Shaven and shorn

We gave Nico his first haircut today and I didn't even cry! I had been dragging my feet, but I finally admitted something needed to be done. He'd been looking pretty shaggy for several weeks, and the curls in the back get (got...past tense. Sob!) knotted when he sleeps on them, so it was past due. MB was completely confident that he could do it himself and ultimately he was right, even though I fretted out loud for nearly the whole procedure.

(Cute but shaggy)



Actually, for never having any official training in hair cuttery -- and considering his client was a bit of a drama queen -- I think MB did an excellent job.


The first cut is the deepest!


All done!


I suppose we won't really know until it's dry tomorrow morning whether or not this was a mistake, but it looks promising. Despite joking that I should bring him a mixing bowl in which to collect the clippings, MB didn't remove that much hair. He did laugh at me for tying up the cut curls with little bits of thread, but I maintain that he is the weirdo. Every woman I told about Nico's impending haircut this week immediately said, "You're saving a curl, right?" So clearly, MB is the one who's crazy, not me. Clearly.

(Sniff!)



And some other stuff

I'm supremely annoyed that after it rained damn near fourteen inches in April (that's what she said), we finally get two gorgeous May days in a row and I'm sick with either a weird allergy attack or a beshitted Spring cold. I've got that thing going where one nostril will suddenly become uncomfortably clogged, my sinuses are achy, and my throat hurts. So it's beautiful out and I feel like crap. FAIL, immune system. FAIL.

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I turned some of my rage on the unholy mess that was my side of the office today at work. My supervisor was out, so I was able to pull all the boxes and piles of crap out from the shelves and the paper sorting tray stack thing and the top of the filing cabinet and under the desk. At one point I think I had half of the room blocked by piles and boxes and more piles. By lunch I had developed a deep and abiding hatred for bookends that don't actually hold up books. Once I was finished, though, it was so much better. I've been meaning to get around to this for a year or more. Maybe years. I haven't decided yet if it should count for my Year of Decluttering list, but I did recycle an entire gigantic bin full of useless papers I've been holding onto for ages for no good reason. Anyway, because I have them, here are before, during, and after photos. The shelves above the desk were awful and annoying and cluttered before, but for some reason I didn't think to include them in the first photo.

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If you read a book that has a sequel, do you feel compelled to read the sequel no matter what? I'm almost finished with The Book of the Dun Cow, a book I'd vaguely meant to read for years and finally picked up at the library last month, and I'm not sure if I should read the second book or not. It only has one review on LibraryThing, which states:  "Depressing in a particularly icky insidious way. The only book I’ve ever read that makes me wish I could have the memory of it surgically removed from my brain and replaced with a note saying Do. Not. Read." So, yeah. And I don't particularly love the first book, either. I don't hate it, I just don't love it. Probably a solid mediocre three out of five stars. I usually give a sequel a try, but I'm thinking I might give myself a pass on this one.

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This relates in no way to anything else, but it made me laugh. Two of my cousins (who are sisters but do not live together) are hoping to get chickens this Spring. I was talking to one of them on the phone earlier this week about maybe coming to get this gigantic old round corn crib from the park where I work. We're trying to get rid of it anyway and it would be a great coop for just a few hens. (It's like this, though that's not our corn crib in the photo.) Before we got off the phone she said she was going to be pissed if her sister got chickens before she did since she's been wanting them for years. "We're in a chicken arms race!" she declared, and I've been giggling over that ever since. Oh, and speaking of chickens, here is a totally rad article about a rooftop farm in NYC. A farm! In Brooklyn!

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MB and I were invited out on a double date with the bibliophile and Mr. Bitter on Monday night. It was our first dinner out with adults and no kids in ages and ages. After we ate we went to see the 25th anniversary screening of Top Gun and holy crap, that is a cheeseball movie. I loved it in middle school and watched it incessantly. The soundtrack was the first CD I ever bought for myself. So cringeworthy! We had a really good time, though.

