Being sick + being preggers = unhappy mama. But I called the doctor and I can (safely) take any Tylenol product. w00t! So now I have medicine head, but I'll take that any day over coughing my head off (and most likely scaring the bejesus out of the midget hibernating in my belly) and wiping my nose every 30 seconds).

Next week (23 January, to be exact) we can celebrate National Pie Day! All of my cooking friends (and you know who you are, dahlings) need to get hopping so that we can indulge in this most holy of days. (p.s. I like cherry. Just sayin'.)

I'm always a little bit wistful on 17 January. I have no idea how I remember year after year, but today is the birthday of one of the strongest (and longest-lasting) grandfather figures I had during my youth. While my (only) biological grandfather died when I was six, Vernon was around until I was 10. Now, this is not at all to discount other grandfathers I have had (Sweet David, Bobby) but I saw Vernon on a daily basis from the time I was six weeks old until just before he died. He was awesome. He was an adult who would actually play with me, and I recall idyllic days spent exploring his (seemingly) vast yard, helping him in the garden, tinkering in the garage, or just watching the clouds. (I was also allowed to sneak a rose petal or two from the garden if Nell wasn't looking) He was the one who started the yearly ritual of looking for cicaida shells attached to trees, and I took great pleasure in passing this on to LPT this past summer.

I have no idea how old he would be today (probably up there) but I miss him all the time (even if I really only reminisce on one day in January) and I wish that LPT could have had the wonderful priviledge of knowing him as I did. I miss you, buddy.