365 Days

Today is my baby's First Birthday.

I feel so MUCH about this day. I have so very much to say. At least I think I do. But my fingers aren't finding the keyboard. This day is a contemplation. I can't interfere with that yet. Perhaps tomorrow.

Suffice to say that I am extremely self-congratulatory; I've never felt a bigger sense of accomplishment. Ever. I feel like the Olympics theme song should be playing throughout the land with me today. Buckaroo is my giggling, slobbering, glorious, ridiculous trophy of life.

Ok, ok, ok, enough. Here's a pic of him swinging on a swingset for the first time, last week.



He laughed til he cried on this thing. It was a condensed version of the whole absurd adventure here.

Glory, glory hallelujah. Good night.

Future Homeland

Well. It looks like we won't be moving to Tunisia anytime soon. That's ok. I can put my family's dream on hold until, oh, I dunno, maybe after neighboring regimes topple and so forth.

But I'd already started scouting vacation home purchases. There are condos for sale just around the corner from where some Mos Eisley cantina scenes were filmed. How long will that last? Oh well. I believe in democracy, so I'll wait. It just gives us more time to save. And to decide: apartment near a city center, or a rustic home deep in the desert?

Where else in the world could use a revolution? Because I could threaten to move my family there, and then maybe the people would revolt. Taking suggestions.

(we're watching American Idol right now. good guchky blech. Stop me. I've never seen it from the early stages like this. JL0 always has such shiny lips. How many hours a week is this junk on?)

In closing: we have an alternative: my sister-in-law informs me that there is a Jedi Training Academy in Florida somewhere. I've never been to Florida. Buckaroo has never been to Florida. Goals!

Going to bed. xo

Normal

This morning NPR seemed only to offer gut-wrenching news. A news day that makes me almost feel guilty for looking down and seeing my ridiculously hilarious baby talking to the cat. It certainly heightens my adoration for him. I'm glad I don't have to worry about a revolution next door. My worries are more of the runny-nose, paying-bills, finding-work, remembering-birthdays, practicing-patience variety.

The other day I was talking on the phone with darling Whitney. She was so very sad and worried about a colleague who found himself in the middle of a very dramatic and dangerous cancer diagnosis. We bemoaned how suddenly it struck him. One day was a normal day, the next day was an emergency. So terrifying, how instantly and irreversibly "normal" can be snatched from you.

But, on the other end, reveling in normal can be difficult. I certainly have a hard time with it pretty often. I guess its the "new normal" of my SAHM status that seems uncomfortable sometimes. Plus, this baby-raising stuff is such a goshdarn moving target, normal is a shape-shifter. (I give that metaphor about a c+) But lately I've felt lump-in-your-throat appreciation for it. I attribute it to getting enough sleep that I can actually feel my feelings accurately.

Case in point: this past Sunday, Woodworker was puttering in the yard and I caught a glimpse of him through the kitchen window. He was so serious, cleaning a strange landscapey effort that the previous owners created (other people have strange ideas), and our 5 chickens were clucking around him with devotion. The sun was shining and there was a bald eagle gliding elegantly above the houses. I rested a moment, taking it in. Buckaroo had just gone down for a nap so I could really relax as I contemplated, which was delightful. It was such a piece-of-art moment. Tho, if you saw that image in a painting or a Rockwell drawing, it would look ridiculous with the eagle and everything. Plus, there must be a joke in there somewhere, involving chickens and eagles, or husbands and chickens - I'm not sure. Anyway, I remember that I really felt the peace and joy of the moment, and I was incredibly grateful to feel the feelings.

Don't you ever wonder, why is this my normal in this life? Why was someone else born into normal in Mumbai or Paris? But if you think on your normal too much, it gets annoying. I'm just feeling really grateful for the normal right now.

Dear Alexa

Dear Alexa,

I know you'd find my last post appalling. I myself am appalled. Why did I mention undergarments? I am, indeed, adrift in a sea of nonstyle. I call on you for help often, as you know. And, for instance, I think about you while I'm staring at the clothes in my closet. (I think about you all over the place, often, with this and that, etc. etc. But I try not to think too hard, because then I get sad, sullen, crying, etc etc. But its a gentle resting upon my thoughts that I feel, a half-mindedness even, a chit-chat, etc etc.) GoodNESS you would tisk tisk my lot. But you'd be polite about it. I CANNOT believe I went to Fred Meyer looking like that.

