Big Headed Babies & Working For Da Man

I was experiencing minor anxiety all night last night because no one commented on yesterday's blog post regarding ugly babies and hooker heels, and I was worried that:

a) everyone was disgusted with the fact that I said some babies are ugly

b) that perhaps I misspelled 'heels'.  Maybe it should have been HEALS and then you all thought I was stupid and thus, unfollowed my blog.

But thank goodness some of you commented today so I could share more thoughts on babies with you.  

On the other end of the baby cutest spectrum, far from the ugly baby end, lies the BIG HEADED BABIES (I typed that in all caps in hopes you would read it in and extra loud and booming voice...if you didn't...try reading it again the way you were supposed to read it the first time).  I love a baby with a big head.  Big head vs. pea head...I will take big head everyday.  And maybe it's because us Workman's are a large headed stock.  I get that from my daddy.  I come by my noggin honest.  And once I told a coworker "Your son is so cute!  He has the biggest head"...well my other coworker and closest lady friend yelled from her office "YOU CAN'T TELL PEOPLE THEIR KIDS HAVE BIG HEADS!"  

What?  But it's a compliment!  

My trusted former employee and bestie happens to birth adorable large headed children.  She has three of them and they all came out of her vagina...which had to extra hurt.  But this is middle child Cora at age one and two.  You can see that sadly, she is growing into her big head...but there was a point that I was worried she would topple over when she was learning to walk due to her head to body ratio.

I was reminded of this yesterday when on Instagram Laura Belle, from Beers, Dogs, and Getting Healthier, posted a picture of her daughter getting her first haircut.  She is super cute and yes...round headed.  And I said something about loving her big head, and then I started rambling in my comment (instead of just deleting it) about how I love big headed babies.  I ended up NOT DELETING it bc I feel like Laura gets me, so we should be okay.  

In other news, I have neglected to properly update y'all on the employment status of me and my betrothed.  As you may remember from my one random blog post I made during the summer, both Heather and I were forced into "early and temporary retirement" from our jobs of 7 and 12 years, respectively.  It was sudden.  And it was hard.  And we could not have survived without the help and generosity from our amazing circle of friends and family.  People cooked for us, people left us beer and money on the porch.  People anonymously paid our power bill.  Some people sent money in the mail.  Our friends through a party for us and collected money.  One of friends paid to have our ac fixed in the middle of the hot summer sun.  Our people are amazing.  And we are blessed and lucky.  And after 3 months of looking for work...we both are now gainfully employed.  I was am working in recruiting and training (what I do and what I've done), and Heather is working at a specialized pharmacy that is growing like crazy.  We are as happy as employed people can be I reckon...when you are working for the man.  (Please note that any job I have that I don't get to wear flip flops, spend other people's money, or play with animals all day will always fall into the category of "working for the man").  I didn't mind retirement.  Except for the poverty part.

Speaking of poverty, it's a few days before my payday, so I have always spent my paycheck by now...so we are low on groceries and for dinner last night I had to dig into the freezer archives and try to make some shit happen.

What we ended up eating was thawed ham, cheese, and biscuits a friend gave us from a party (I made them into sammies and cooked them) and some wretched butter beans that another friend had given us when she was cleaning out her freezer over the summer.  In my dinner preparations, Heather and I exchanged the following text messages:

Me:  Now remember.  When you get home we are playing a game called "We are Poor People"...and we are eating leftovers and special things from the freezer.  AND we have nothing to drink in this house except water". (the night before Heather was screaming for Kool-aid...which really means Busch Light).

Heather:  Blah

Me:  No.  Poor people do not say blah.  They say thank you Lord for this daily bread.

Heather: I offered you money (she had hatefully said that morning "DO YOU NEED MONEY!")

Me:  Your money comes with guilt.  I'd rather go to bed hungry.  And poor people have lots of sex. BC it's cold and they can't afford heat and they are bored because they can't afford cable. (We could turn the heat on and we do  have cable...but I was trying to make a point).

Heather:  Not true

Well.  To make a long story short, dinner sucked and I didn't get any lovin.

I hope everyone is happy.

And it's hump day.

The end.