Building Up Mountains

I'm standing in the kitchen, washing dishes (as you do) and eavesdropping on my child (also as you do) tell himself wonderful stories.  There was a birthday party at preschool on Friday, complete with Goody Bags, and one of the items in said Goody Bag was a little thing of home made modeling compound (gee, thanks anonymous parent, she said with Serious Side Eye...).  I'd taken it away from TLG last night due to a Naughtiness Incident, but a new day brings new chances to Make Good Choices, and so I'd given it back to him when he requested it, along with strict instructions that if it left the table it would be gone forever.  (And he knows Momma Don't Play on this sort of thing.)  And so I am washing dishes and eavesdropping, and he is Telling Stories to himself using his dough.

"It's a mountain!  Oh no, the mountain is falling down!  The bad guys knocked it down to get it out of their way!  I'm a good guy!  I picked it up.  A  new mountain is growing!"  Etc, etc.  And I cannot help but flash back to The Early Days of TLG (when I still referred to him as Neeps, even), when I'd be washing dishes and he'd be laying in his swing like the Tiny Larva he was, and I'd wonder what was going through his tiny little skull.  I flash even further back to when I was pregnant, and having a conversation with Nathan about my Very Real Concerns regarding taking on a roommate for 18 years that we might not even like.

It turns out that I like him very much indeed, and I love hearing what's going on in his head.  We take walks together, and have actual two-way conversations.  This is my most favorite stage so far, but then I've said that about every stage.  I do hope this upward trajectory continues.

The Quiet After the Storm

It was a Very Successful Extended Christmas Weekend in the O Household.  Neeps was showered with lots of fun gifts, and his father and I weren't left wanting, either.  We saw all sorts of friends and family and ate all sorts of delicious food.

Nathan and Neeps are currently playing on the floor, as Isis licks at various toys in the hopes that no one will notice and she can eventually make off with one.  The cats are curled up on the featherbed upstairs, and I'm here at the computer, writing.

All is right with the world.

Potpourri Before the Pot

"Our flowers are really holding up well, considering they've been dead for a while.  They're very decorative."

"Yes, that's totally intentional.  It's not just that I'm a shit housekeeper."

not randomly fallen: ARTISTICALLY PLACED

Old Friends and New Traditions

Sometimes you love someone so much that time and space don't matter.  Sometimes you love someone so much that it transcends "types" of love, and all you want is for them to find their Happily Ever After, and you'd give just about anything to somehow wave a wand and make it happen.  And sometimes the Universe grants your wish in a thoroughly unexpected, but nonetheless delightful way.

(Well, the Universe and the Internet.)

All that to say, I got to see a very old, very dear friend today, whom I had not seen in over a decade.  And I saw him in the company of another, newer (but also quite dear) friend, because I am the Kevin Bacon to the movies of their lives, and sometimes life is a fairy tale, and I'm delighted to be the unwitting fairy godmother.

Fittingly, we took our reunion to a Pumpkin Patch, because where else do you kick it when you have a surplus of magic?

Some people want more legroom in their carriages, I guess.

Nathan and I had actually gone last year with Kayla, when my belly made it hard to actually see (let alone pick up) gourds.  So now we've done it two years in a row, and I'm calling it Officially Tradition now.

Speaking of tradition, I also indulged in my Annual Caramel Apple, painful joint consequences be damned.

Future Jenny O is going to HAAATE ME.

My feet gained like two pounds each, trudging through the patch.

And SOMEONE managed to lose a sock...

...AND THEN he muddied his remaining sock.  I have no idea how he managed it: he was on my back the whole time.

Fox magic, probably.

Where the Light Once Was

It's past nine o'clock at night, and the sun is well down.  I am walking through the neighborhood, wrapped in my light fleece, letting my mind think what it will.  The weight of a knife is heavy in my right hand, clutched inside my pocket, because it makes my husband feel better for me to carry it when I walk alone.  I don't think I need it (in fact I suspect that carrying it makes me more afraid) but I do wish there was more light.  I would feel safer with more light.  There are street lights, yes (when they don't switch off at my approach) but I cannot help but notice there is a profound lack of porch lights.  The city is doing its part, but not the people.

Why? I wonder, passing by house after house like so many dark, empty faces staring right through me, refusing to see anyone or anything.  It's frightening because it feels so closed off, like there's nowhere to run if the monsters come.  Don't come here- there is no safety for you here, no succor.  Keep running until they run you into the ground, because we will not see you in the darkness, we will not hear your screams.