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I was reminded the other day why I love Twitter after my initial skepticism. I hope the other Twitter-er doesn't mind me sharing it:

torturedpotato There are two sleeping children in my house. Thank you, Whoever, for this gift.

velocibadgerGRL @torturedpotato *makes burnt offering*

torturedpotato @velocibadgerGRL *very quiet burnt offering*

velocibadgerGRL @torturedpotato *smallest, least crackly flames ever to burn*

torturedpotato @velocibadgergrl *no smell! no smell!*

velocibadgerGRL @torturedpotato *cloaks flame to hide light*

torturedpotato @velocibadgergrl *goes up in flames* SHIT!

velocibadgerGRL @torturedpotato (on second thought, maybe we should just do a microwave offering)


I pretty much lost it at "no smell! no smell!"

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I need to stop before this gets (even more) ridiculous, but here's one last thing:




Chicken arms race!

Photo Friday

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Good morning, world!

If Nico were a cartoon character, I think he'd constantly have little exclamation points of joy hovering above his head.

Life Hacks

I suppose I should write something political and brilliant tonight, but I don't process politics well anymore. I have generally avoided the news since I got pregnant with Nico. The world just gets too scary too often, there are too many horrible stories involving bad things happening to children, so I disconnected. I haven't regretted it yet, to be honest. I usually hear about anything worth knowing via email, Twitter, or facebook and can choose to read more or not. Usually I choose not.

Anyway, nothing serious tonight. Nothing funny, either. So how about something practical? A few months ago on my message board, we got on the surprisingly-interesting topic of using baskets to organize the sundry crap that tends to always be floating around the house. My friend Rachel said that since buying a bunch of baskets for her household's sundry crap, she felt like her life had improved at least 10 percent. Our friend Dawn said she felt like a 10 percent improvement was pretty significant, and I realized she was right. Then I started thinking about the little things we've done around our house over the last year or so to organize and how those little percentages here and there really do add up and increase my general contentment. And then I thought well, hey...if someone had told me about these years ago, I would've done this stuff before. Maybe somebody else might be interested? Now, months later, I am finally getting around to writing the post. I am certain I'm not the only person to think of these, but perhaps they'll be new to somebody.

1. Baskets
Yep, baskets. Love them. Any size, any material, I love them. It's a good thing that we don't have a Container Store here. Things that we keep in baskets:   remotes, cords, and chargers for electronics; boxes and bags of tea and hot chocolate; bags of chocolate chips and other baking supplies that tend to slide around on the pantry shelf; various Nico toys and board books; washcloths in our linen closet; the zillion bottles of lotion I have somehow amassed.

2. Key hooks
I can't believe we lived in this house for more than three years before it finally occurred to me to buy and install a little rack upon which to hang our keys. It really should've occurred to me earlier, especially since we've had a small bathroom peg rack in the breakfast nook / mudroom for ages that we use to hang up Indy's leash, car harness, and extra collar.

3. Plastic storage tubs
I could max out a credit card buying these. I love them...looooooove them! I've been sorting all of Nico's outgrown clothes by size, and I use them at work to keep all of my program supplies organized. Boxes would work, too, but there's something much more satisfying about a nice, neat stack of identical Sterilite tubs.

4. Bowl caps
We live in an old house and our kitchen cabinets are long overdue for replacement. We won't be paying to redo the kitchen anytime soon, however, so something had to be done about the fine dust that constantly sifts down into the mixing bowls when the silverware drawer opens and closes. My parents have the same problem in their house, so I feel pretty certain that at least one or two other people do as well. One day I had an epiphany. I went to the store and bought a plastic shower cap with elastic edging. Once the bowls are nested, fit a shower cap over the top...no more dust!

5. Vinyl zip-up bags
You know those zip-up vinyl bags that you get when you buy bedding? Save them! My mom has used hers for years to store knitting yarn. I don't knit, but I always saved my bedding bags anyway. And lo, they have shown their worth. Nico's crib has a built-in drawer underneath which is the perfect size for storing his extra sheets and mattress pads (and when he was younger, his swaddlers and sleep sacks). The problem is, no matter how often I clean his room, dust and dog hair end up kicking up into the drawer. Hence, the vinyl zip-up bags. I also have used some to store the oodles of tiny baby toys we ended up with, all the rattles and crinkle toys and chewable items that Nico has outgrown. I suppose you could use them for just about anything.