I did shower today, while Buck was napping. FYI. And, let it be known, that I made a solemn vow after the Nov 4 Reunion with the girls last year that I would only ever maintain pretty undergarments. And I've done well with that. No ratty cotton numbers with shot elastic. No bottom-of-the-barrel huge undies that look like shopping bags that you wear when all else is in the laundry. No 17-year-0ld brassieres held together with safety pins that one holds onto because they're from Victoria's Secret and one has only ever had that one thing from VS. No ill-fitting camisoles. Just get rid of them!!! And I have. (shocking pile of discards.) And I'm hoping that the "only pretty" factor will rub off on the other categories of my wardrobe. I hope this paradigm will guide me when I shop. But it doesn't guide me as much as it should. And I go to Walmart too much.

The thing about leaving the city is that Walmart is all-of-a-sudden much more convenient. And cheap. $5 leggings, may I remind you. Times are tight. I would wager that you never saw the inside of a Walmart. Neither did I for many many many many years. I don't think there are any in King County, no? Anyway, not important. What is important is that I should stick to "only pretty" even if I'm at Walmart looking at $12 windbreakers.

Often, when I'm shopping, I do have you with me. We chat, or you nod your approval, or shake your head to redirect me. I just get so dang influenced by cheap and/or comfortable and/or practical crap. I don't know if angels are allowed to do this, but if you are, please knock some sense into me. Or pinch my butt. Or bite my ear. Something.

Admittedly, the new normal includes managing my silly baby while shopping. The new normal means I've only had the where-with-all to shop a great speeds, with not much reflection, keeping a wiggling sillybuns from grabbing clothes off the racks. And, since motherhood, I've not seen myself as being out in the world, of the world, with the other people in the world, so why be cute? But I do feel more worldish lately, and sometimes I actually want to look the part. And I think of you. Lovelovelove.

I do have a supercute haircut, though, don't you think. And I'm wearing a really adorable damask apron while I cook muffins this morning, no? And Buckaroo has a cheeky cute outfit on. And, most delicious of all, we got a pretty good night's beauty rest. Hallelujah. Thank you, I'm sure.

And, at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if I have pretty unmentionables if I don't actually wear them, right? Sheesh.

xoxo

High Fashion and Steak

Well, in case you were wondering, I did cut that steak into a heart. But I am sheepish to admit that it was meager compared to the gifts I got for Valentine's Day. We said we weren't going to buy anything, dang it, but I love that he did. The fact that he went to the store and stood in front of the card display and picked one and everything. Shocking and adorable. I also got a beautiful stone ring made by one of the artists that shows in his gallery. I love her work. Such a surprise. I also got a monstrous london broil steak. This is a favorite way of gifting from my husband, and it happens on my birthday as well - a gift for me for him. It cracked me up. But I was also mad because it was 50 times bigger than the the heart steak I presented. Hmph.

In other news, you are wondering what I'm wearing today. First, know that lately I've been comfortable only in knee-high socks. So, am wearing some ancient ski socks. Then, moving up, $5 blackish leggings complete with ratty holes; a turquoise tank top under an over-sized tee-shirt with a glow-in-the-dark Darth Maul on it; no bra (who cares?); a below-the-knees hooded cardigan that would look like a cozy wool item from Sundance if it weren't acrylic from Disney with a Tinkerbell on the lapel, which I found at Goodwill for $6. Oh, and VPL, but no matter because of the long cardigan. I'm hot.

So, now that we're all dressed, I need to get us out the door. I need to mail a big package, but I am stalling because I don't know how to get both it and Buckaroo into the post office.

TMI,
nellie

Cookies and Steak

One year ago, on Valentine's Day, I was huge-like pregnant, and really wishing that I would have a valentine's baby. I was one week before my due date. Nothing happened. Well, stuff happened - it was a regular day - but I didn't have a baby. Exactly 2 weeks later I did, which was...memorable.

