20 August 2010
19 August 2010
Hot Baby in the Summertime
Poor little Gopher is home today with a fever.
Poor little mama has nothing to say except "Poor Little Gopher."
I am working from home this afternoon, otherwise known as Livin' the Dream.
Also, I am hungry. For the past few weeks, I've been trying to follow the rules of the No S Diet, which is both difficult and easy-- and so ridiculously straightfoward it makes cheating difficult to rationalize. Finally, a worthy adversary to my superhero rationalizing powers. Dammit.
Just returned from a truly lovely weekend at a cabin in the mountains with Mr. and Mrs. Littlebrother and their sweet little Izzy. Could have used, like, 5 extra days. We had pool access, a gorgeous view, a raccoon visitor that both terrified and delighted Birdy, plenty of food and drink, and nothing to do but be together. Much needed, much appreciated, much much much. I/ we are lucky.
Ah, the being lucky. Something I am so acutely aware of lately, as I respond in my puny human-logic way to the big and non-specific brewing change I've been feeling the last few months-- this low thundery thing in the distance.*
What I have is lovely. NOW is so good. I've worked hard for this-- to be able to do the things we do and have the this lifestyle-- this non-extravagant thing, this vanilla-with-just-a-few-sprinkles life. This security and safety (relative to the salad days). This alignment with "how it's supposed to be/ look/ work." I envisioned this. I have this (mostly) under control. The bumps in the road are few and mild these days, just daily non-drama in our happily predictable little world.
So, naturally, it's time to turn the canoe toward the falls, right?
*totally not pregnant, btw.
Poor little mama has nothing to say except "Poor Little Gopher."
I am working from home this afternoon, otherwise known as Livin' the Dream.
Also, I am hungry. For the past few weeks, I've been trying to follow the rules of the No S Diet, which is both difficult and easy-- and so ridiculously straightfoward it makes cheating difficult to rationalize. Finally, a worthy adversary to my superhero rationalizing powers. Dammit.
Just returned from a truly lovely weekend at a cabin in the mountains with Mr. and Mrs. Littlebrother and their sweet little Izzy. Could have used, like, 5 extra days. We had pool access, a gorgeous view, a raccoon visitor that both terrified and delighted Birdy, plenty of food and drink, and nothing to do but be together. Much needed, much appreciated, much much much. I/ we are lucky.
Ah, the being lucky. Something I am so acutely aware of lately, as I respond in my puny human-logic way to the big and non-specific brewing change I've been feeling the last few months-- this low thundery thing in the distance.*
What I have is lovely. NOW is so good. I've worked hard for this-- to be able to do the things we do and have the this lifestyle-- this non-extravagant thing, this vanilla-with-just-a-few-sprinkles life. This security and safety (relative to the salad days). This alignment with "how it's supposed to be/ look/ work." I envisioned this. I have this (mostly) under control. The bumps in the road are few and mild these days, just daily non-drama in our happily predictable little world.
So, naturally, it's time to turn the canoe toward the falls, right?
*totally not pregnant, btw.
12 August 2010
Now I've really done it.
I need to be better about recording things in this space. Gopher is a chubby, flappy, screechy 8 months already and I have very few words about her here-- I reported on Birdy's every move, remember? There will be more time soon, I hope. I've done something big-ish but still quiet and gray for the moment. Something that is freaking me out. That is my quietly freaking out at work face up there, in case you were wondering. Stay tuned.
(here are my sweethearts, by the way, being sweet):
16 July 2010
Reminder: change contact lenses
Today, I drove past the driveway sign for Catholic Charities.
For a moment, I thought it said "Catholic Critters."
Just imagine.
For a moment, I thought it said "Catholic Critters."
Just imagine.
25 June 2010
Penmanship
I just signed the customary "Happy Birthday from the department" card for our CEO.
I wrote "Have a lovely birthday."
Despite all efforts to fix it, it still looks like:
"Have a lonely birthday."
****
Confirmed: Bird is Southern.
We were having a conversation the other day and when I was joking around about how stinky Gopher's diaper was, she said,
"Oh, LOWER."
as in,
"Oh, LORD."
But with the Southern bonus syllable.
****
We visited our picture-perfect Indiana college town for our 8th (!! ) anniversary, leaving the sister babies with my folks.
The weather, it was perfect. The sleeping in, it was heavenly. The husband, he is my favorite. The town, it loved us back.
And just as we suspected, Mike still works the door at the Vid. And remembered us by name after TEN years, which I'd like to attribute to his insane steel-trap memory and not our (ahem) frequent flyer status at the townie bars. In any case, that guy is a freaking legend and seems to have acquired more walkie-talkies as the years have progressed.
