It turns out I am easily unmoored.
My parents took the kids up to the lake yesterday, and I was faced with thirty childless hours in which to get some things done. Productivity! It’s actually amazing how much can be accomplished when the children are not around. It’s also kind of startling how much of my time is spent preparing food and washing dishes. My husband wanted to take me out for dinner – to a restaurant, on a Tuesday night, the apocalypse – and so I really had a vast amount of time on my hands. What does one do with the hours between 4:00 and 6:00 if not make dinner, eat dinner, clean up from dinner, supervise children’s cleaning of the table? If you’re me, you guiltily curl up on the couch and watch an old episode of Mad Men, read an Alice Munro short story, and feel despair because you STILL haven’t written the article for the community newsletter but DAMN you really don’t want to write about the bridge club and senior’s tea.
It’s strange not having the kids around, and the dog seems to have lapsed into a depression. When the kids are at school, Barkley generally has the air of someone who has been left with the world’s most boring person, but who is bravely making the best of it: namely flopping bonelessly on the mat outside the door or the dog bed, perking up only to go for a walk. The kids being gone overnight, though, is a whole different story. Barkley is currently lying at the top of the steps, with his head hanging over the top step in what appears to be a terribly uncomfortable position but possibly represents all the effort he is currently willing to put into life.
Yesterday I had finished quite a bit of writing – not about the senior’s tea, mind you, but quite a bit – and buoyed by my no-adult-responsibilities lunch of grapes and popcorn, I started pruning the giant spirea shrub beside the garage. This shrub had grown fairly out of control, such that anyone of any height coming out of the garage would get hit in the face by a number of branches, and so I grabbed the pruning shears and went to town. I looked down and there was Barkley, standing silently, covered with leaves and branches that he didn’t even bother to shake off. Poor puppy! I vowed to take him for a walk immediately but then realized that I was still in my sweaty yoga pants at 1:30 in the afternoon, my yoga practice having ended five hours prior.
This is what happens when I have no kids and no schedule, apparently. Another day like this and the next thing you know I’ll be a total unwashed hippie, busted flat in Baton Rouge, putting daisies in bazookas, dropping the bad brown acid at Woodstock, and contracting STD’s from all that free loving. Because it’s a slippery slope, don’t you know. One day a person wears sweaty yoga clothes all day long, the next day that person is on an acid freakout and passes out in a field of mud, with chlamydia and syphilis. TIME TO SHOWER.
For a trippy Woodstocky experience, check out this “director’s cut” of The Who’s See Me Feel Me. I love that song and I think this video is quite awesome, but yet I find myself obsessed with the fact that Roger Daltry is shirtless underneath that enormously fringed leather jacket. You can practically smell the body odour, just watching that video. Ah, the Sixties. So much musical talent. So little personal hygiene.
Ooh, I just discovered this Jefferson Airplane clip from Woodstock, and if you want to see some REALLY HIGH people with some funky-ass hair, check it out. Fun fact: Grace Slick is still alive and is 73! Man, that’s remarkable on a number of levels.
All right, enough about Woodstock (how did I get on that topic? Oh yeah, showers.) My life will resume regular programming tout de suite, since I’m heading out to pick the kids up today, albeit a little nervously, since there are severe thunderstorm warnings in the direction I’m driving. “Significant storm activity” is not something I want to be driving into, especially since I am not, exactly, someone who loves highway driving. Wish me luck! Also wish me luck on actually finishing this article on the bridge club. It’s not going to write itself. xo
Category Archives: Mind Songs
Moar Happyer; A Diversion
“I don’t get it,” Mark said from the back of the minivan, the minivan that was rocking with hip tunes from the seventies. “Why does that guy want to be a Fireside Girl?” “Maybe he wants to sell those cupcakes or get badges.” Jake suggested.
For reference, this was the song that was on the radio. I know, I should really listen to more current music, and I DO, I really do. But sometimes I need a break from accidentally belting out the uncensored lyrics to “Thrift Shop” in front of my kids. “Mom, that word is really bad. It’s even worse than FRICKING. It means the same thing as this,” the kids will say in their best reprimanding manner, raising their middle fingers so I can see for myself just how inappropriate it is.