Why? I wonder again, increasing my pace.  Why on earth would anyone not turn their light on at night?  Don't they know how much friendlier it makes the neighborhood?  How much more welcoming?  Or (this being a less economically-advantaged area) are they just past hoping for protection?

I see my house in the distance- my porch light is on, a warm, welcoming glow in the suddenly menacing night.  It will stay on all night, keeping vigil against the monsters in my mind.

***

The next day I turn to social media, asking why or why not people keep their porch light on all night.  The answers are many, and varied:

-No, because moths and light pollution.
-Yes, because we have had a lot of break-ins in our neighborhood and the police said it was so dark and easy because no one kept their porch lights on.
-Yes because our door is hidden by bushes and I don't like forgetting to turn it on and coming home in the dark.
-I think it's a waste personally but if it makes you feel safer just put an energy efficient bulb in it and leave it on.
-Yes, because I have unresolved issues of being a "Motel 6".
- No, because the light burned out and it's impossible to reach without risking my life
-We leave ours on all the time because we have a light sensor on it, so it comes on when it's dark enough. It's an energy-efficient bulb.
-Yes, everyone on our street does. We haven't had any problems, that I'm aware of. I think it not only can be a deterrent, but it looks nice.
-No, cost and there is a street light across the street and it does a great job.
-Only turn it on if I'm going to be late coming home or expecting someone after dark. We have annoying dogs to deter break ins.
- I don't. I'm in the burbs with street lights so the only time I turn it on is when I'm expecting someone. Also don't want to attract zombies.
-I don't really see the point in leaving them on, sometimes papa does sometimes he doesn't. I only leave the lights on if I know I'm leaving and wont get back until its dark
-Yes...half out of safety and half out of the fact that driving through a neighborhood with no porch lights on doesn't feel very welcoming
-Yes. LED bulbs plus solar panels makes it a no-brainer
-My parents leave it on for me when I work late, but I turn it off when I come in
-I have mine on a timer that goes on at dusk and shuts off at dawn. It's peace of mind more than anything else.
-If I have my way, yes. My husband in a penny-pincher and turns it off when he gets home. But I turn it on again when I let the cat in for the night.
-Yes! Makes me feel safer. I use energy efficient bulbs
-Yes, some people have their cars messed with, but we have had no problems with our light on. Also when I walk in the evening I enjoy it much more with lights on, otherwise the whole neighborhood is so dark. I don't have a dog to walk with.
-I'm all about keeping it on all night or having a motion detector. Because safety. As much my own when walking in unexpectedly late than anything.  Also. I just feel a porch light off at night says, "Oh yeah. I'm definitely in bed now."
-I do when: 1) I expect someone to come over, and then forget to turn it off after they leave 2) I'm home alone
-Yes, for safety. There have been some sketchy things by us.
-Yes, because we're the only house in the cul-de-sac that does. And, well it's creepy out there if we don't! Plus, it sends an unsaid warning that yes, there are people in this house . . . after having a break in, I'll never leave the lights off again.

It gives me food for thought.

(But most importantly, how can I make a story about porch lights and what they protect us from?)

Walking on the Waterfront

In an effort to boost my step count (and yet not overly stress my ankle) I took Neeps for a stroll down on the waterfront while Nathan was at church this morning.  I waited until nap time, thinking it would be quite fine for him to sleep in the fresh air.  We started on one end and went all the way to the other end, past that end and into downtown, up and into the farmer's market, which was surprisingly empty, but I chalk that up to the storm that was threatening yet never manifested.  Then we looped around the park and came back.

Throughout it all my son stubbornly stayed awake, right up until the last half mile (of 3.5 in total).

We sneer at your nap schedule.

As such, most of his sleeping was done in the not-so-fresh air of the car.  Ah well.

Sweet Stench of Victory

I open the door of the Forester to start loading up for our mini-road-trip, and the stench hits me like brick to the nose.

"Oh my god," I gag, almost dropping the diaper bag.  "Why does our car smell so awful?"  I snort to clear my nasal passages.  "Nathan!" I yell.  "What did you do to our car?"

"What?" he wanders down off the porch, arms laden with camera-gear.  "What are you talking about?"

"It smells like... like..." I gesture impotently, and he opens another door.

"Melon," he says, confused.

"Huh, yeah,"  (I should note here that while I do enjoy eating melons, I do not generally care for their scent, and it was at this point that I realized I may have been over-estimating how disgusting the smell was to the average person.)  I glare at him anyway.  "Why does our car smell like melon?"