Earlier today I had a long talk about that memorable experience with one of my BFFs, AmyF, who is getting ready to have her first baby in a few minutes. (Due the 24th) I hadn't recounted it in a while. Its very interesting how the details coalesce into a tale to be told. Some parts are so terribly hard to describe. And I think the growing distance, the retrospect, tidies things up a bit. Anyway, it was a pleasure, actually, to tell the tale today. A nice reminder of my Valentines:



An old shot, from September. Today is not so sunny. Rather, it is gloriously windy and cloudy. Dramatic weather, which I love. And yet, there is promise of spring because gosh-darn-it if I don't see a rhododendron bud showing some glimpses of bright fuchsia petals in the neighbor's yard.

No big whoops around here for the valentinesness of the day. I made cookies that Woodworker requested, and we'll have a steak dinner. I might cut the steak in a heart shape, if it thaws in time. Though, that seems a bit macabre. Buckaroo did get his first valentine in the mail from his cousins Natalia and Juliana. He seemed to know it was dear because he held tight to it and didn't chew on it. He's a delight.

I am, admittedly, a bit forlorn on this day because I finished a really good book last night. I feel so adrift without a book to read. I miss the characters and the story. They were important to me, dang it!! Oh well, I'm sure I'll love again.

xoxo
nellie

Soiled SIM Card

It is Thursday, 8:24 am, and there is poop on my SIM card. Not mine. Not my poop, I mean.

It all happened really fast. Why do I give him my phone to play with? But it worked to keep him still while I changed his diaper just now. And in a flash, he dismantled my phone whilst I was removing his diaper, and with a grin and a twist and I-don't-know-exactly-what, he managed to apply poop to the SIM card and battery, and fling them under the tv hutch.

And that is where they may stay for a while until I figure out my next move.

Good morning.
nellie

Cock a doodle dooooo

It is 6:53 am. We've been up for 2 hours here already. SOMEBODY, I'm not naming names, has his sleep all topsy turvy. And its not me and its not my husband. Right now the culprit is playing in the tupperware drawer. Grrrrr.

Kind Of A Big Deal Around Here

I have a major announcement:

Tomorrow I have an actual appointment at a bonafide beauty salon. I will be going all by my self. Again, All. By. My. Self.

I have not had an appointment of any sort besides the doctor since before Buckaroo was born. I have driven in the car, without Buckaroo, to go do stuff in the Outside World maybe 3 or 4 times since he was born (and 2 of those were doctor's appointments). I am so excited, I can barely type.

Well, I take that back, I've made a half a dozen jaunts to the country market down the road for half-and-half or whatever. So, technically, the number is higher.

But guess what else. You can't. After I get my hair cut, I am going to Michael's. I am going to wander the hallowed halls of unnecessary craft supplies. I will probably even buy something. Maybe something related to Buckaroo's birthday party. I don't know. I don't know. There's no way to know. We'll see. But I know I am going to take my time. It is a good thing they don't sell martinis there.

My son smells so bad right now. He has completed some business in his diaper. But I'm not done here yet. I want to make another declaration: I cleaned the microwave. I feel so freakin' competent right now.

Ok. This diaper is not kidding. I need to go deal with it.

More later,
Nellie

Dispatches from the Outside

Good morning!!!

Recently, my husband sent me an image during the middle of the day. He was at a client's house (some sort of cabinet or furniture installation, I presume) and saw this sitting on their couch:



Ahhhhnnnn. The truth. Solid, clear, undeniable, substantial, superincredibly annoying.

I appreciate his willingness to share this funny shot with me when he knew I may have an unremitting, obnoxious response. But I actually had a nice belly laugh and enjoyed it. Plus, I appreciate him thinking of me slaving over the hearth (sort of) while he is out there hunting and gathering (and eating sushi).

So, here at the hearth, my Inside world, I'm going to start making these pillows and I'm going to sell them on Etsy and I"m going to become a mommy blog internet sensation. And please let it be known that last night I asked my Man of the Outside if he knew what the urls were for my blogs, and he did not. (he's been told and shown numerous times.) And not because he doesn't care, but because he has better things to do (hunt, gather) than to master this "internet" thing.

More importantly: He has NO IDEA what I write here. Think what I could do with this!

In conclusion, as we approach Super Bowl weekend, and the following Post-Season Depression for some, let us praise.... I don't know what we're praising. Pillows? The internet? Husbands? Something like that.

xoxo
nellie