6. The crib sheet trick
Another message board friend gets all the credit for this one. When making the baby's bed, cover the mattress with a waterproof fitted pad and a fitted crib sheet, per usual. Then lay the largest flat waterproof baby pad you can find (we have the store-brand version of these) on top and cover that with a second fitted crib sheet. When the baby spits up or pees out of a diaper in the middle of the night, you can rip off the top sheet and pad and put him or her back to bed on the backup sheet. It's a pretty tight squeeze to get the second fitted sheet on, but this trick is worth it. I haven't tried it on a twin bed, but I suppose it might be possible.



There are probably more, but I can't think of them. Do you have any tricks for keeping your stuff from driving you crazy (or just generally simplifying your life)?


Reading:  The Book of the Dun Cow by Walter Wangerin

Playing:  Sigh No More by Mumford & Sons

Photo Friday

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Easter baby

Just because, Nico's Easter photos from last year:



A few pics from his 15-month photo shoot, taken by EvilDucky's super talented dad:




Easter morning:



First family egg hunt! (Indoors because it's been raining for forty days and forty nights.)

Photo Friday

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To my future daughter-in-law

Or son-in-law, whichever. Love is love, all God's children.

I hope to raise a man who is kind and respectful, firm in his beliefs, gentle of spirit. A man who will raise you up rather than tear you down. A man who knows how to admit when he is wrong.

As a feminist mother raising a son, I plan to teach him that girls can play with trucks and boys can play with dolls. He will learn to treat people with respect, to keep his hands to himself, that it's not okay to use his size to overpower someone smaller and weaker than himself.

I want to instill in him a sense of wonder, the value of fairness, a kindness toward all. I hope he inherits my organizational skills and his father's knack for balancing a checkbook. If I have a say in things he will put the toilet seat down, hang up his clothes, and never drink straight from the carton.

But oh, there is one thing you will probably hate me for, one thing that you will bitch about to your friends when he's not around, I just know it. You'll ask yourself how any sensible woman could ever raise a child with such a horrendous lack of propriety. And really, it was an accident. I never meant for him to connect the two, you see, but the only place he's still and distracted enough for me to cut his fingernails is in his high chair. At the dinner table. Yeah. I'm really sorry about that. Really.

The breath is the fire

I've been going to the gym once a week pretty consistently since September for cardio bootcamp. (I think toting Nico around during his weekly swimming lesson should count as exercise for me, too, since I spend half an hour towing him around the pool so he can kick and lifting him up onto the side to "jump" in over and over.) I haven't seen much as far as noticeable changes in my body. I'm still large of thigh and embarrassingly ginormous of breast. My post-baby gut keeps on hanging on. True, I'm back into my pre-pregnancy pants size (though not all of my actual pre-pregnancy pants). The workout pants I bought when I went back to yoga class after having Nico now fall halfway off my ass if I'm not careful. I guess officially, I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight. But really, I don't see much difference.

I feel the fit, though, I do. I'm lifting heavier weights during circuits at boot camp. When I tried a new cardio kick class via a groupon at another gym, I found I could keep up without wanting to die. I'm probably in the best muscle-shape and cardio-shape I've been in since college, even if my actual-shape is decidedly fluffy. Underneath all the chub, something is shaping up. (Also, I might still have back fat and a muffin top, but damn, my shoulders are starting to look awesome.)

Here's something else:   I like going to the gym. No, I love it. I never thought I'd be a gym kind of person, but here I am. It hurts, and I like it. Sometimes I'm still self-conscious about how I look, about how slow I jog during class, about my still-shot abs, but I keep going back. Probably I'll never be really thin again, considering how long it's been since I could claim that adjective, but I'm going to keep pushing, I'm going to keep getting stronger, and who knows...maybe one of these days my fat yoga pants will just drop right off.

