Summer Style

I was in desperate need of new summer threads and kicks. (Do you see how I did that there? Made myself look uber cool by using words other than "clothes" and "shoes"? I may be 32 now but I am still totally hip.) All I really wanted for my birthday was a basic summer wardrobe update, as I had no shorts, two bikinis that I hated and avoided wearing, several pairs of jeans that were hanging loosely on my hips, and a pair of Crocs flip flops that I've been wearing almost every day for the past two years and really wanted to retire.

I was completely in love with this tankini, but by the time it came for my mom to buy it, there were none in my size. I scoured the internet and couldn't really find anything that I loved as much. On a trip to Target while my mom was here, I happened to pass through the swimsuit section and found a very similar one. I was stoked. It fits great and makes my boobs look awesome.



Roy bought me a pair of Sseko sandals with these straps. Love these shoes. The interchangeable straps and the multitudinous ways to tie them? Genius. What the company stands for? Nothing short of awesome.



In the last few months I've become obsessed with Threadless, and my mother-in-law was more than happy to feed my addiction with these two shirts:


(Breakthrough)


(Secret Garden)

I am such a jeans and T-shirt type of girl, and it's so easy for me to get sloppy. But I could never feel dowdy while wearing a Threadless shirt.

My mom also bought me some long & lean jeans from the Gap. With the skinny jean craze going on, it's ridiculously hard to find wide leg jeans. I looked for a long time and then it occurred to me that I should check The Gap, where I got my wide leg maternity jeans. These jeans are awesome. I already had two pairs that I had bought at the beginning of the year, but I needed to go a size down. Now I have jeans that fit, and I guess I'll hang onto my bigger pairs in case I put a few pounds back on.



And then we went to Old Navy, where I got some cropped pants and some shorts. I later went back to exchange the pair of shorts I got for a pair similar to the ones below. I got them home, put them on, and loved them so much I had to go back and get a second pair. At $10 each, I think these are a steal. While I was there getting my second pair of shorts, I also picked up a pair of cheapie flip flops and some cute sunglasses.




I'm so happy with all my new clothes, but particularly my shorts. It's been years since I've really worn shorts proudly and it feels damn freeing to show some leg, varicose veins and all. I decided it was time to really embrace my pasty whiteness and just wear what I like instead of worrying about possibly blinding people.

The only clothes-related thing left that I really want is a pair of TOMS shoes. I've been drooling over them for probably about a year now. I got some money for my birthday, which I was planning on using to buy them, but since I am now 32 and a responsible adult, I may have to use said money for responsible adult things like gas and groceries. Bummer.

However! There is still a chance for me to possibly be frivolous and get the shoes. And I am having a hard time deciding which pair to get. Here are my favorites:

Blue Leopard Women's Vegan Classics

Passport Black Women's Vegan Classics

Passport Lilac Women's Vegan Classics

Which is your favorite pair? And while you're letting me know, tell me about your summer must-haves.

(Also, I am so not a dress girl but I want to turn that around some day. Maybe next summer! Here are a few dresses I love, among some other clothing choices.)

this big exhausted weepy baggy mentally ill cellulite unit known as mommy

I missed the official first day of summer. I had grand plans for that day, which really only included busting out the sidewalk chalk and writing SUMMER! on the driveway and then taking a picture and posting it here as a way of showing you all that yes! I am alive and cherishing the 100 degree heat! yes! I am one of those people who lives entirely in the moment! who never wishes any minute of her life away! who can take some lame sidewalk chalk from Target and use it to make a masterpiece worthy of display at the Museum of Modern Art! who is so fucking happy it's dangerously close to saccharine!

You see, I exhaled too soon. And this week, which was supposed to be about getting back to normal, all of a sudden became about Simon's first tooth coming in. And the fever. The runny nose. The crankiness. The refusal to eat. The sleepless nights. Basically a rinse and repeat of the whole month of June, which I am boycotting, by the way. I hate you, June. Forget the fact that you're my birth month, and my son's birth month. You've betrayed me, you mercurial Gemini you.

Last night was a terrible one in Simonsleepland. I mean, so terrible that at one point in the darkness I could not even see my baby's face - instead I saw a gigantic head with hollows for eyes and a mouth lurching toward me, like some kind of horror movie creature. I wish I was kidding. I had to have Roy take him away for awhile because he was freaking me out and I was crying.

If that's not a sign of sleep deprivation....

