Moments Hours Days Weeks Months

Today my baby is 8 months old. Pinch me. I'm so (nearly) inexplicably happy about this because in the early months of this journey I did not think I had it in me. But 8 months sounds substantial. An impressive accumulation of parenting moments. Hallelujah! I'm, you know, like, proud of myself. And, oh goodness in breathlessness and joy, is he ever cute. I love the sound of it - 8 months old. "How old is your baby?" "Eight months." See, that's me now.

To celebrate, I made him watch the recording of last night's episode of The Daily Show so he could see President Obama and John Stewart in all their role-model glory. Thank the heavens for both those men.

I can report that Buckaroo is NOT crawling yet, which is fine with me. He makes a scooty motion when he's sort of on all-fours. And he's good at covering some distance when he scoots in a sitting-up position. But that's it. He's so close, its obvious. But we still need to finish the banister upstairs and I really am not looking forward to keeping the floor clean and void of choking hazards.

In other news, October continues to be my most favorite month - hands down. Crisp and blustery weather! Fewer spiders! Coziness! Children in adorable costumes! Adults in inappropriately slutty costumes! Well, not around here, not with the slutty costumes. Farmers and hippies and artists don't do that.

Tonight is a jack-o-lantern party at our friends' house. So adorable. So very much in the land of families and stuff. I feel blessed.

Also, Buckaroo just took a proper nap. That's the best thing ever. EVARHHH.

Boo!

Several Sundays ago, we took a walk along a shore trail. Buckaroo rode on Dadda's back.


He whined himself to sleep, which was cute/funny. Please note how he's grasping the strap even as he sleeps. Pudgy, little, determined hand.

Our little region here is a soil-rich river delta, basically. There are lots of little sloughs that wend their way hither and yon. Quite a considerable network of old dikes were built well nigh a hundred years ago now (old pioneer talk) to create more farmland and keep the Sound at bay. A great habitat for birds, otters, oysters, salmon, ligers, unicorns. Right now is duck hunting season, which is annoying because I feel mortal fear when I walk along the dike.

Not so long ago, all this land was covered in thick forest. Settlers cleared it. Evidently, the first part of the 20th Century saw mostly oats grown around here. Before the railroads established freight ways, farmers would have their own granaries built on wharves at the shore on their property so that boats could pull up to their farm and load their cargo directly from the farmer. (I've been reading local history. This won't be the first time I bore you.)


I can't be certain, but this sure looks like one of those granaries. Neat!

Here's another shot of the granary. Must belong to the Parks Department now. I so wanted to poke around, but I'm a scaredy-cat.

Near the granary, we came across this weathered piece of old-timey machinery:


Some sort of yanky cranky wench thingie. So, Dad, what is it? Uncle Dan, any idea?

We didn't see much wildlife. Maybe they took the day off. We did see some sort of standard-issue wildlife, notably:

Seagulls
Mosquitos
Teenagers

It was a lovely, long walk. We just don't get time to do these things much (hardly ever) as a family because Woodworker is so diligently busy finishing his dream shop down the street. Someday soon they will have their new shop and he won't have to commute up to the old shop up in the woods where we used to live. But, one step in front of the other, a year of Sundays, we'll get there.

Happy Sunday!

Did You Watch Project Runway?

Michael Costello is a big blubbery baby. Good LORD. Pull it together, chap. You're a grown man. I've never seen such a case of Poopy Pants. On the runway he couldn't even look up after he was eliminated. I mean, I know, I know, you hang all your hopes and dreams on this and your family doesn't support you and nobody likes you. But, shoot, girl, start paving your own path! Carpe Diem! You're on national television! Composure, girl, composure.

This is easy for me to say. My family loves me buckets and I'm sitting in my pajamas. I'm going to go get Buckaroo from his nap and I'm going to brush my teeth. We may just leave the house today!

I just took a shower. Such sweet ablutions, so dearly needed. And the baby was asleep when I went in and he was asleep when I came out. Even sweeter.

MAJOR DEVELOPMENT: Madame Thorax is no longer in her croft. Hallelujah! Or, does this mean she has relocated to inside the house? lurking like a bully in the shadows?

Here is a pic of me and Buckaroo from the stay at the Mt. Baker cabin a few weeks ago.
I'd like to draw your attention to my good posture. Good lord. And interestingly, it sort of looks like we're standing in front of a photo mural, but I swear we're not. Its real live nature and my big brother Tom took the picture. Our corner of the world is so gloriously verdant and magical.

At this moment, Woodworker and Buckaroo are making pizza dough. And the Seahawks are playing on tv in the background. So, once again, on this autumn Sunday, I will watch my husband's moods swing far and wide as we watch the Seahawks try to find their way out of their own butts. I've learned many many lifetimes ago not to invest my hopes and dreams in the Seahawks. Others are not so wise. And yet, sometimes those others make amazing pizza. Seriously, its such good pizza.

Oh great, the Seahawks just scored.

Madame Thorax

Good Morning. I have to share this. I have to unburden myself of this woe, this stress. I know you can help.

There is a Very Large Spider living happily in the sill of our front window. She's on the outside, thank god. But I really don' t like her. She's exactly the kind of spider that I don't like the most. Because, oh god, I don't know if I can even type this... she is bulbous. Aaaaagghh!!!!! Yuck. I have the itchies now.

Here is our front window. Isn't it pretty? You can see the bucolic scene out front and so forth. The Woodworker made that guitar, by the way. Yes.

Here is an outside shot of the front window. Amazing how much better the paint job looks in a photo. Madame Thorax lives tucked in the sill right were the arrow indicates. For the same reason the paint looks so good, you cannot see the insidious web all over the window. I know she eats a lot because she just keeps getting bigger. Don't even suggest that she's getting bigger because of, like, perpetuation-of-the-species reasons. I cannot bear it.

This is as close as I can get to Madame Thorax, and lordy I am frightfully close. She's really there. You have to believe me. Its just that the sill has a ledge where she can tuck herself next to the window. Its horrid. If you pull back the curtains and look out the front window, she's there like a cruel joke. She loves it, I know. So proud of her Halloween self.

Maybe I'll get up the nerve to take a pic of her from inside. To prove my predicament to you. I just can't right now, though. I need some space.

Yours itching,
Nellie

Critter

So, why does the cat need to sit Right There? Grrrrr. This damn cat, I swear. We live a very tense cohabitation here, I tell you. This cat has lived with Woodworker since college, through squalor and mayhem. And now this cat is 15 years old and just keeps tickin'. Tick tock. I am allergic to this cat, by the way. And he scratched my baby the other day. Not happy about that. And he waits til the still of night before he begins his operatic wailing. I am so over him. I was never really under him. He came with the marriage.


And I am particularly not fond of him actually in the sink. Putting his butt in there. Gross. Likely depositing trace fecal matter. Furthering the fact that the kitchen sink is the filthiest place in the house, I suppose.

We did send this one in to Catsinsinks. Who knows. Maybe he'll become an internet sensation. Twerp.

I am going to go clean the sink.