Photo Friday

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Something different

I've only posted fiction once or twice before. I always feel weird about it, like somebody might steal it and then write a book and make a fortune and I'd be SO PISSED. But really, what are the odds? Or someone will read it and think I'm a shitty writer, and then I will be crushed! But who cares, at this point? And so, from an exercise at tonight's writing group, the first one I've been to since college:

        "Where were you last night?"
        Tucker Grace paused, his shoulders stiffening slightly, then finished washing his hands and face. He grabbed a towel from the towel bar and rubbed his skin dry, his gaze sliding up to the mirror over the sink. His girlfriend's reflection watched him reproachfully, her thin arms folded tightly across her chest. She was dressed in a faded blue tank top and a pair of Tucker's boxer shorts, her fair hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head, her face free of makeup. She looked so young and vulnerable that Tucker softened, watching the lines of his own face relax.
        "Sorry," he said, tucking the towel back through the bar and turning to face her. "I got caught up."
        Her arms clenched tighter, her fists burrowing into her sides. "Caught up with what?" The unspoken with whom? hung in the air between them.
        "Just work stuff."
        "All night?" Her eyes were suddenly shiny and Tucker felt exasperation rising.
        "I'm sorry," he said again, forcing it back. "Let me get a shower and then I'll take you out for breakfast."
        "Fine."
        "Do you want to stay here instead?"
        "No, it's fine. Whatever you want to do is fine."
        She slipped out of the bathroom and moments later Tucker heard the bedroom door click shut. He sagged against the vanity for a moment, face in his hands. He knew two things, suddenly. One: he was in too deep already. Two: she would never understand.



Reading:  The Book of the Dun Cow by Walter Wangerin

Playing:  a Led Zeppelin mix

Unplugged

We took an offset weekend (Sunday / Monday) trip to visit MB's family in the country. It was obscenely hot on Sunday (for April, anyway), but other than that it was a good time. Cell service is terrible down there, so I spent the weekend mostly unplugged. I tried checking Twitter once when we arrived at MB's grandparents' house, but realized it was futile after about fifteen minutes, chucked my phone into Nico's bag, and didn't dig it out again until right before bed when I remembered it needed to be charged. I got to enjoy good company, ate homemade dumplings and peach cobbler, and finished the Pioneer Woman's book, so I think that qualifies as an excellent weekend.

Nico spent his time being toted around, admired, and generally adored. He also was presented with his fourth ride-on toy. He already had a Mickey Mouse themed car, a minimalist but highly maneuverable red Radio Flyer thing, and a fire truck. Now he's added a John Deere ATV to his fleet. It's a little ridiculous and we probably should thin them out, but he seems to like all of them and I have trouble getting rid of things that were given to him as gifts. Two of them are at my parents' house and two of them are here, so for the time being I have decided that having two ride-on cars parked in the mostly-empty playroom is just fine.

Nico also got to see real chickens for the first time, and I'm happy to report that he recognized them from the photos in his books:



Edited to add one of my favorite Nico photos to date, taken by MB's cousin:

Photo Friday

paper hearts for Leah

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Perspective

Since my formerly full time job (Job A) was cut to part time in January, things have been getting worse over there. I don't want to get into specifics since writing about work at all makes me nervous, but basically almost all the positive things I once could enjoy about working there have been stripped away one by one. Some of it is so stupid and so petty and so unbelievably micromanager-y that I wish I could lay it out for you just to get some validation that it's fucking ridiculous, but...well, right now I still need this job. Meanwhile, luckily, the second part-time job I was fortunate to get at another organization that I really like (Job B) has been going very well. I've been wishing for several months that I could just go over to Job B full time and simplify my life. Keeping two jobs straight is a lot more tiring than I expected, especially since having only one job has been a fairly recent development for me. I can't figure out how I am working less hours for less pay but have fewer days off and feel more exhausted at the end of the week.