My mother-in-law came over this morning, and by that I mean Roy walked over to her house this morning and brought her over to stay with the boys while he slept the sleep of the almost dead and I left the house. I treated myself to breakfast. I ate. I read my book. I did not have to share my food. I did not have to ask the waitress for extra napkins because Charlie spilled his drink all over the floor. Then I went to the bookstore. I browsed. I flipped through magazines. I read a couple of poems. I lingered over the bargain books. I did not have to wrestle yet another Elmo book out of an insistent toddler's hands when it was time to leave. I did not have to pick up my baby and strap him to me because he was fussing about being in the stroller. Then it was time for a brief trip to the library. I got a few free (old) copies of National Geographic. Then I had to go home because Simon really, really needed me at that point.

My date with myself? Oh so needed and deserved, especially after three weeks of fever/illness/teething hell. I think I'll make this a Friday thing I do. I think I will be a little more aggressive about getting Simon to take a bottle, if for no other reason than I would like to go out with my husband to celebrate our wedding anniversary next month.

Late this afternoon, I finally got to hang out with one of my friends, her daughters, and her parents for the first time in about a month. (We have a weekly playdate.) We went swimming (Simon's first time) and had a little BBQ. Charlie stuffed his mouth full of grapes and then spit them all out, half-eaten. Charming. I danced with my friend's daughters in the living room and admired all the art around the house. The light outside was perfect as we were driving home listening to First Aid Kit. It was all very summerlike. What can I say? I love you, June.

(title graciously stolen and mercilessly bastardized from one of the wonderful works of Anne Lamott)

Exhale

It's been two weeks. Two weeks of one small cold (parents), fever with no symptoms (Charlie), terrible crankiness and refusal of food (Charlie), phlegmy cough (Charlie), fever and cough (Simon), full-blown cold with fever (Charlie), full-blown cold (Roy), and hardly any sleep at all.

Somewhere in there, we had two birthdays, Simon started crawling, my mom flew in, we went to a baseball game, we had a birthday party, Roy's work got broken into, a skunk took up residence under our house, Simon turned seven months old and pulled to a stand (twice), and my mom flew back to Texas (with a cold).

What a ride.

My friend Kim was nice enough to send us an edible arrangement in response to my last post. Seriously, if this is what complaining gets me, I'm never going to stop.





Pretty! Yummy!

(Thank you, Kim. So wonderful of you!)

Things are getting better. I smiled as I typed that because I can hear Charlie in the next room throwing one of his mega nighttime tantrums. This is how I know he is better. And while I loved the cuddles we shared while he was sick, I'm so happy that he's back to his old sleep-fighting self.

There were some scary moments. His fever was like a metastasis, returning day after day. I would lie on the floor next to his crib at night, listening to him struggle to breathe. In my head: "This is YOUR fault. You didn't breastfeed him. If you had, he wouldn't be this sick. You are a terrible and selfish mother."

Love that mom guilt.



I'm ready to get back to normal life, whatever that is, ready for playdates and hanging out with my friends, going for walks, playtime in the backyard, reading and writing and art lessons, Monday movie night with the husband. I guess I'm even ready for laundry and dishes.

We have had so many bouts of illness since Simon was born. I wonder if this is just what it's like with two kids or if we are just so sleep deprived that our immune systems are incredibly compromised. We are going to be making some changes around here to give ourselves a boost. Boy, do we need one.



(But Simon's hair doesn't. It's awesome, yes? It just started doing that on its own recently.)

Tomorrow is Father's Day, and I doubt I'll be making an appearance in this space. I'll be with my family, and we'll hopefully all be feeling good enough to do something fun to celebrate the day. My own father won't be far from my mind, though, because he never is. Here's to daddies everywhere.

Delirium + Dreams

Both of my boys are sick.

Charlie's three-day fever lasted from last Monday night through my birthday through his birthday and ended on Thursday, the day my mom flew in. It got up to 104 on his birthday, a nice little gift from the universe, and after popsicles, Tylenol, and a bath, it went down and stayed there. I know that I sound rather casual about it all, but let me tell you that there is nothing like holding your baby and realizing how hot he is, a mini overheating radiator, while all through your mind thoughts of meningitis and cancer race. I make those leaps easily, and before you know it, I am close to tears. I am almost always able to breathe away those thoughts, push the crazy back into my brain's mess, and be a somewhat normal, somewhat functioning adult.

Charlie's fever broke, but he kept his major attitude, and we spent the majority of the weekend preparing for our birthday meal on Sunday night.

