Birth Plans Are Meant To Be Broken

I’m watching her sleep in the hospital bed. Wires and tubes cover her body as I recount to myself the Star Wars inspired joke I made earlier “You’re more machine than woman now.”

Though we knew that flexibility in the birth plan was essential, I don’t think Tina and I fully understood, before embarking on this journey, the amplitude of the events that awaited us at the hospital.

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1,2,3!

Posted by Tina Blankenship

Recently, I have taken up the unfortunate habit of vomiting every morning (or as Todd says, shouting at the toilet.) I can’t seem to get through a day without napping, and my mood has begun to swing out of control. It turns out that Todd and I are expecting our first child! Continue reading

There Are No Dutchmen In Our Bathroom

Posted by Todd Blankenship

The Dutch would have a hey-day in Tina and Todd’s bathroom. One would need an abacus to count the number of clogs in various pipes!… (“Did he say ‘abacus’?” “Yes, he did, but he actually meant to say some piece of 21st century technology. He got confused because he’s currently wearing a towel like a toga.”) Continue reading

Todd Gets the Sniffles, Tina Gets Strep

Posted by Tina Blankenship

Tis the season of sneezing, shivers and chicken soup. Todd and I have both taken sick days this week, because when you share a living space, you inevitably wind up sharing everything else including germs! The thing that really drives me round the bend when we’re sick at the same time is that the same germs seem to affect us in VERY different ways. Todd will get a runny nose and a scratchy throat, where as I will get a fever, aches, chills, and nausea, as well as whatever symptoms that Todd has come down with. When Todd gets sick he will look a little under the weather, and maybe slightly sluggish. I however, look like death warmed over when I am ill, no exaggeration. Other than the fact that I have a pulse, there is no discernible difference between sick Tina and a zombie. I even groan and shamble around the house in search of green tea and soup.

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I Have Become a Nerd

Posted by Tina Blankenship

Hello all! Yes I know, normally a Todd post should follow a Tina post, and I’m sure Todd fans the world over are hurling their laptops and computer monitors to the ground in disbelief and disappointment at seeing my adorable pink icon atop this page. Why!? Why is Tina posting yet AGAIN?! They are asking themselves in what I am sure is a rather melodramatic fashion. RELAX Todd fans! Todd is ok, he has not suffered broken fingers rendering him unable to type, he has not got writer’s block preventing him from coming up with compelling posts, he is simply SWAMPED with work. Todd has been given an assignment and a deadline that has been keeping him so busy he hasn’t time to snuggle his wife, let alone write one of his scintillating posts. So I, Tina, am doing the wifely thing and picking up his blogging slack. In doing so I am simultaneously pointing the finger of blame at Todd for turning me into a huge nerd!

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The legendary Shoeless Todd

Posted by Todd Blankenship

Women own a lot of shoes. Lordy, does Tina ever have a butt-load! She has at any given moment a minimum of two pairs at every entrance, as well as a dozen in the bedroom closet, and a box-full in the basement. When I met Tina, I owned three pairs of shoes. Dress shoes, gym shoes, outdoor shoes. Somehow, along the way, I’ve managed to accumulate shoe pair after shoe pair, which has grown into a mighty collection the likes of which would impress a centipede. In all honesty, I’m a little embarassed by my steadily growing mountain of shoes. I used to be the kind of guy that didn’t need shoes half the time. And now, due to some sort of social evolution, most definitely brought on by my environment (aka Tina), I own a billion shoes!

Oh the good ol’ days when I was but a young bachelor with simple podiatry needs… and when shoe storage space was limited to a single closet already stuffed to the brink of cataclysm. Life was simpler then. A man could survive on three pairs of shoes, one of which was limited to a twice-yearly wear at a cousin’s wedding or Christmas. Comments on your appearance were fairly non-existent. Rarely would you hear the call of the elusive North-American spotted mule as it bellows: “Those don’t match that type of jean wash!” or its distant cousin, the hightop rouching crane as it plays out its mating song in a beautiful pantomime: “You can’t wear socks with those!”

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