Today two things happened that nearly pushed me over the edge. I actually got really angry, and that's not like me. I'm pretty even-keeled and I usually keep my mouth shut even when I do get irritated. But oh, I have been pushed to my limit already and today was too much. I should probably feel bad that I kind of unloaded on my supervisor since the initial job cut was not in any way his fault, but I don't. It started when I asked if there was any chance of getting one full weekend off in May and getting shot down. That wasn't that big of a surprise, though I told him straight up that working six days a week (I often only have Monday off) sucks. I could've sulked about that for a while and got over it, but then he said exactly the wrong thing. He tried to express sympathy by saying it was too bad I had to work weekends at my other job, but pointed out that he couldn't really do anything about that and that Job A is my "real job, anyway."

I told him -- pretty calmly, under the circumstances -- that it isn't correct or fair to say that Job A is my "real job" when ( 1 ) I work just as many hours at Job B, ( 2 ) It's Job B that allows me to continue to afford my mortgage, and ( 3 ) Job B was there for me when Job A totally failed me (i.e. utterly screwed me over after six damn years). God, the whole conversation still pisses me off, like twelve hours later.

Then not too long after that, it was basically laid out that the goal of the organization is to transition my job -- once I am (allegedly) restored to full-time status -- away from the type of work I am focused on now, the very last aspect of this job that I am able to enjoy. Away from the work I have built my career around. Away from the work that compelled me to take this job instead of going to graduate school back in the day. Away from the work that I am damn good at, that I love, that has honestly come to define me. And that was it, I knew. My heart is done with this. What was once a career and a passion has sadly become just a job. (And of course, really, yes, I'm lucky to have any job, let alone a job I can still derive some joy from when I'm not being pummeled by the day-to-day erosion of something that once made me so happy I could almost cry thinking about what it's become.)

After this all went down and I went on with my day, trying to just buckle down and do all the stuff I had to do even though I just wanted to be anywhere else, I kept thinking about an email my good friend Rachel sent me a few weeks back. She told me about her own struggle with a shit job in a shit economy after she finished law school and how she eventually came to realize that her job was just a paycheck, that everything else in her life was the real point, the real purpose. That if having a shit job was the worst that happened, she was going to be okay. Until it gets better, she advised, "The job is just a paycheck and whatever small joys you can squeeze out of it until you get home to what really matters to you." I told her after she sent it that I needed to make that my mantra, and it came back to me today.

I worked the rest of day and rushed off to pick Nico up and cart him to his weekly swimming lesson at the Y. He hadn't napped well today and was crabby. He groused in the backseat on the drive over and then flailed and complained in the locker hall outside the pool. I was pretty sure we were going to have to leave class for the first time due to a meltdown. But that's not what happened. Instead, we had one of the best lessons we've ever had. He let me float him on his back for the first time. He flirted with the lifeguards, kicked his legs, paddled with his arms, was a trooper every time I dipped his head under. Since it was the last class of this session, they turned on the splash park at the end. I thought it might scare him when the jets started up and the big bucket array started dumping water, but he loved it. We walked down to the shallow end and he spent fifteen minutes holding tightly to my hands and toddling through fountains as high as his head. He walked through them again and again, put his toes over the jets, stood in the spray.

I looked down at his fiery hair, at his thin toddler shoulders, at his tiny shark swimming trunks, his little bare feet. I looked at the water bubbling up, at his funny little Frankenstein walk, at his utter captivation. And I honestly didn't think about anything else. I did wish I had a camera so that I could record this unexpectedly transcendent moment, even though a photo wouldn't have really done it justice. I wanted to share this heartswelling thing with everyone, I wanted MB to be there to see it, I wanted to show the whole world this beautiful boy of mine, this beautiful little soul I'm somehow lucky enough to be entrusted with.

After they shut off the splash park, after we took a warm shower and I dressed him in his firetruck pajamas and carried him out to the car, we drove home beneath the most beautiful sunset I've seen in a long time and I felt content. Nothing about this morning had changed, but it didn't really seem to matter so much anymore. I remember now what really matters.

Raise the stone and you shall find me;
split the wood and I am there.

I first published this post on October 15, 2006. I have never reposted something before, but I dug this up after reading this post and loved the photos so much I wanted to pull them to the top again. The world really is awesome.

Photo Friday

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A present!