****
You know when you re-hear a band you love but had kind of forgotten about and you air-drum on your steering wheel and kick yourself for not listening to that album every waking minute since you got it two years ago or whatever?
That's how I'm feelin' about the Features these days.
I wrote "Have a lovely birthday."
Despite all efforts to fix it, it still looks like:
"Have a lonely birthday."
****
Confirmed: Bird is Southern.
We were having a conversation the other day and when I was joking around about how stinky Gopher's diaper was, she said,
"Oh, LOWER."
as in,
"Oh, LORD."
But with the Southern bonus syllable.
****
We visited our picture-perfect Indiana college town for our 8th (!! ) anniversary, leaving the sister babies with my folks.
The weather, it was perfect. The sleeping in, it was heavenly. The husband, he is my favorite. The town, it loved us back.
And just as we suspected, Mike still works the door at the Vid. And remembered us by name after TEN years, which I'd like to attribute to his insane steel-trap memory and not our (ahem) frequent flyer status at the townie bars. In any case, that guy is a freaking legend and seems to have acquired more walkie-talkies as the years have progressed.
****
You know when you re-hear a band you love but had kind of forgotten about and you air-drum on your steering wheel and kick yourself for not listening to that album every waking minute since you got it two years ago or whatever?
That's how I'm feelin' about the Features these days.
12 June 2010
Got to tip on the tightrope
That's us, tippin' on the tightrope, always.
It is crazy here. As Bird recently declared, "This house is nothing but babies and crazy people."
Well said.
Work is nuts, A's work is nuts, kids are nuts, social calendar is nuts, weather/ heat is nuts, dogs are nuts, family is nuts:
IT'S A DAD-GUMMED PARTY MIX, Y'ALL.
And on Friday, we all (except Gopher) woke up with some kind of awful stomach ick which passed-- violently-- in about 24 hours and our tiny one-man bathroom saw A LOT of action.
In the past few weeks, I've been on two bizarre work-related road trips, one in which I saw a sign by the side of the road that said "Twenty Kinds of Cheese" and I actually got to stop, and another in which I drug my friend T. along and visited the most delicious-smelling Mennonite grocery in all of West Tennessee, plus saw buzzards, plus saw a goat standing on top of another goat (!), plus drove a Grand Marquis all over the countryside, plus visited a very creepy home/ museum or two, plus plus plus. This project, it wears me out in a good way, and it beats the hell out of writing healthcare marketing copy day in and day out behind a desk, so I'll take it.
Also watched the LOST finale, and I have one thing to say: pbbbbbbffffttt. Way to waste a few years of my life, LOST. It was as if the writers showed up for the final exam but hadn't really been doing the reading all semester, which is something I wake up in a cold sweat over, still, 12 years post-college. So in essence, the finale of LOST was my recurring nightmare.
Plus, it was lame.
There is more, but I am tired, and A. is at Bonnaroo doing some supercool work opportunity fun creative project stuff, and I'm supposed to be doing actual work-work (sewing machine marketing, anyone?) that I promised to do for Monday since I had to leave the office early on Friday on account of a guts-puke-out. Because I'm dedicated like that.
I'll leave you with our latest favorite dance party:
Me: What do you think those guys are?
Bird: Mirrors with coats on. (duh).
It is crazy here. As Bird recently declared, "This house is nothing but babies and crazy people."
Well said.
Work is nuts, A's work is nuts, kids are nuts, social calendar is nuts, weather/ heat is nuts, dogs are nuts, family is nuts:
IT'S A DAD-GUMMED PARTY MIX, Y'ALL.
And on Friday, we all (except Gopher) woke up with some kind of awful stomach ick which passed-- violently-- in about 24 hours and our tiny one-man bathroom saw A LOT of action.
In the past few weeks, I've been on two bizarre work-related road trips, one in which I saw a sign by the side of the road that said "Twenty Kinds of Cheese" and I actually got to stop, and another in which I drug my friend T. along and visited the most delicious-smelling Mennonite grocery in all of West Tennessee, plus saw buzzards, plus saw a goat standing on top of another goat (!), plus drove a Grand Marquis all over the countryside, plus visited a very creepy home/ museum or two, plus plus plus. This project, it wears me out in a good way, and it beats the hell out of writing healthcare marketing copy day in and day out behind a desk, so I'll take it.
Also watched the LOST finale, and I have one thing to say: pbbbbbbffffttt. Way to waste a few years of my life, LOST. It was as if the writers showed up for the final exam but hadn't really been doing the reading all semester, which is something I wake up in a cold sweat over, still, 12 years post-college. So in essence, the finale of LOST was my recurring nightmare.
Plus, it was lame.
