“We” are pregnant?

No, I’m not pregnant and my husband is not pregnant. As a matter of fact my husband has never been pregnant. I just want to make it very clear “we” cannot be pregnant unless the “we” is two women. To be pregnant is to carry a fetus. At this time in history men cannot carry fetusus (I so wanted to say feti) maybe when we get the cow to jump over the moon men will carry fetusus. “We” cannot carry the fetus, “we” cannot feel the contractions, “we” cannot push the baby out and “we” cannot breastfeed.

Now I don’t know how this got started. Did it start with that 1994 Junior movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger in his pre-governator days? Did people really think that carrying the fetus was a shared experience after watching that movie? Did some man decide that the woman was getting too much attention so he decided to say that “we” were pregnant? I don’t know but “we” can make a baby and we can expect a baby to come, however, “we”cannot be pregnant.

Now, if when people are saying that “we” are pregnant as in we are “abounding in fancy, wit or resourcefulness” then that is correct. I don’t, however, think that is what people are meaning to say unless it is a coincidence that she happens to be carrying a fetus at the same time she and her husband are pregnant as in “abounding in fancy, wit or resourcefulness.” I do have to say my husband and I have been in that situation three times — “abounding in …. ” while I was pregnant.

Last night as I was ranting about the “we” pregnant thing to my husband he mentioned that royalty could say “we are pregnant”  as in the royal we. Because the royal crown is considered to belong to the people, apparently, when royalty gets pregnant it’s the whole country carrying the fetus.  Okay, I’ll let all of England carry those royal babies, but here in the US can “we” stop being pregnant? We are done with this post now. We are going to get something to eat.

the flavor is not just one…

Okay, I am going away from Ben & Jerry today to tell you people in the Mass. area about some new ice cream place. I really know nothing about it because I live in California and have never had the priveledge to check out Massachu– crap, I can’t even spell it.  I got a hit from this website and since they expressed such good taste in using their blog to promote ice cream I thought I would help them out. Since I know of 0 of my readers who live in Massachu— I don’t know if my blog will do anything. But it sounds really yummy with flavors such as Black Raspberry, Maple Walnut, White Chocolate Kahlua with Oreos, Coffee, Butter Pecan — YUM! I’m there if I could be there but I am in California and am not going to Massachu–so I’m not really there.

I must admit I am getting a bit disappointed with Ben & Jerry. I have been promoting them for about five months now and they haven’t sent me any advertising money. Sure we didn’t have any agreement or anything, but you’d still think they’d drop me a little check. Let see, with my readership, and if you figure out of that 5% have gone out and bought Ben & Jerry’s just from my constant reminder I’ve brought in an extra $20 revenue for them! Ben & Jerry, dudes, what’s up?????

Renting in California

The poetry of ice cream

I noticed someone did a search for “cute ice cream rhymes” and found my blog. I thought I would try to not disappoint them the next search. You can even sing the rhyme to just about any tune written in the 80’s. Be sure to click on the cloning link.

Ben & Jerry, your the best

Make my butt so nice — I say in jest

Ben & Jerry’s flavors are so awesome

I’m glad they don’t have chocolate covered possum

Ben & Jerry are philanthropists

Against cloning cows and for Festivus

Yes, he takes after me

I was writing. I should have been cutting out paperdolls or giving a puppet show or teaching about the difference between baking soda and baking powder — you know the things good moms do. I was writing, and then I heard something. Actually, I heard nothing and that was the danger. I imagined, when I went to investigate, I was going to find naked dolls hanging from the ceiling in flames or wet toilet paper stuck to the wall framing a colorful mural.

I slowly walked into my son’s room to find my 5-year-old daughter and my 22-month-old son playing chess. I’m not sure who was winning, but my toddler was clapping.