My time in the kitchen went something like this: Measure out half of ingredients for strawberry cake. Comfort crying baby. Measure out other half of ingredients. Change toddler's diaper. Mix ingredients. Throw dirty dishes in sink. Give insistent toddler a banana. Rescue banana from clean soapy water in kitchen sink, where he threw it once he was done. Comfort crying baby again. Put cake in oven. Strap crying baby onto my back. Peel whining toddler from legs. Remove cake from oven and let it sit for ten minutes. Remove it from pans and watch the entire cake fall to pieces as it comes out of the pan. Rinse and repeat process for the rest of the day.

We managed to pull off a most excellent birthday dinner with only a few mishaps: the strawberry cake that fell apart, setting one of our plastic cutting boards on fire, and filling the house with smoke while making the pizza. It was a good time and a ton of work.

That night, right as Charlie was put into his crib for bed, he started coughing. And not some wimpy cough, either. A cough that said, "Attention, Mom and Dad! Phlegm!"

Monday was supposed to be his two-year well check. I took him in and refused the shots. The doctor pronounced his throat irritated but couldn't see much else wrong with him. By the time we got home Simon was running a 101 degree fever. Last night Simon had his worst night ever, burning up for part of the night, waking up once an hour all night long. Charlie, meanwhile, woke up about six times. Today they both had fever. Charlie's got a runny nose and cough. Simon coughs from time to time but is mostly just cantankerous. I'm glad the illness has finally made an appearance because fever without some kind of sickness makes me incredibly anxious.

The dreams started last week. In the first one, I found out I was pregnant again, already 25 weeks. Roy and I were waiting to have an ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby, but we had to sit through a bunch of baptisms first. Then fast forward (you know how dreams go), and Roy and I just got home to find Charlie screaming and Simon lying on the floor pinned under a chair. The top of the back of the chair was right on Simon's neck and he looked like an old man instead of a baby, his eyes bugging out of his head. He was ... not alive. I can't even say the word for what he was, because even in a dream, it's just wrong.

The second dream involved me and a friend going to the mall with both Charlie and Simon. We were in a shoe store and I left both boys with my friend to go use the restroom. When I returned, Simon was sitting in the stroller but Charlie was nowhere to be found. We searched and searched but he was gone. I was frantic, scared out of my head. The last thing I remember was CPS getting involved.

Then this morning. Once it was light out, Roy took Simon, and I slept a little on my own. And dreamed of a vampire apocalypse. My brother's best friend (who looked like his old best friend) and I were going to the top floor of a house to escape the many vampires that were on their way. We were huddled up there when from a distance I saw Charlie with my mother-in-law walking across the bridge to get to the top floor (where we were). Charlie had no idea what was going on; he was just being his cute little self and running around aimlessly. He was wearing his Easter shirt and blue jeans, his blond hair was flopping around as he ran. He ran right off the edge of the bridge. I was horrorstruck.

Then later someone showed up with Simon and he was given to me. At that point the vampires had arrived and were coming up to where we were. By some miracle, Charlie had lived through falling off the bridge and had returned. He also was given to me, and I was holding both him and Simon so tight. We were surrounded by vampires. It was just like a damn action movie, stupid music playing and all, and we were almost done for. I found myself wishing for two Ergo baby carriers because I had no idea how I was going to hold onto both of them and fight for our lives.

It was at that point that Roy woke me up, and I felt otherworldly. I can't say "I dreamt of a vampire apocalypse" with a straight face but it all felt so real. These dreams are almost exhausting as all this sickness.

Roy has been sleeping in Charlie's room for the past week. I've woken up in the middle of the night to find them both asleep in the glider, or Roy asleep on the floor with Charlie in his crib, or both Roy and Charlie on the floor. Simon and I sleep on the futon cushion on the floor in the other bedroom. If we are lucky, Roy and I get to have a face-to-face conversation during the day. If we are really lucky, we get to have some cuddle time in our bed (which largely remains abandoned these days) before one or both of the boys wakes up. It's a very strange delirium of a time. I miss my husband. I'm worried about my boys. I'm feeling guilty because my mom's here and there's all this sickness and we can't go out and do much and I'm tired and crabby and not my best self and I hole up in the office to write these bitchy blog posts instead of spending time with her but I so need the time to myself.

I'm feeling the weight of these dreams and I just want them to stop. I'm drowning in these terrible possibilities. I'm becoming a little afraid of the dark and of what sleep has to offer me. But I need need need, oh how I need that sleep. I can't remember the last time I slept through the night; I'm becoming somewhat of a wreck.