"I don't know," he seems genuinely puzzled.  "Maybe Neeps dropped a piece?"

"We've never given him melon in the car," I am now opening the remaining doors and scowling at floorboards, looking for the nasty little culprit.  Nathan opens the hatch in the back, dutifully checking around the cargo area.  "Did you buy a melon while you were grocery-shopping yesterday?" I ask.

"Well yeah," he says, "But it's not in the car!"

"Well it's not inside," I say.  "Because I unloaded those groceries, and there was no melon."

"Babe I don't' know what to tell you.  There is no melon in this car."

"I would bet you money there is a melon in this car!" I yell as I run into the house to prove that there's no melon in there, either.  (Me being willing to bet money is a sign of just how certain I am, because generally speaking, I don't endanger the money.)

I am correct.  There is no melon in the house.  But even as I've been going over counters and into fridges, Nathan has been diligently re-checking the car, because he knows my nose doesn't lie.  And yet still- no melon.  We stand there, staring at one another, at a complete loss.

Until.

"Oh crap! I know where it is!"  Nathan scrambles back around to the cargo area and pulls out our stroller.  My stomach sinks as I realize what must have happened, and sure enough, there is a Suspicious Bulge in the middle of the folded-up contraption.

"Oh man," I whine, envisioning crushed, sticky, disgusting-smelling melon all over our lovely stroller, and the cold, cold hosing-down that is sure to follow.  But when Nathan unfolds it we discovered we have been Spared: the melon is merely bruised, not broken.

"Well," I say, satisfied to have been Proven Right and perhaps wishing I'd actually gotten my husband to wager a few bucks, "I guess we'll be bringing this with us to the party."

Melting, and Other Discomforts

I should have saved yesterday's title for today's entry.  Ye gods.

We met up with our old friends, the Coopers, to swap out family portraits (ie canceling out the "Photographers have no photos of themselves" curse of being a photographer).  It was murderously hot, so we did them as quickly as frigging possible.  That being said, we still got some great shots out of the session (Thanks Meredith!)

Before I gave up and took my and Neeps's shirts off.  Not even kidding.

The place we met up was actually the neatest little planned community, which reminded me of nothing so much as a fusion of the military bases I grew up on with an old European city (which, technically, I guess I also grew up in).  It was a really, really well-done place, and Gentle Readers, I looked on it with Lust In My Heart.

Which has sort of been a theme, lately.

Nathan and I have said repeatedly that we made a mistake planning back-to-back vacations staying in people's much-larger-than-ours-houses.  It's been making us feel... well, discontented.  And I don't like feeling discontented.  I like feeling like I have the best little house in the world, in the best little area in the world.

But seriously I might shiv someone for an extra 1000 square feet, and the ability to let Neeps eventually play outside with a pack of neighborhood kids/run free on about five acres.

::sigh::

I comfort myself with the thought that my house will go back to feeling perfectly-sized once there's no longer Giant Baby Things (like highchairs and bouncers) everywhere.  And my neighborhood is in the middle of being revitalized, so I'm sure that more young couples with kids will be moving in soon.  And although I'd like to live on a stretch of land someday, today is not that day, because I love being able to commute by bike, and being so close to the culture/conveniences of downtown, including the airport, which we need to be close to for all the traveling that we can afford to do because we chose to buy a small house in a borderline neighborhood.

In the Eye of a Perfect Storm

I open the door to heaven.

The house is clean and calm and moreover it smells fresh.  It is pleasantly cool, especially in comparison to the heat doing its slinky dance on the porch.  In fact, the hum of the air conditioning is the only sound that greats me.

It is not yet two o'clock in the afternoon.  I am giddy with potential.

You see, my husband has taken today off from work, and is out taking photos on Rainier.  And my son is still at daycare.  And my boss let me off early as a reward.  And- this may be the most important part- the cleaning ladies came this morning, but no one has been in the house since.  Well, no one except the animals, and for once in their lives they seems to have decided they don't actually need to besmirch anything at the moment.

What will I do with all this peace?  Cook? Pack for tomorrow's trip?  Finish the movie we started last night?  Simply sprawl out on a clean floor in blissed-out ecstasy?  Honestly that last one sounds the best... but then again, writing without interruptions of any kind also sounds pretty damn good.

And so here we are.

That's For Remembrance

March is frisking about like a bloom-bedecked lamb, and my rosemary is a veritable riot of color and scent, not to mention buzzing with the song of many a contented bee.