It's an awesome dinosaur quilt from my friend S :)




And a bonus...watching the slide show of his photos that MB has set up on the Apple TV:

Photo Friday

Bosom buddies

We had our semi-annual termite inspection today, and I had forgotten that the termite guy inspects the whole house. Including the upstairs bedrooms. Including our bedroom, which I did not think to straighten until it was too late. So there I sat, amusing Nico in the living room and trying desperately to remember just how bad things were. Did I dare to hope that the pile of clothes on the dresser wasn't as sloppy as I remembered? Or that the termite guy doesn't make his bed either and wouldn't judge us? Oh, God, did I leave that empty tampon box lying on the bathroom sink?! Then I decided that surely the termite guy has seen worse than whatever our room has to offer and tried to stop worrying about it. After all, a friend of mine once left a vibrator and a dirty magazine out on her bed and someone's parents stopped by unexpectedly to see the house. Another friend left her positive pregnancy test out on the coffee table and the next day her realtor brought someone by for a showing while she was at work. Nothing like that was on display today, of that I was certain.

But of course, of course when I went upstairs after he was gone, there were my two horribly unflattering worn out white nursing bras, flung willy-nilly on the dresser in plain sight. Just like the time we had electricians in the basement and I forgot until I had to go down there to show them something that my vast and unattractive bras were hanging out on the clothing rack to dry. Or the time that I didn't know the superintendent of the building where I work was going to be bringing construction guys around to measure the office and left my pumping bra draped across the back of the chair in the storage room, where they immediately went and turned on the lights so they could measure stuff. While I was sitting RIGHT THERE, seeing them seeing it, while we all pretended nobody saw anything.

Seriously, though, do you think people in professions that require them to see other people's homes tell stories back at work about all the weird or embarrassing shit they see? Does the termite guy have a notebook where he puts little hash marks down for all the bras and underpants and condom wrappers and sex toys he accidentally sees? And really, now I'm curious...I wonder what the weirdest thing is that he ever saw in someone's house. Hopefully it's not "vast scrungy white nursing bra."

Photo Friday

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A plague on both your houses

We all got some nasty fever-cold-snot thing, one after the other. I'm finally recovered, I think. Nico is still a bit crusty. And then in the midst of the sickness, MB had to go out of town for work. And then there was a city-wide boil order that lasted two days. And now I have to go do all the laundry and dishes I've been putting off while the city tried to figure out if our water was full of bacteria or not. It's a constant party up in this piece, for real.


Reading:  Muse and Reverie by Charles De Lint

Playing:  Sigh No More by Mumford & Sons

Photo Friday

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Such great heights

This guy, man...this guy. I told you about his cup from the bank already, which was cute. That same day, we stopped by the jewelry store so I could get my engagement ring inspected for the warranty. They had a little cheapie calculator sitting on the counter and he seized it. I thought he just wanted to push the buttons, but it turns out he thought it was a phone. He said the word that means phone (which sounds like the word for shoe, inexplicably) and held it up to the back of his head like he does with toy phones. So weird, but so funny.

I shouldn't say this because it's guaranteed to blow up in my face, but he's eating like a champ right now. He eats big bowls of cereal and fruit, hoovers up entire bananas, loves oranges, goes through baby crunchies like crazy, wants more pasta, please. He loves his board books and will bring them to us one after the other, insisting that we read to him. Once we get to the end of a book, he shuts it, flips it over, and presents it again. If I'm distracted when he brings me a book, he'll take my hand, open it, and place the book in my fingers.

He dances to music, in a funny uncoordinated slightly off-the-beat way. He finally waves bye at the right time, instead of after the target of his goodbye wave has already left and the door has closed. He will give high fives. He likes blocks and the dishes and toy food from his play kitchen. If there is an open door within twenty yards, he beelines for it. He looks like a toddler most of the time, and when I look at pictures of him as a round-faced baby I almost don't recognize them. When was he ever that little? That bald? He still doesn't walk, but he has so many words we've lost count. He is the greatest gift, seriously. Mom cliche and all that, but it's true.










(He'll also name the banana, the cat, and the dog, but he got distracted by the expensive camera next to his head. This post is not sponsored by Target and their adorable layered toddler tees, though it might as well be.)