(Helppleasesendchocolatemaybesomeflowersanighttimebabysitterandsometranquilizersforthekiddosokaythanks.)

Dragtastic

You know what I'm tired of? Captions of pictures that say things like this: "Please excuse my messy house!" or "Sorry, I look like shit in this picture." I've written plenty of explanations like that myself, even said things like this when people come over or something. But today I was wandering around the house looking for my phone and this realization washed over me. I am now 32 years old and I have spent a lot of time in my life apologizing for myself and feeling guilty about my feelings. Not all the time, and I certainly have gotten better about this in recent years, but that tendency still remains.

It's really fucking sad. It's so sad that I actually had to sit down for a minute and let that realization sink into me, the weight of it. Wow. And I don't think I'm alone here. I've noticed a lot of people doing this, and we all have one thing in common. We're women. I don't think I've ever witnessed a man doing this, ever. Have you?

On a related note, here is my kitchen sink right now. I am not going to apologize for the bits of avocado, the yogurt container, the disgusting rag. Nope.



(I suppose I could say something like "Sorry for the crappy cell phone picture!" but I'm done apologizing for the unnecessary.)

This week was supposed to be YAY BIRTHDAY WEEK! Instead it has turned into let's lie around and be crabby week. Charlie's had an off-and-on fever since Monday night and in general just hasn't been himself. So we've been lying around and being crabby. Both of our birthdays came and went without any big fanfare, which is so not what I wanted. I'm one of those bring on the fanfare types.

No fanfare right now. We're all just too tired. I started to feel guilty about the lack of celebration. I mean, Charlie's birthday arrived and we had nothing to give him, no gifts, no special breakfast, no fun outing, nothing except the video I made, which was actually a huge labor of love. But it wasn't as big of a day as I wanted it to be. And that's okay. He's not going to remember it. We'll have our birthday celebration on Sunday and everything will be great. Yeah?

My mom flies in tonight. Charlie's fever has been low-grade all day, a big improvement from the 104 of yesterday. Bring on the fanfare.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Charlie.

Happy birthday to me...

You've got a lot to live up to, 32.

Practice

I read Writing Down the Bones last week. I'd actually read it before, over 10 years ago. I don't think I was ready for it then, even though I liked it enough to keep it all these years.

Natalie Goldberg, the author of the book, stresses practice as the key to "unlocking the writer within," meaning you show up every day and practice (write). I used to feel pretty much the opposite - I'd only show up when I felt like it. Thankfully I usually felt (feel) like showing up often but I have yet to make writing my job. It's always been the thing I'm pursuing - what happens when it becomes work?

I got a taste of this last week. Roy came home from work early and I shut myself in the office for an hour. I had been dreaming of this all week - a whole hour to myself to write whatever I wanted! (The masterpieces that would come flowing out of my pen! Pulitzer Prize, here I come!) I wrote stream-of-consciousness style for ten minutes to warm up and then tried to work on various projects I've got going on. I got very little done because I kept switching around. Nothing felt like it fit. It was hard. It felt like work. I felt very discouraged at the end of the hour.

I don't know what to do with that discouragement other than conclude that it's my natural reaction to creating a new habit. And so I've got to push past it, because that's where the good stuff is.

***

I wrote the above about an hour ago and since then have been struggling with how to end this post. Because it's all well and good to say, "Well, I've just got to push past it," but doing it is a whole other story. I hate how I (and almost everyone else in the world) tend to say, "But I'm just gotta DO it" and that's it. I don't like that. But what's the alternative? If you've got to do the dishes, do the damn dishes. Writing isn't much different. I think I was just surprised at how the reality was SO different from my fantasy.

Life is tedious. From the every day chores, like dishes and laundry and cleaning counters, to the not-so-everyday chores, like paying for new tires, it sometimes feels like this thing called life is just one giant suckfest of blahs. Like, really? I stepped on avocado and it's smeared all over my foot AGAIN? The car needs gas AGAIN? It's so boring sometimes, and so unremarkable. And you know what? I always wanted to be remarkable. I wouldn't say that I was some genius child, but things came easily to me when I was a kid. I took dance lessons starting when I was 5 years old and the teacher told my mom I had the best point in the class. I didn't have to do a damn thing but point my foot! Amazing. And in school I got good grades so easily. I was always "a pleasure to have in class." And the stories just poured out of me and every single teacher I had told me that I was going to be a writer when I grew up. Because I was good at it so it was bound to happen, right?