There is more, but I am tired, and A. is at Bonnaroo doing some supercool work opportunity fun creative project stuff, and I'm supposed to be doing actual work-work (sewing machine marketing, anyone?) that I promised to do for Monday since I had to leave the office early on Friday on account of a guts-puke-out. Because I'm dedicated like that.
I'll leave you with our latest favorite dance party:
Me: What do you think those guys are?
Bird: Mirrors with coats on. (duh).
04 May 2010
Water, water everywhere.
Rain this weekend.
Lots of it, straight down, days and nights.
Pound-y rain. Thunder.
Weather radio bleeping and blooping, us joking about how the little man inside it kept telling us what we already knew: it was raining. We GET IT, little guy. Clock out.
We cleaned out closets, I dragged Bird along on a thrift store outing, A. did some wet grocery shopping, we all spent Saturday evening on a friend's porch to celebrate a birthday in the deluge. When it came to shoes, I chose poorly-- cheap purple flats that felt like wet socks on bare feet. Clammy ick. Reached for the pull-chain in the bedroom closet upstairs and drip, drip, drip down my arm from around the light fixture. Rats. Fix it later, oh well. Slept with the windows open and listened to more more more more rain. Woke up in gray light next to a fat, bare baby nursing in her sleep, rain pounding the roof, house completely silent, breezy. Lucky me.
Watery garden in the morning, got in the car and set out to church solo through the downpour, turned around to fetch a forgotten coffee mug from home and stayed. More closet cleaning, making up songs with Bird, scheming with A., making pizza dough, pinching the baby.
Meanwhile, 18 blocks away, the river was escaping its banks, and downtown was drowning. The Opry was drowning. The symphony center was drowning. Opryland Hotel. Lower Broadway. Entire neighborhoods. Schools. Businesses. The mall. History. People were evacuated. People bailed water and watched their keepsakes and furniture float out into the street. Uncontrollable water washed around street corners and flowed in through windows and doors. Cars were carried off. The stranded were rescued from their homes by boat. People lost power, phone service, each other. Roads and bridges crumbled while we ate our pizza and Bird declared her distaste for the crust, again.
The last two mornings I have driven across the bridge over the obscenely swollen river, over three-day-old lakes littered with parked cars, past the now-waterfront intersection of 8th Ave, through clouds of diesel fumes from the generators. I've passed over the waves on First Ave, driven my 4 miles over high ground, parked my car in the bone-dry lot behind my office, and spent large chunks of time obsessing about commas and capitalization rules as I proof a complex and frustrating piece that is set to print tomorrow.
Completely spared. Lucky, lucky me.
Lots of it, straight down, days and nights.
Pound-y rain. Thunder.
Weather radio bleeping and blooping, us joking about how the little man inside it kept telling us what we already knew: it was raining. We GET IT, little guy. Clock out.
We cleaned out closets, I dragged Bird along on a thrift store outing, A. did some wet grocery shopping, we all spent Saturday evening on a friend's porch to celebrate a birthday in the deluge. When it came to shoes, I chose poorly-- cheap purple flats that felt like wet socks on bare feet. Clammy ick. Reached for the pull-chain in the bedroom closet upstairs and drip, drip, drip down my arm from around the light fixture. Rats. Fix it later, oh well. Slept with the windows open and listened to more more more more rain. Woke up in gray light next to a fat, bare baby nursing in her sleep, rain pounding the roof, house completely silent, breezy. Lucky me.
Watery garden in the morning, got in the car and set out to church solo through the downpour, turned around to fetch a forgotten coffee mug from home and stayed. More closet cleaning, making up songs with Bird, scheming with A., making pizza dough, pinching the baby.
Meanwhile, 18 blocks away, the river was escaping its banks, and downtown was drowning. The Opry was drowning. The symphony center was drowning. Opryland Hotel. Lower Broadway. Entire neighborhoods. Schools. Businesses. The mall. History. People were evacuated. People bailed water and watched their keepsakes and furniture float out into the street. Uncontrollable water washed around street corners and flowed in through windows and doors. Cars were carried off. The stranded were rescued from their homes by boat. People lost power, phone service, each other. Roads and bridges crumbled while we ate our pizza and Bird declared her distaste for the crust, again.
The last two mornings I have driven across the bridge over the obscenely swollen river, over three-day-old lakes littered with parked cars, past the now-waterfront intersection of 8th Ave, through clouds of diesel fumes from the generators. I've passed over the waves on First Ave, driven my 4 miles over high ground, parked my car in the bone-dry lot behind my office, and spent large chunks of time obsessing about commas and capitalization rules as I proof a complex and frustrating piece that is set to print tomorrow.
Completely spared. Lucky, lucky me.
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