Let us sing together, thou and I

Ready Set Go

It is 0730, and I am 100% ready to leave for work.

Of course, I don't actually need to leave for work for at least another fifteen minutes (and that's still giving me twice as much time as I need to actually get there).  Which means that all my careful planning-ahead and building-in-of-extra-time has paid off in my not being even remotely late.  Hell, I could even go back upstairs and put on some makeup, if I wasn't feeling pretty doubtful of it's chances of surviving the morning.

Whatever else happens today, at least I look fabulous, with my new shoes and shirt and cute necklace (thanks Mom!).  I held my breath as I pulled my work pants on this morning (bought last year right before I found out I was pregnant), because I hadn't had the nerve to try them on before The Day (the backup plan was a dress).  Fortunately they fit just fine, which was an encouraging little triumph to start the day off with.

0740.  Five more minutes.

I'm surprisingly less tearful than I'd envisioned.  But perhaps that's because I haven't actually parted from Neeps yet (he's coming with me to the office, where one of his excellent Aunties will pick him up for the day).  We'll see.

Today also happens to be Nathan's birthday, and a tiny part of me feels guilty that I haven't done anything special for him today.  Although I suppose transitioning the household back into dual-income isn't exactly nothing.

Maybe I'll pick up something special for dinner on my way home.

0744.  One more minute.

Which means I'd better wrap this up and put my coat on.

Cheers, you guys.  May it be one hell of a productive day.

Rainbow Nebula Fox Nursery

Last night as I was laying in bed, I had a bit of an epiphany:

I don't have to frame things.

See, I had all this art I wanted to put on Neeps's wall, and I'd been doggedly looking for appropriately-sized (and priced) frames that could be hung on the wall (rather than just stood on a shelf) since before he was born.  And of course I'd having zero luck finding any.

But then I had my great Epiphany, and so today I busted out my roll of painter's tape and went to town.  And then I liked it so much that I went digging through my postcard/greeting card collection and found still more awesome art for my son's walls.  This is the result:

above the changing station

Bonus?  No holes in the wall!  (well, except for where I hung the two canvases)


Next I'll work on the "dragon corner", which will be home to his very fine Targaryen print (which I actually do want to frame, since it's not on cardstock like everything I put up today) and a lovely little watercolor that Nathan did for me back in college (already framed, since it's a standard size).  And I may put the firebird in that corner, too (again- it needs to be framed to protect it, but I'm actually willing to pay to have that one professionally done, if need be).

If I continue at this rate, Neeps's room may actually be the first "totally finished" room in our house.  That we've lived in for near five years.  Don't judge.

Eating, Drinking, and Merrying Our Hearts Out

It's Valentine's Day Eve!  And since we're going to be traveling tomorrow, Nathan and I decided to get some of our Celebration on today.

This morning I made us gluten-free chai pancakes, topped with real butter and drizzled with honey.  (for the epi-curious amongst the readership, I just used Trader Joe's GF pancake mix and substituted cold roibos chai when it called for water like a boss.)

That was pretty good, but Nathan really outdid himself by throwing together some frigging beef wellington (and herbed potatoes) for dinner.  Amazeballs (and I almost wept for love of flaky-flaky pastry.  Thank you, gluten-pills.)  We paired it with some of our favorite wine that we've been saving for a special occasion, because we are not fancy people who pair proper wines, but awesome people who drink what we want, when we want.

2012 Muscat Frizzante from Tualitin Estate IN THE HIZZOUSE

What with juggling babies and such, I only just now finished his card- and he's still working on mine, with the intention of finishing after I've gone to bed.  So we'll be extending the festivities somewhat by exchanging those tomorrow.  Whee!

Man of the Cloth

Today was our first full day of cloth diapering, and after a lot of experimenting with various folding and rolling methods...

...we survived!

Actually we did more than just "survive"- we were "totally fine".   And if you'd asked me last night if that would be my feelings at the end of the day (or even if you'd asked me this morning, while I was wallowing in my irrational "I'm not a good mother" funk) that's probably not the answer you'd have gotten.  I had some Capital A Anxiety over the whole thing, which is so weird because it's not like we haven't sprung leaks/had blowouts with disposable diapers- why did it seem So Horrible that it might happen with a cloth diaper?  Irrational Brain is Irrational.  And anyway we didn't actually have any leaks (or blowouts!), so there's still that to look forward to.  Yay?