I've learned a thing or two since I was a kid, thankfully. And one of the things I've learned is that natural talent is a wonderful thing, but practice makes all the difference. I have written a lot of shitty poems, blog posts, starts of stories etc. I've taken a lot of shitty pictures. But every once in awhile something salvageable comes bubbling up to the surface. The good stuff. And that's what I keep pushing myself towards. I've got natural talent for this writing thing, but it's still so raw. I could be better. I want to be better. So I'll keep practicing, even though sometimes it's damn annoying and inconvenient. Here's a little piece of practice for you, a small something I wrote in the car on the back of a receipt on Memorial Day:

your hand on my leg
in the car
on the way to Lowe's
to buy paint
for the play kitchen
you are building our son
for his 2nd birthday
feels like a divine message
scrawled on the back
of a Thrifty receipt:
"Hey, I love you
and I love this
Iron & Wine CD
and I love this morning
and its clouds of plenty."

***

Tomorrow's my birthday. Maybe as a gift to myself, I'll practice some more.

Still Life

My kids are my main muses, but I often find myself drawn to silence and stillness around the house.

(a flower Charlie brought home from a walk)

(unmade bed)

(thumbelina carrots from the farmer's market)

(plants' reflection in our kitchen sink faucet)

(eggshells)

(tomatoes from the farmer's market)

(utensils)

(produce)

(strawberries!)

(grapefruit from our tree)

I had a little cold on Saturday but was feeling much better today. Some chicken soup and oscillococcinum kicked that pesky cold's ass. Good thing, because this week we've got two birthdays to celebrate and my mom is flying in on Thursday. I'm pretty excited to see her. The last time she was here, Charlie and Simon looked like this:



A lot can change in six months! And I can't believe Charlie is turning 2 on Wednesday. Wasn't he just born?

More Books, Less Clothes

Today I went through my closet and found 49 items of clothing that I am not wearing. 49! What an obscene amount. So I took them all off the hangers and shoved them into a big garbage bag to donate. I did this quickly, in about the space of 15 minutes, so I wouldn't start second guessing my choices. I needed to do something to atone for the fact that Roy and I went to our neighbors' house this morning and took quite a few books off their hands. I feel simultaneously guilty and thrilled about bringing new books into the house.

Getting rid of clothes is easy for me, for the most part. I have finally reached the point where I'd rather have a few select items of clothing that I wear over and over as opposed to a whole closet full of choices. I want to own clothes that I feel good in, and I need to let go of the fact that the dress I wore on my 21st birthday (when I weighed an unhealthy 100 pounds) will never fit again, and why would I want it to? Still, it's a beautiful dress and it's still hanging in our closet for reasons I don't fully understand. It's in good company with the shirt I wore on my first date with Roy, the dress I wore to my high school graduation, the skirt I wore to my college graduation and the night Roy proposed. I know fully well that the memories I have of those milestones in my life will never fade, and yet I continue to hang onto what I wore then. It's absurd and yet a totally human thing to do.

Books are harder - although reading over the previous paragraph has me realizing that clothes aren't so easy after all. The other day I let my mother-in-law borrow a few books that were slated to be donated to the library. I couldn't bear the thought of parting with them. Letting go of books is like finally admitting to myself that there are limitations to this life and I will never be able to read every single thing I want - there's just not enough time for that. I want to read Virginia Woolf and all the other greats! And yet when given the choice, I always bypass Virginia Woolf (for example) for someone else.

These big realizations are sometimes crippling, sometimes freeing. I find myself torn a lot of the time. I love how I feel after a big purge of our possessions but getting there is sometimes a heavy process. Looking at that dress I wore on my 21st birthday is a huge reminder of my Great Depression, yet when I look at pictures from that day I see a smiling (albeit way too skinny) girl. I should probably just get rid of the damn thing; I do have pictures, after all.

Here's a picture of the books that I had stacked in the office before I cleaned it out. I'm still feeling massively guilty over acquiring more books. There are worse habits, though, right?

Food Is Love

I'm not a foodie. For the longest time, I did not get people's fascination with food or food blogs or cooking shows or anything else. I grew up not thinking much about what I was eating or what was in it or where it came from. I had a penchant for fast food, soda, candy, cookies, chips, and all that other processed junk. (I still do.) Several years ago a co-worker buddy told me he was reading The Omnivore's Dilemma and that it was about knowing where your food comes from (among other things). I honestly had no clue what he was talking about - I had no frame of reference for any of it. My food came from the store! What else could I possibly need to know?