In other words, I’ll keep my old-people radio station that advertises for Grey Power Insurance. Related: it’s almost my birthday! Time to break out the tiara, drink lots of wine, and eat cake! So, pretty much like every weekend. Last birthday I celebrated turning-older-than-Mrs-Robinson; this year is kind of anti-climactic since I don’t know what cougarish fictional character I’m going to be older than. I have a good ten years before I will be older than Dallas from Suburgatory.
Although I do have one of these foam fingers, only it’s green:
My foam finger is highly underutilized in the bedroom department, however.
Speaking of sexytimes, Barkley has finally stopped attempting to, ahem, dominate a certain little Shih tzu dog named Freddie at the off leash park. This is big news. It is also the end of a short lived, yet very embarrassing era in which I would have to grab Barkley’s collar, yelling “Barkley, NO!” while simultaneously apologizing to the older lady to whom Freddie belongs. I was somewhat curious why Barkley continued to try to have his way with Freddie given that a) Barkley is a eunich, and b) Freddie is male. Perhaps Barkley is gay? My friend Nan informed me that if Barkley is gay, then her dog, who regularly attempted to dominate pillows in a similar manner for many months, must be a foamosexual.
Foamosexual. It’s a word that never fails to make me smile, although now that I posted a picture of a foam finger, it’s kind of disturbing.
Other cheerful things that are happening around here: Jake told me he loves school, and that is because in his mind school is a video game and whenever he accomplishes a goal or a difficult task, he considers it a “level completed”. I feel like something is a bit off with that, but whatever works. Level up, buddy. Mark is finishing his last swim class today and I’m fairly sure he did not “level up”, as it were. “I’m the slowest swimmer in my class!” he told me, to which I did NOT respond that I was consistently the second worst athlete in every single phys ed class growing up. He should just be glad I procreated with his “Award of Excellence” father, just to get some athleticism genes. I mean, that’s not the only reason I procreated with him. He’s number one! *raises foam finger*
It is also “Tacky Tourist” day at school, and I for one welcome this dress-up day as being much, much easier than “Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up” day or “Dress As Your Favourite Storybook Character” day, both of leave me bemused and devoid of all creative ideas. At least, I thought it was easy. This is what they looked like this morning:
Of course, we got to school and all the kids had crazy straw hats and sunglasses and cabana wear but STILL. Maui t-shirts count for something, I think.
In the wink of a young girl’s eye
I have heard “Glory Days” no fewer than five times in the past two days. Is it a sign? Perhaps the universe is saying something about my impending 20 year high school reunion. Should I start reliving those glory days? Perhaps don a baby doll dress to wear with army boots? Spiral perm my hair? Wear bright red lipstick and get all excited about quadratic equations? Perfect my Southern accent so I can portray Amanda Wingfield in the school play?
Glory days indeed. It occurred to me today that I have never seen a single episode of The Littlest Hobo or The Beachcombers. I wonder if that’s enough to get my Canadian citizenship revoked. I can only recall regularly watching three television shows when I was a child: The Muppet Show (and later, Fraggle Rock), The Smurfs, and Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness. I loved Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness. I can still recall being devastated by the episode about Canada geese, and the widowed goose who would now live out the remainder of her life alone and mateless. The poor, poor goose.
Speaking of popular culture on television, Season Five of Mad Men is now on Netflix and I have been voraciously re-watching it in anticipation of the Season Six opener on Saturday. I’m really enjoying this since I seem to have forgotten all the plot lines. Peggy, and her vague disillusionment with her job. Megan, following her dream to become a lady of the theatre. Betty, attending Weight Watchers meetings. I’m almost at the episode where – spoiler alert! – Lane is FOUND IN HIS OFFICE and damn, I forgot how great this show is. Also I am coveting Megan’s entire wardrobe which is a strange thing to covet. “I should get a dress like that for next year’s Christmas party!” I say to my husband on a near-nightly basis, who looks alarmed at the very idea of me wearing a dress with a six inch skirt to his conservative office party.
The children were the thrilled recipients of clock radios last weekend. We are all early birds in this house; waking the kids up for school is not something that actually happens here. We are all up and raring to go hours before school begins, but my husband and I thought the clocks would be a good idea for the weekend. The children are only allowed to play video games on the weekend, so they have taken to waking up extra early on Saturdays so as to maximize their game-playing time. There are worse problems, but I like being able to sleep until the crazy hour of 6:45 or 7:00 on the weekend, and so we have installed clocks in their rooms as a “please don’t wake Mom and Dad up until 6:45” measure. So far it’s worked but the most fun thing about it is how the kids will retire to their rooms during the day just to listen to the radio. It’s like we’ve been transported back to the sixties. THOSE KIDS AND THEIR ROCK AND ROLL MUSIC.