So far the main thing that's getting to me is just how wet the cloth gets.  Like, totally soaked, edge to edge.  Apparently my son pees, like, a lot, because I'm changing him at least every two hours, and each time there's not a bit of dry material left.  Mind boggling.  And I can't imagine it's comfortable, but he doesn't seem to mind.  At any rate, his half-gallon bladder makes me glad I decided to stick with disposables for overnight.

But on to the solids!  I spent all day On Edge, waiting for his first Cloth Diaper Bowel Movement.  I was expecting it to come in the morning (which it normally does) but of course it didn't, and the anticipation just continued to build, leading to probably way too many instances of me holding Neeps above my head so I could sniff his butt.  When it finally happened in the late afternoon it... wasn't that bad.  In fact I liked being able to use any and every part of the diaper to wipe him with.  And it was so soft, too- I felt like it was probably much nicer on the skin than his normal wipes.

(Look at me.  I'm reduced to blogging about the little pleasures to be found in wiping poop off another human's derriere.  ::sigh::  Oh well!  Experience!  Adventure!)

Anyway, I signed a three-month contract with the diaper service people, so here's hoping that most of the awkwardness wears off well before then- and that I can figure out a way to make the whole process as easy as possible for whatever daycare provider we go with!

Touched

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a newborn babe in possession of a pair of chubby cheeks, must be in want of some smooching.

Or, in our household, it's a perfectly-rounded chin and some weird, sort-of-sucking action.

I'm a super-tactile kind of person: I love hugs, I love cuddles, I love just leaning against whichever loved one I'm sitting next to.  And as you might imagine, having a tiny, snugly baby in the house is amazing for getting that physical-contact fix.

But it's also been getting me thinking.

Back when Neeps was in the womb, I used to occasionally get a little weirded out by the fact that I was so aware of so much of his existence (when he moved, when he slept, when he had the hiccups, etc etc) while he was so completely oblivious to mine.  It made me feel a bit like a creepy spy, and led me to wonder if that's how God might feel.  But of course I couldn't help my "spying"- it was my body he was drawing his own from, and in that way he was like an extension of myself.  It was like feeling weird about knowing more about my lungs than they do about "me": ridiculous

Neep is on the outside, now, and while I might logically understand that he is not, in fact, one of my non-essential organs out on rumspringa, there's still a vague-yet-visceral sort of, "But he's mine, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh," feeling going on.  Combine that with the fact that he is 100% helpless to feed himself, clothe himself, or even wipe his own anus, and you can see how the feeling of possession might persist.

I touch him for much of the day, every day.  Skin to skin, my hands on his arms, legs, torso; my lips all over his face and ears and elbows and toes and belly.  His chest pressed to mine, each warming the other; my arm cradling the straight line of his back; the soft curve of his skull nestled safely beneath the hard edge of my jaw.  There is no part of him I'm not allowed to touch, just exactly as though he was my own body.

But that will change.

At some point, I will no longer have the right to touch him wherever, whenever, however I want.  At some point, as he makes that mysterious journey from infant to adult, nibbling on his shoulder will move from welcome, to unwelcome, to just straight-up weird.

And so I redouble my present smooching and caressing, because I know I will mourn for these days when they're gone, and I don't want to waste a single snuggle-opportunity.  Oh, I'm sure I'll be delighted by the trade-off of being able to discuss his thoughts and dreams, which is a sort of spiritual-cuddling, if you think about it the right way.  But I do hope that sometimes he'll still let me wrap my arms around him as we sit on the couch together, watching Star Wars for the eighty-billionth time.

(although I understand if he draws the line at chin-sucking)

Meet Neeps

(I'm typing this while Neeps, my in-the-flesh-baby, has lunch.  Thank goodness for nursing pillows, that's all I can say.)

So our new addition has been around for about a month now- I think maybe we're starting to get used to the insane-o concept that we're really, truly parents.  Slowly but surely we're settling down out of the shrieking, "RED ALERT!" method of handling a newborn, into a nice, bio-hazard orange, with occasional flashes of hazmat-y yellow.  Which is to say, we haven't killed or seriously maimed him yet, so maybe we don't actually need to spend our days (and nights) in a state of constant, low-grade panic.

Turns out Neeps is a pretty classic example of an easy-temperament baby, and thank the stars for that, because let me tell you, this shit is hard enough as it is without throwing inconsolable crying into the mix. And it doesn't hurt that he's cute as hell.  Might as well call the human race done, ladies and gentlemen, because perfection has been reached.