Things I never thought I'd say, number 4

"Don't put the contact lens solution bottle into the poop! OH, MY GOD!"


P.S. And then, much later, Nico peed on my arm while I was carrying him into the Y for his swimming lesson. Did you know that baby swim diapers aren't designed to catch pee at all? I never did before I had someone in my life wearing them. Anyway, it was totally my fault because on the way there I idly mused how it was nice that he'd never done that in all our weeks of swimming lessons. I tried to unthink it as soon as I thought it, but it was far too late.

Subluxation

Yesterday morning I was getting breakfast together for Nico and myself. I had a half-gallon of organic milk for Nico's cereal in one hand and a gallon of regular for mine in the other, and when I turned to set both on the counter, I felt a weird and sudden pop in my back. At first I thought I just tweaked a muscle, but then it started to feel more like something had locked up on me. Doing a few tentative twists to try to stretch out the offended spot resulted in a very distinct WHOOP WHOOP WARNING! kind of feeling. The part of me that doesn't like to make a fuss was thinking I'd just let it ride and try to stretch it out again later. Luckily the more sensible part decided screw it, I'm calling the chiropractor just in case.

Turns out it's a good thing I listened to that part, because even though I hauled my 25-pound kid around all morning without too much trouble (other than this one time when I wasn't careful enough getting into the car and the whole side of my back seized up so suddenly that I found myself hissing goddamn and being grateful Nico doesn't yet repeat what he hears), well...it turns out that I had dislocated a rib. Apparently this can be very painful if you don't get it taken care of promptly.

The chiropractor was able to pop it back in with minimal suffering on my part, and Nico didn't notice when the chiropractor's dog stole the squashed plastic party cup he'd scored out of the bank's prize basket. (We set aside some of our tax return to put into Nico's savings account, and the bank lets kids pick out a toy when they make a deposit. Most of the toys were for older kids, but Nico saw a stack of cheap plastic St. Patricks Day cups and flipped out. He pointed and said, "Puh! Puh! Puh!" which is how he says "cup," and how could I deny him? He happily squashed the cup and chewed on it for the next hour and a half until he chucked it on the floor at the chiro's and her terrier swooped in and snatched it.)

After a few more errands, we went home and took a nap while I put a hot pack on my embarrassingly lame injury. I guess this post kind of went nowhere fast but, you guys...I dislocated my rib getting milk out of the fridge. I couldn't let something that stupid go by without comment.


Reading:  The Stone Child by Dan Poblocki

Playing:  Sigh No More by Mumford & Sons

Photo Friday: Resurrection

When I started posting weekly photos back in 2007, I hoped that making the effort public would motivate me to take more photos, to explore my abilities and the capabilities of my camera, and to consciously look for beauty in unexpected places. The project succeeded beyond my greatest hopes, and I carried my little point-and-shoot to Seattle, North Carolina, San Francisco, and out into my own city. I captured images that I'm immensely proud of to this day, including two that were featured in a juried gallery show (here and here).

After Nico was born, I fell out of the habit of taking pictures. I managed to keep the Photo Friday feature afloat due to the hundreds of photos I'd taken in years past, but eventually I found myself running out of old favorites with no new shots to take their place. I'd fallen victim to a rut of sorts, only feeling that my typical artsy-fartsy macro nature photos were good enough to post. Once I ran out of those, I didn't feel like the other things I had were worth sharing. So I let it slide, each month telling myself I'd pick it up the next month. Now it's been five months and I miss it. I miss taking photos; I miss the way things used to catch my eye; the way the world used to seem open before me, waiting to be captured.

And so I'm bringing it back. It's time. I'm pushing myself to not only take more photos but to expand my opinion of what counts as a good photo. If something is beautiful or makes me smile, maybe it doesn't matter if it's not the most amazing gorgeous thing in the world.




Reading:  The Stone Child by Dan Poblocki

Playing:  Greatest Hits...So Far! by Pink

Man Law

MB to Nico, while changing a poo diaper:  "What did I tell you about the guy code? Remember? You only do this when I am not home. That's rule #5."