Clock radios! I wonder if they are boasting about them at school. They are so thrilled with them, I would not be surprised. Are clock radios an actual status symbol, or are my children just deprived little pseudo-Kazhakstanis? “I get window from glass, he must get window from glass. I get step, he gets step. I get clock radio. He cannot afford!” Hopefully none of their little friends will break into our house late at night. Say goodbye to your clock radio.
Nicole’s Favourite Things, January Blues Edition
Last week I posted about being blue on Blue Monday, but today it was brought to my attention that TODAY IS BLUE MONDAY. But I was sad last week! I’m not sad today! How can it possibly be Blue Monday if I am not sad?
I know. I know. It isn’t all about me. Maybe some of you are feeling blue? Well, you have come to the right place, because it is *cue Oprah-audience-like-screaming* Nicole’s Favourite Things, The January Blues Edition!!!
Squee!
January is SUCH a bear of a month, what with the comedown from the holidays and – if you live in a climate like mine – the thought that there is at least, at LEAST, three more months of winter, and often more. Now that’s depressing. But! At least we don’t have to worry about the trains not getting through and grinding wheat and twisting hay to keep warm, am I right? Plus there are lots of fun things that will help us get through this month. So, let’s get started, shall we?
Nicole’s Favourite Things – January Blues Edition
I spend much more time outside in the winter than I would like. I take the dog on long daily walks, I stand in the playground dropping the kids off at school, I stand in the playground waiting for the kids after school, I stand in the playground watching the kids sled and play in the snow and assure me that no, they’re not warm, in fact they are boiling. In other words, I’m constantly freezing. This year I bought legwarmers, and they have been life-altering.
Life-altering, I tell you. They are not at ALL Flashdance-like. They are long, and woolly, and cozy. If I could, I would make out with them, I love them THAT much.
After I wrote this, a girlfriend told me about her favourite coat from Eddie Bauer. She swore that she was warm walking her dog in minus 25 degree weather; she sent me the link noting that a) the coat was on sale for 25% off, and b) it was available in black. SOLD.
It’s so long and warm, and as a bonus I do not feel like I’m an octogenarian while wearing it. Plus it’s got a cute hood!
It’s faux fur, of course. In the course of my winter coat shopping, my husband coaxed me to try on a Canada Goose coat, which he was highly in favour of. That’s when I found out the grim truth – Canada Goose uses real fur on their coats! Real fur! Who does that anymore? When I told the salesgirl that, sadly, this was a deal breaker for me, she informed me that Canada Goose only uses animals that have died of natural causes. The bees are doing what now? I have strong doubts about that. How is that even possible? Do they harvest their furs from roadkill? Do they put animals on little treadmills until they die of exhaustion? It boggles the mind.
Moving along. Calgary is a dry, dry climate, and it’s much worse in the winter. My hands have been known to snag my clothing, they can get so dry and chapped. I bought this cocoa butter hand cream, and it’s a miracle. I put it on at night because otherwise I’m not sure I could open door knobs. The smell is wonderful; it reminds me so much of the cocoa butter stick I used on my giant pregnant stomach to avoid stretch marks. It always makes me think of how happy I was while pregnant, and I always smile. Cure for the blues, right there!
And I know, I know, I say something about Bath and Body Works lotion every time I write a Nicole’s Favourite Things, but, as I mentioned before, I’m a lotion addict. The Brown Sugar and Fig scent is nice and warm smelling, perfect for a cold January day.
I like using shower cream instead of shaving gel; it leaves my legs softer and smoother. This scent always makes me smile because I have a friend and yoga teacher named Harmony. I like to think “Stop! Harmony time!” in the manner of MC Hammer. Also, it has a really pretty floral scent.
I have not yet seen Les Miserables, although I’m dying to. I saw the play in the theatre years ago and immediately went out and bought the soundtrack, I loved the music so. Now, I see movies in the theatre rarely but I’m hoping to make it out before it ends up on Pay Per View, but in the meantime I have been listening to the soundtrack non-stop. Unfortunately, that means that I have At The End Of The Day perpetually in my head. Remember that old episode of Seinfeld when George gets Master of the House stuck in his head and is worried about his eventual descent into madness? It’s like that.
