My apologies for the broken link to the Remember When Storify story. (What is the noun of Storify? I think of it as a verb. Storifieder? Storif? I’ll stop before I hurt myself.)
THIS JUST IN. MY FUTURE CHILD GRILLS THE BLACKHAWKS TEAM.
Honestly, if you haven’t watched this, why are you even on my blog. GET OUUUUT. (Also, Toews is lookin’ slick in that houndstooth with the collar up. Prah 2.0 approves heartily.)
I know what you’re thinking, “But you’re no one’s baby mama.” Right, except for the lineup of children that have already been born that I plan on creating exact replicas of. Behold, My First Born:
Four-year-old Rizzo Sacco. He appreciates a solid air hockey table when he sees one, dresses impeccably and can’t pronounce opportunities. Solid.
The Middle Child:
Five-year-old Joey. (The age difference is immaterial.) Not only does Joey have a mean journalistic acumen, he’s only five and yet has been a Blackhawks fan for 6 years! Imagine what it must have been like rooting for the Hawks in the womb! This kid is sick. Who else is going to ask Keith Duncan how much money he got from the tooth fairy. My future child, that’s who.
And bringing up the rear, The Youngest:
Not only will he wear the same “I’m a baby professor” sweater, but will also have the same Macgyver instincts: no puck? OO LOOKIE LOOKIE. A BINKIE. BOOM. The future father will also celebrate accordingly and allow our child to pretend he’s scoring goals into kitchen cabinets. (Are you listening, future husband?)
Dammit, I just realized I’m not having any girls. Wait for it. A surprise baby!
The little lady at the 2:24 mark. She only looks a little old for her age. She’s really just three.
There you have it, my lineup of mini puckheads. You can start thinking about what you’re going to get them for Christmas now. They say thank you. Because they’re polite little puckheads too.