Circles and Squares

Do I start from the beginning and go into crazy detail about the last month of our lives over here or do I skip over it and get straight to the Beyonce bashing? Do people want to know why I have not written a word or spit up a syllable for nearly four weeks or should I simply rattle on about the immediate concerns of my day?

I will skip to concern #1.

Concern #1 - Why would anyone name their baby after a rare protruding varicose vein-like condition mainly found in pregnant senior citizens, unwed mothers of triplets and blind circus performers?

Exhibit A: What exactly is Blue Ivy Miller?  Me thinks it a cheap, blueberry-flavored beer that will be introduced by Miller High Life at this year’s Super Bowl half time show starring Madonna, Madonna’s new baby boyfriend back-up dancer and Beyonce’s baby daddy’s new microbrewer manager named Clyde. Why can’t celebu-freaks just give birth to a baby and name it a baby-like name instead of birthing an industry inside a baby covered in a terrible moniker slathered in product placement juice?

Concern #2 – Who will put away our Christmas decorations this year? It is nearly February on my emotional calendar and I have no intention of acknowledging the fact that we missed Christmas this year and never got to sit around with cocoa and stare longingly at our artificial tree from CVS that smells like a freshly opened package of Krazy Straws and Lysol.

Concern #3 – Should I worry that I don’t give a hairy rats rump that we missed a moment of the holiday and that I am frighteningly grateful to have been able to get on a plane in a moment’s notice and get to Dave’s father before the end? Where has my Cringle gone and why do I feel oddly blessed?

Concern #4 - Since I just spent two hours at my child’s school listening to a presentation on how to avoid pedophiles and their up-the-sleeve tricks, will I sleep well tonight or any other night from now until the day Otto races off to college on a full sports scholarship and leave me in a puddle to suspect every one of his coaches, teachers, neighbors, friends, uncles and stuffed animals of being a pervy, creepy, No Way, Jose kinds of dudes?

Concern #5 – Is No Way, Jose a racist statement and if so, what will replace it in my velveteen vernacular? Oh, I think it’s okay to say that since I have a brother named Jose who drives a cab.

Concern #6 – Oops.