Are you looking?

I am old.  41 years not young at last count. I also have two year old twin girls (Mary, and Louise). They are awesome, and hilarious, and the only two people I really spend any kind of time with, as my husband, Seth, is a PhD student at a fancy-pants Ivy League school/prison-chain-gang, that completely owns him.  

Seth is like a snow leopard, we rarely see him. Oh, and we moved away from our huge network of family in Louisiana FIVE weeks after I gave birth to the girls so he could chase this dream of becoming a professor (in my vast amount of alone time I now presume this will be for masses of young chippies who love his beard and elbow patches, and his array of catchy eyewear).  So here we are, in Philadelphia, me, my sweet girls, and my snow leopard.  We don't know anybody here, and so I am virtually on my own most of the time to mold these humans into good people.  I get bored with molding sometimes, so I have become somewhat of a Facebook nerd who reaches out to the world through my posts.  Through said posts, I have been cajoled into doing a blog, which is extremely flattering, and if life has taught me anything, it's that I will do anything for compliments...seriously, I am a middle child. Test me. 

For someone who loves praise, I accept it very poorly until I am in private, where I replay it in my head over and over again, like the songs I used to tape off of the top forty radio stations when I was a kid to make super sweet make out tapes- so I could make out with exactly NOBODY.
"Wherever you go...I'll be with yooouuuu, whatever you want, I'll geeeve it to yooou....I will will be the FLAME-ah!"  (song credit, The Flame, by Cheap Trick, taped by Meg Cinti most likely because she was the most skilled of my friends at doing this). I digress, gentle reader and self consciously offer you my word songs for your adoration.

Speaking of super needy people, around 8 PM every night, my kids start to get slap-happy.  They used to climb onto the couch and just flop onto each other, or the cushions....sometimes the floor.  Now that they are big shot two year olds, they needed a bigger stage and moved production to a window seat in their bedroom where they perform loud songs for us. If we are not paying close enough attention to the show they scream, "MAMA...WOOKAHMEEEEE!!!"(translation: Mama, look at me).  While I generally most savor the compliments I do get without dancing for them- I do hope this offering will yield a few.  So like a thousand bloggers who went before me have begged, look at me...for the love of god, WOOK. AH. ME!  Seriously.  I need this.