Of course, one thing leads to another, and then I start listening to The Phantom of the Opera. This is terrible news for my children, as I sing all the parts. Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say GOOOOOOD byeeeeee.
Speaking of the darling children, they have started karate. “I know it’s a martial art,” I said to my husband, “But I’m surprised at how much they talk about potential attacks!” He raised his eyebrows at me. “You’re surprised by this?”
That last picture makes me nervous. I mean, Mark is RIGHT by the stairs. Well, they are all still in one piece, so it’s all fine.
Your turn, dear reader. What makes you happy during this blue month of January? xoxo
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PS Every Monday I will be writing about lunches, over at The Ladies Who (Make) Lunch! I’m so excited about this, I just can’t hide it. Go check out my first post, about coming home for lunch, and some nice memories from the 80s.
Anyone else have a crush on Mike the hitman?
Wowza, it’s been quite a strange week. I was eyeing the bottle of wine on the counter, wondering if it would be acceptable to enjoy a glass before dinner; it’s a Friday after all, I spent ninety minutes standing in the playground this afternoon, my husband is working late as usual and what the hell. I need no more excuses. I cracked that baby open and am now enjoying a polite, lady-sized glass which will be replaced by a few big-ass trashy ones later. IT’S FRIDAY.
Yesterday I was contemplating ending it all, or at least drinking myself into oblivion, because I could not get the song Crystal Blue Persuasion out of my head. Those of you who have been watching Breaking Bad may understand why this is pertinent. My husband and I have been watching this show for a few months now, and now that we are all caught up on episodes, I am feeling bereft and wondering what I have left to live for, on weekend evenings at least. Anyone want to talk about Breaking Bad? Because I’m kind of upset it’s all over until the SUMMER. I’m also realizing that there is something inherently wrong with me; no one else seems to have a crush on Mike the hitman.
Crystal Blue Persuasion was soon replaced by – oddly enough – Old Time Rock and Roll. If there is a song that can possibly be more “get people out on the dance floor at a wedding”, I would like to know what it is. In fact, dancing with my husband’s best friend – who was our wedding MC – to that song is one of my favourite memories from my wedding. Other than getting married to my awesome husband and being totally the centre of attention, of course. That was pretty fun too.
Old Time Rock and Roll seems a standard at weddings, bringing about nice memories of happily drunken dancing. See also: YMCA, Do the Locomotion (with the bride leading the chain), Macarena, Celebration, and, of course, the Chicken Dance. For my wedding, my brother gave me a card with a picture of a very drunken guest, tie on head, yelling at the band “Play Freebird!” while the bride and groom danced sedately. The caption: “Why You Shouldn’t Have an Open Bar”. We did have an open bar at our wedding, however I am fairly sure we didn’t play Freebird. Freebird! The 70s was a great time for such songs. Freebird, Baby Don’t Get Hooked On Me, and By The Time I Get To Phoenix. All songs about how monogamy is the WORST, apparently, and only suckers go for it. Suckers who do not wish for a life of loneliness and STD’s, I guess. The other day I was listening to Summer Breeze, one of my favourite songs, and I was struck at the idyllic picture of domesticity it portrays, given that it was written in the 70s. Did the writers not know that casual and unprotected sex was where it was at? *draws a square in the air with fingers*
A little note on open bars: I voiced a slight concern about one of our wedding guests – a notable messy drunk – and my aunt gave me these words of wisdom, “There is a drunken idiot at every wedding. In my case, it was my husband.” BURN.
I opened up my computer today and in the “news headlines” was a story about child stars – where are they now? The star in question pictured was Tina Yothers, so I had to click on the link since Tina Yothers looks uncannily like one of my cousins. It turns out that Tina Yothers – and most of the other child stars – are not really doing much, from a Hollywood standpoint, unless you count reality television, which I do not. However, I was stunned – STUNNED – to discover this little piece of information: Leonardo DiCaprio was on Growing Pains. He was? This feels like something I should have known, although why I should know this I’m unsure since I essentially am terrible at pop culture. I’m not as bad as my dad, however, who confuses Will Smith with Samuel L. Jackson. DAD. It’s the Fresh Prince versus Mace Windu.
