Snarfy

It was the eve before Thanksgiving, and all through the condo,Loverpants and I were rummaging around for winter woolies to wear for our Turkey trot in the morning. We were all manner of PUMPED for our 5 mi and 2 mi races respectively, and Loverpants was all poised to push the pram (with baby bundled warmly within, natch).

But he and I were both snarfing away through congested noses. And making coughing noises, throwing our whole bodies into it like Muppets with emphysema. I don't know why I'm writing this in poetic verse. It's really just a silly narrative about how Loverpants got paged and only got a few hours of sleep and I was snarfing away all night and resigned to Nyquilling myself at about midnight, so we both woke up with hangovers, he with a Worked All Night hangover, and I with a Nyquil hangover. So we didn't race afterall. Instead we sort of tended to the babe in shifts. Loverpants and Baby Girl read books, played with blocks, talked a lot of smack about the Turkey Trot next year. Mama napped. Mama gets up. Feeds Baby Girl, read books, played with blocks, spit some verse about the awesomeness of Thanksgiving carbs.

All the while Loverpants was preparing a luscious bird per usual. I am really proud of him, he is a really talented cook. We went over to some dear friends' for supper and everyone was back home and nestled in their beds by a decent hour. How blessed and how stuffed we are!

***

P.S. Did you know that it's a wonderful life?

Scan the picture with the bell shape and see what it reveals...

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Small Packages

Hey, where did you get this thing? It's called a box you say?

Why, it's kind of cozy...

But I think I'm starting to feel claustrophobic.

AAHHHHHH

Hey, this thing is pretty cool, too?

It's a hard-sided basket?

It's getting a little tight in here....

I think I'll just....

Seasons of Love

If I'm relying on stats from "Rent," and there really are 525,600 minutes in a year, then I can say with some measure of confidence that at least 99% of those minutes in the last year have been well-spent. I think a lot of people view time differently once they become parents, and in a really morbid sense, I imagine it is a lot like experiencing grave illness. You just don't know how much time you've got left...and so you savor the moments you're given, you take a picture with your Canon or with your mind's eye, and all the things that once vexed you seem frivolous and you see as a complete interruption of the time you would rather be spending in front of a highchair with a sucktopus reluctantly strapped in, the tray laden with Eggo waffle crumbs and a sticky larvae of grape jelly and cornflakes, and you are trying mightily to recall the verse to "My mother gave me a penny...to go and buy a (?) uh...a henny (?) but I didn't buy a henny..." because these theatrics are what magically make the food go down, and you ARE Mary Freaking Poppins. And it is amazing. Too bad these moments can't be bottled and stored on a shelf for twelve years until the person sitting across from you at dinner is no longer in a high chair but is maintaining what appears to be the third day of a solo campaign for the Advancement of Silence as a reaction to you for having the audacity to come inside the school gym WEARING WINDPANTS to find her after coming to pick her up and waiting twenty minutes in the parking lot.

***

She's such a good little helper now...

Soon ::sniff:: she'll be off and running away from me, though....