air, but OTOH I hate air conditioning. I also like the fact that our electric bill hovers around $40/month. With ceiling fans on and knowledge of passive heating/cooling strategies, Squiddle and I can stand a week of heat. At least the Santa Ana winds have stopped blowing.

Tuesday night I went to the local quilt guild meeting (I was pleasantly surprised to find it was only about two miles from home), and quite enjoyed it. I donated a whole bag of old quilting magazines I'd culled from my collection to their library, as well as donating the maximum number of strips to this month's block drawing. Next month is an actual block, though, and I quite like the pattern... I'll do up the maximum number again just to get stuff out of the house, but at least that one I won't mind if I win them. I also think that next month I'll become a member and make it one of my regular social things. Is it kind of funny that I have more of a social life now that I'm a SAHM than I did when I was working full-time? I have bellydance class (Saturdays) and writing class (Wednesday nights), both of which I had before, but now I've added the Mommy Matters group (Wednesday mornings) and Mommy & Baby Yoga (Thursdays).

Story from about a week ago: I went to close the sliding back door so we could go to bed. It wouldn't shut all the way. I tried a couple more times, examining the track to make sure it was clear. Wonderful Husband tried closing it. Eventually we figured out that a lizard (at this point an ex-lizard; insert Monty Python sketch here) had tucked itself in the jamb where the two doors meet when closed. Eventually we figured out that the only way we were going to get the lizard out of there involved lifting the door and taking it out of its frame entirely, fishing the lizard out, then replacing the door. Bloody hell but double-paned glass is heavy!

Language is a funny thing.

On my drive home, I pass what is sometimes euphemistically called a gentleman's club (as Wonderful Husband notes, the term means something entirely different in Britain and no real gentleman would be caught dead in one of the American ones). Yesterday their sign advertised $10 dances. Sadly, I do not think they mean the Viennese waltz.

From the Department of Redundancy Department: while flipping through a seed catalogue, I noticed that for a fake (theoretically bird-scaring) snake they recommended that the purchaser "periodically move it around from time to time."

And, finally, "loaded" is a very volatile term. A loaded baked potato? Wonderful! A loaded diaper? Less so. And, when you get to humans, it's just plain confusing. "He's loaded" can mean either money, or blood-alcohol levels. Or, I guess, in the case of Tony Stark, both.

Welcome to my brain.