(I am cringing a little at how terribly ignorant I was about food just a few short years ago.)

Additionally, I never really cared for cooking. I didn't even learn how to cook until Roy and I moved in together. Before then, I ate out or made spaghetti noodles with butter using my one pot my mom bought me when I moved into my first apartment. Once I learned to cook, I recognized the importance of it and went through the motions of putting food on the table. I did not get how people could see cooking as a creative outlet because to me it was a means to an end. You're hungry, so you make something to eat so you won't be hungry anymore. The end.

Since then I have been learning little bits here and there and making small changes in my diet. Having kids has pushed me to make healthier choices, but in order to make those choices I've had to learn a lot. As a result, I've become much more interested in growing our own garden, going to the farmer's market, buying local and/or organic, and (wait for it) cooking.

(Let me interject here to let you know that I still enjoy the hell out of Dr. Pepper and a bunch of other junk that may end up killing me. However, I am miles away from where I used to be and in a few years I'm sure I'll be miles away from where I am now. I believe in baby steps when it comes to making changes.)

A few months back I was reading through Aura joon's archives (great blog with gorgeous pictures, btw) and came across this post on food. I love how passionate she is about food. When I was done reading that blog entry, I came away thinking, "Food is love." (She may have even said that in her post; I can't really remember.)

Nothing says "hey, I dig you" more than food. Recently I developed a crush on the cute family down the street so I brought them a small basket of strawberries from the farmer's market. A blog friend came to visit and I brought her and her husband some strawberries, too. Today I drove out to Orange County to see a friend and brought some strawberry muffins I made last night. There's something extra special about giving someone some good clean food to eat.

We have a grapefruit tree on our property and I love it when our friends come over and pick some to take home and enjoy. It's just such a simple and uncomplicated happiness. That's the way we should eat. Simple. Uncomplicated. Without all the unnecessary crap that turns real food into food-like substances.

Last night Roy's allergies were acting up, so I made chicken soup. Every week we buy a whole organic chicken at the farmer's market and cook it in the slow cooker, and then we use it for meals throughout the week. I used the rest of the chicken and the broth from when we cooked it for the soup, threw in some carrots and green onions, and steamed up some rice. I also roasted some carrots and that was our (healthy) dinner. I was actually beaming last night - this is what I mean by food being a simple and uncomplicated happiness. I cooked and fed my family with love, and I felt it all the way in my soul. That's amazing when you really think about it.


(homemade organic chicken soup)


(yummy)


(roasted organic carrots)


(healthy toddler meal: cheese, avocado, carrots, chicken soup with rice, and milk)


(healthy toddler who refused his high chair and instead ate dinner with Elmo, Zoe, and his magnadoodle)

Charlie is not having a big birthday party this year. Instead, we're going to have a small gathering of just family, and I think I will cook everything myself. I have never, ever, ever attempted anything like this. I'm still not sure what we'll be serving, but I think it'll be a lot of fun, and a lot of love will go into it, of course.

This is not what I planned.

I had a decent post in the works, but in the past hour (well, over an hour now) that I've been writing it, Charlie was throwing a tantrum and woke Simon up twice - so I've been away from the computer more than I've been on it. Yes, an hour long tantrum WAY after he had been put in bed for the night. It makes no sense to me why things have gotten so out of control but they have, and we've tried everything, from rocking to singing to back patting to even letting him cry and scream for short intervals. Nothing works consistently.

We had two great nights in a row on Tuesday and Wednesday, and I was hoping that was the end of this terrible stage, but apparently not. So instead of my decent post, here's this crappy, whiny one. I'm a little irritated because I even uploaded pictures to post but it's just getting way too late. And Simon woke me up at 4:30 this morning all ready to play so I'm just dead.

But I hope to redeem myself with this offering.

My new favorite song:



Listen to and enjoy this little beauty, and I'll see you tomorrow.

Hello, June!

Since it's my birth month, I've decided to give you a present.

I'm going to post every day for the month of June. YAY.



One of my primary goals for this month is to get into a writing schedule, so I think posting a lot will help with that. Another one of my goals for June is to catch up on the 3,000+ photos just sitting on my desktop. Today I finally finished January. The two photos in this post are a couple of my favorites from that month.

Anyway, it's entirely possible that I could run out of ideas on things to write about, so if you'd like me to write on a specific topic, please leave your comments and/or questions in the comments, and I'd be happy to give you my thoughts.