Kwisatz Haderach, anyone?

I'm hoping to get back to writing more regularly as my life settles into its New Normal.  Ditto for  being active (which is currently restricted to gentle yoga and walking/hiking: but I should be cleared for climbing and cycling by the end of next week).  I'm also trying to remember to be gentle with and forgiving of myself as I go through the growing-pains of this new life, and to not despair when I spend an entire day doing nothing but laundry and trying-not-to-cry.  I know I'll get the hang of it eventually- probably just in time for everything to go tits-up again when I return to work. But then we'll just get the hang of it all over again, because that's how we do.

His secret is out.

Onward to adventure!

Isis and the Very Quick Walks

Nathan is out of town this week (he comes home tomorrow- hooray!) which means that Isis, rather than being snuggled up next to him all day, is having to spend the days alone.  Which means that there is no one to let her out whenever she feels like it, and so in an attempt to prevent Unfortunate Accidents, I've been taking her for walks in the mornings and evenings, as well as dashing home on my lunch break to let her outside for a Pee Break.

I can probably guess what you're thinking- shouldn't we be taking our dog for walks every day, anyway?  Well,  yeah, if we were better human beings, we would 100% be taking her for walks three times a day, but as it is we have a back yard and can lazy.

And as it turns out, that's all for the best since, as evidenced by this past week, my little Princess Pig isn't all that interested in even twice-daily walks when it's cold outside.  Which it is: not freezing (or even close to it) but cold enough that she doesn't particularly want to get off the porch in the first place, and after the 1.5 blocks it takes to get her bowels moving (and voided) she is immediately All About Turning For Home.  Which, ironically, means that I'm not getting anywhere near the Health Benefits out of these walks that I thought I was.

Ah well- she's back on the couch now, curled up and satisfied with life.  As for me, I'm about to hop into the shower, since I went ahead and got my Health Benefits on the climbing wall this afternoon.  My shoulder is at about 99% now, and I'm pretty excited about that.  Satisfaction all around!

A Pretty Piece of Work in Progress

The title of this entry refers to both my upstairs bathroom, and my ongoing attempts to be More Adult-Like.  And the two are inexorably intertwined, because in my attempt to be MAL, I've decided that it's high time for me to start decorating things.  Our home decor is somewhat haphazard at the moment, since it's never really been a priority for either of us, but this is the year that we've committed to making things a little more purposeful.  And to keep from overwhelming myself, I'm working on one room at a time, with a fixed budget per month.  Which means it will take a while, but I also won't freak out and abandon it.  (hopefully)

So today I got crazy and ordered several things for the upstairs bathroom, whose theme will hopefully soon be actually recognizable as "birds in trees".  Yeah yeah, I know, I know- birds and Portland and Now It's Art blah blah blah.  But I have an actual reason behind my bird-bathroom-theme (a reason beyond aesthetics, which is admittedly reason enough).

Back when I was living in Birmingham, before Nathan and I got married, I had a tiny little studio apartment on the corner of the third floor of a 1920s building, and it was absolutely lovely.  And one of the very best things about it was that there was a window in the shower, and that window opened up into a tree, where flocks of birds would sit and twitter and chitter and sing to me, making my bathing rituals even more delightful than they ordinarily are.  So, in an attempt to recapture some of that feeling, my upstairs bath (which has a window that looks out not into a tree but rather onto a neighbor's roof ::sigh::) is being Coherently Decorated.  It is currently just a shower curtain (bought when we initially moved in), but soon there will also be hooks and shower caddies, and other hooks.  And eventually a new shower curtain rod, even.  Look out world- here comes an adult bathroom!

Heart and Center

This is, obviously, an unintended image, but I like it nonetheless.

wheeeee!

I like the feeling of speed.  It makes me think of that old saying, "The kitchen is the heart of the home."  It's so true- the way it pulls people in, then pumps them back out again, full of warmth and nutrients.

Failing at Adulthood

This day has not been ideal.  In fact mostly it has been me failing at doing adult things, like keeping a lovely garden or a neat yard, or putting up Christmas lights with anything even resembling competence.

...as though a holiday fairy came along and vomited right on that poor tree...

I feel like I wouldn't be so frustrated by it, if I hadn't done a perfectly decent job in years past.  It's just that this year I don't have a tall enough ladder to put them on the roof, and it turns out that icicle-strands are not actually ideal for wrapping around tree trunks.

Guess I know what to put in my letter to Santa this year...