I’ve been having difficulty concentrating at work lately. It might be the season, or it might be the lack of vacation this year.

The funny thing – and I don’t mean funny “ha ha” – is that we didn’t have a planned vacation this year, thanks to Katie’s job hopping, but I ended up using every minute of my sick and vacation time on actual sick time. It’s been a rough year. So if we had taken a vacation, my paycheck would be in jeopardy. So I guess I should be grateful that I didn’t take an actual vacation. Why is it that I don’t feel grateful?

And don’t tell Katie this part, because it wouldn’t make her too pleased – I doubt we’ll get a vacation this year, either. Why? Because with Katie in a motherly way, I’m sure we will be using every bit of our combined vacation times with Mr. Darcy and the accompanying doctor/hospital visits, plus time at home afterward.

As I said on twitter (my 200th tweet!), my mind is already on vacation. Unfortunately, I don’t get a vacation. I’m wondering just how long it will be before I can catch up with myself.

So apparently it’s been a while since I’ve written anything. I’m not really sure what the deal is with that, because I’ve had a lot to write about. I guess I’ve just been stressed in too many directions and haven’t allowed my creativity to flow. I don’t write for my job, although I would have if I’d followed my college path (history, psychology, and an English minor thrown in for good measure), therefore while writing is something I enjoy, I have to shift mental tracks to do it. And sometimes when I am just planning out a post or two, Katie beats me to it.

So yeah. Since I wrote last, C stopped drinking milk boppies. We found out Katie is pregnant. We had Christmas. And Katie has been incredibly sick with “morning” sickness, to the point that I have had a lot of one-on-one time with the toddler, who clearly would rather spend time with mama instead of dad. I’ve been having a lot of fires in my fireplace, which makes me sleepy, and I tend to want to be in bed this time of year at nine.

And it’s almost my birthday. So there’s that. I’m desperately trying to convince my amazing, wonderful, supremely talented, totally awesome wife to get me the new and totally awesome Google Nexus One, not in stores until next week. I keep sending her pestering emails about every latest update.

So if you want me to write more, you should help me by pestering her, too. Just leave a comment or send her an email and tell her how much I deserve the cool new phone. I didn’t get coal in my stocking this year (thank goodness), so maybe there’s hope.

I bought a pair of shoes a few weeks ago from Zappos, my favorite shoe store. As usual, everything on their end was awesome, and I love my new shoes. So this morning when they asked me if I’d write a review, I happily complied. And then they sent this cute thank you note:

Here’s the deal:
1. Sometimes it takes 24 hours for a new review to show up.
2. You should have your own blog. You have important things to say.
3. Thanks again for writing a review! Seriously, it’s worth repeating.
4. Thanks for writing a review!
5. You rock!

C: I neeeeed that!!
Me: No, that’s just for looks.
C: But I neeeeeed looks!

I was just looking through some family photos for a picture of myself for an avatar (hello, string of prepositional phrases!), and I am realizing that I am only rarely in a photo by myself. I suppose it’s because I’m the one with the camera. But I did run across this rather amusing picture, taken when C was about 75 days old. I guess the camera caught me by surprise?

I don’t know where it came from, but last night  C called me “Daddy Bird.” She’s been in a really cuddly, cute, wonderful phase lately, and I can’t tell you how wonderful it is. So she was giving me a big hug right before I put her to bed, and she said “I love you, Daddy Bird.”

This morning, I was goofing off with C and wearing her Nemo hat, and it wasn’t so out-of-the-blue for her to call me “Daddy Nemo,” but it was fun.

The so-called terrible twos are marked by fit pitching and screaming stubbornness. Just a minute ago, C flopped on the floor beside me, crying fake tears because I couldn’t make Wonder Pets magically arrive on the television on her demand. But now – 60 seconds later – she is standing in the middle of the room, singing some unknown song at the top of her lungs.

And it’s best for her to learn now that she won’t always get what she wants, believe me. She will get much less sympathy later in life.

There are some unpleasantries to the terrible twos, but most of it is wonderful, and that’s the way I’ll always remember it. You can keep your terrible twos; I’ll stick to the too cute twos, thankyouverymuch.

Today I find myself sitting at home studying, or trying to make myself study. Studying is always made more difficult for me by competing druthers. I sit here, trying to focus on my notes, or trying to solve problems, and I think “music … book … fireplace … Waffle House … anything!”

I was briefly in the history graduate program at UT, an ill-fated venture, and I remember being so miserable that I was intensely jealous of my father digging potatoes out back. Digging potatoes, for those not in the know, is just about the most miserable thing you can do in a garden. And I don’t even care for fresh potatoes (they make lousy french fries). It was truly a sign that I was in the wrong place – that and the fact that I’m horribly allergic to dust, and therefore allergic to studying history.

Anyway, I’m trying to make myself focus when I’d rather be doing anything else, but I very much don’t want to dig potatoes, so at least there’s that.

I don’t know if this kind of quality appeals to potential clients or not, but it does make the employees happier.

Here at our office, which is a small family firm dating back to the ’40s, we have a playroom and a full-time nanny (my mom) for C and her four-year-old cousin, A. My grandfather would roll over in his grave. The kids often make noise, they run, they play, they get messy and get the office messy.

And this morning, they spent more than an hour in the bathtub, just getting out a moment ago.

Talk about job perks.

I’m frustrated. My dishwasher, which I completely rely on, is kaput. It’s not washing, and I spent 45 minutes trying to figure out why.

Then I gave up and decided to watch the Simpsons, one of my favorite things on tv, although I haven’t watched it in ages. And I’m still waiting for it. Two minutes of Simpsons leads to five minutes of commercials. It’s sick. And I will pass on network tv from now on.