My plan for this post was to copy Amber Strocel and compile a “happiness list” but right now I have wine and After Eights on it. Oh, and this cashew “cheese” recipe. Oh! I just thought of something else: my husband, dear man, bought me my very own copies of The Breakfast Club (Judd Nelson – where is he now?) and Say Anything (ditto Ione Skye). Squee! That’s happiness right there, on a DVD. Ditched in the Malibu! It’s your castle! I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen. Diane Court is a show pony, and you, my friend, are a stallion.
Am I digressing? I’m digressing. There are lots of things that make me happy but at the moment I cannot adequately organize my thoughts into a list. I got too distracted after I found this kind of awesome live version of Freebird on youtube. And this bird you cannot tame. Also this post has taken longer than I initially thought to write, and now I’m onto big-ass trashy glasses of wine. What are we talking about? Whee! Happy Friday!
FEEL THE ENERGY
Every month, I realize anew that my complete lack of energy for a week, followed by super-strength-energizer-bunny energy is actually related to my, how shall I put this, lady cycles. And yet every month I find myself wondering what is wrong with me, and why am I so tired? Last week everything was a massive effort: yoga was slow going, walking the dog was exhausting, making the beds was the wooooooorst. I could barely heat up pasta sauce and boil noodles without collapsing on the kitchen floor; then yesterday I woke up with the “I’m going to clean the house!” feeling, and found myself scrubbing that same kitchen floor, moving all the appliances and polishing the granite, and washing down all the cupboards with a homemade solution of hot water, vinegar, and dish soap. Later I grocery shopped, played Just Dance with the boys – earning myself four stars on A-Ha’s Take On Me, just saying – created a recipe for and made tomato coconut soup, and took the dog on a brisk, long walk. Anyone want some waffles? Guys? Waffles? I enjoy these energy bursts but a little less variance would be nice.
It was a lovely weekend, complete with my husband’s office Christmas party on Friday and a potluck party on Saturday, where I developed an obsession with eggplant, specifically with vegan eggplant rollatini. My friend gave me his recipe and now I’m going to attempt to recreate it. Maybe I’ll make it for Christmas Eve dinner, so I can have something to eat while my husband and children eat steak. Christmas Eve we spend at home, traditionally watching Elf and moving Jake’s bed into Mark’s room so they can have a “sleepover”. Lately I’ve been thinking that we should have a Christmas Eve food tradition. On Christmas Day we go to my parents, where my mom makes a turkey and I gorge on variations of yam and sweet potato dishes and chocolate Yule log – the best dessert ever – but Christmas Eve…well, Marilyn said it best. We asked the boys what they wanted for a special Christmas Eve dinner and they unanimously requested barbecued steak. In December. But my husband agreed to suck it up, bundle up and barbecue, so I think having a vegan eggplant rollatini for myself and for anyone else who might try it (i.e., no one) might be just the ticket. Festive meals in the Boyhouse – steak and eggplant.
The other day I was listening happily to my 70s soft-pop station and singing along. I was making dinner at the time and had my hands full, so when Baby Ima Want You came on, I called into the living room to get one of the boys to turn it up. “I love this song!” I said. “I DON’T.” Jake said emphatically. “This is a VEGETARIAN SONG. Meat-eaters like songs that are more rocking.” Out of the mouths of babes, I say. Not that I don’t enjoy some good rocking tunes myself, but it seems he is onto something. We have been classifying music as vegetarian and carnivore ever since.
I am feeling very festive today: it’s less than a month until Christmas, and last night we turned on our outdoor lights, the excitement hangover of which has caused me to hum Christmas songs all morning. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, I sang while blow-drying my hair this morning, and when I turned off the dryer I discovered the boys were also singing Christmas songs, but the kind where they were celebrating the snow turning red from dead Santa, along with Batman being stinky and Robin laying eggs. We have also been celebrating the return of the fireplace channel on TV. Nothing says festive excitement like watching the crackling logs of the fireplace channel, interspersed with the thrill of seeing the plaid-shirted guy put another log on, or poke the fire. Squee! At least once a night, at least one of the boys makes a comment about Santa coming down chimneys and becoming consumed by the fires therein.
Speaking of being burned, I was putting something into the oven and I accidentally touched the upper rack and burned the back of my hand. Then, two days later, I did the exact same thing in the exact same place. This tiny burn hurts so much it is making me extraordinarily sympathetic to actual burn victims. The thoughts in my head go something like this: wahhh, my hand hurts so much! Shut up, you baby. Think about people who have burns all over their bodies! Think of that! But my hand hurts! Wah!
Did you know November is Gratitude Month?
Well, it is! I don’t know who comes up with these specialty months; probably the same people who come up with “Grandparents’ Day”. For the record, every day is Grandparents’ Day, just like every month should be Gratitude Month. Right? It’s like I tell my kids when they are coveting something new immediately after a birthday, we should be grateful and enjoy the things we have, right now. And then I go and spoil it all by purchasing a new black sweater or a yoga top.
But truly, I have so much to be grateful for, every day, and not just the obvious things like health, family, drawers full of black sweaters, etc.
Things I am grateful for:
1) Jake can sing Gangnam Style, and his mastery of Korean lyrics is comparable to his mastery of English ones. Heeeeyyyyy, sexy lay-day. His rendition is equal, if not greater than, his rendition of I’m Sexy And I Know It. There’s nothing quite so inappropriately cute as a seven year old boy singing “I’ve got action in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it”. He is pretty fly.
2) The boys both like to dance Gangnam Style, although it is really just their regular dance moves, which leads me to believe that Psy stole their moves. Imitation, sincerest form of flattery, etc.
3) I went to an assembly at the kids’ school yesterday where there was a visit from several Calgary Stampeders and cheerleaders. I wasn’t going to go but I ran into a friend who was going and she totally peer pressured me. It turned out to be hugely fun, complete with student MC who, in a completely robot-like monotone, said how exciting it was to have the football players visit our school, and Go Stamps. Then the Ralph the Dog mascot pretended to lick the principal, and hilarity ensued.
4) Prior to attending the assembly, I was at the school photocopying things for next week’s book fair – what else do you do with a Master’s in Economics these days? – and a kid ran down the hall and barfed all over the hallway, because, as he said between retches to a teacher who was passing by, he couldn’t make it to the bathroom. I am very grateful that child is not in class with either of mine and we have – so far, knock wood and knock back more vitamins – not had the barfing plague hit our house.
5) I am ever-so-grateful for PVR technology. It is the technological advancement of our time. Better than sliced bread, voice mail, and the printing press, although not superior to automatic washers and dryers, email, or the wheel. I recorded Top Gun on TV and I’m thinking of watching it and live-blogging. While drinking wine. Don’t you think that would be fun? Son, your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash. In any event, my husband noticed that I was recording it and asked why. NO REASON. I like the dialogue? Now, where is that aviator suit?
6) People is going to come out with it’s Sexiest Man Alive, which means BLOGGING MANIA. Remember my list from last year, and the accompanying addendum? Well, my friend Nan just took it to a whole new level. Her post made my whole entire day. And my day started off with a friend buying me a soy latte with sugar-free vanilla so it was already pretty damn good. Go read it, and just think – NICK NOLTE won? Whaaaa? Where were all the other men in the world that year?
To be fair, his win was prior to this sexy photo, but still. Still.
7) I heard Rock Me Amadeus on the radio today. AMADEUS AMADEUS AMADEUS AMADEUS AMADEUS.
8) I bought a new cocoa-butter handcream for my hands which are so dry and cracked that clothing snags on them. The cream works a treat, and it also smells exactly like a cocoa-butter stick I used on my giant pregnant belly back in the day. The scent takes me back, in a very good way. I know it’s unpopular to say so, but I loved being pregnant. I wasn’t ever sick, and I loved getting Princess Treatment. I loved how people would express concern over me lifting a finger doing anything, I loved how the guys I worked with constantly brought me snacks and worried about me working too hard, I loved how people opened doors for me and helped me cross the street like a whale-like octogenarian. The cocoa-butter smell makes me feel all the warm fuzziness about being pregnant, without the inconvenience of actually being pregnant.
9) I am so grateful my kids are old enough to have normal, and frequently actually interesting conversations, they are old enough to do most things independently, and yet they still like to receive hugs, albeit not in public. I am grateful I can look back at pictures like this with nostalgia:
Remember the days that sitting up was too much effort due to massive sleep deprivation? I’m grateful to sleep. While I’m in the business of cute old pictures:
Jake has a wee little Tom Brady jersey on! Death by cuteness!
Look at the cute little bookworm! We seem to have the same facial expression, and it’s saying “Fuck off, we’re trying to read here.” And we can’t forget Barkley-when-he-was-a-puppy:
He is watching the Dog Whisperer!!!!
10) I am ever-so-grateful for you lovely readers, as always. xoxo
So tell me, darlings, what are you grateful for?