The hurricane left angry seas in its wake, making today the first day we swam in the ocean. But it’s aallllllll goooood. Except for the broken sunroof. And the dog who was certain the skunk was an innocent little kitty who was dying to say HI!
republished with pictures that didn’t stick in the WordPress iPhone app
Even with the dogs and the cats, it’s so still.
Away for five days with their great aunt, the boys aren’t here.
They aren’t in their beds, whispering to each other from seven feet apart as we insist they hush up and go to sleep.
They aren’t asking for one more drink of water, one more story, one more joke.
It’s his first real bike.
Other than his mother’s face smothering him with kisses, it was the first thing he saw when he woke up this morning, his ninth birthday. He was up in an instant, putting on his clothes and running for his helmet.
I heard the thud of the backpack making contact before I saw what happened. Muffled by the puffy ski jacket, the sound of backpack-to-flesh was nonetheless unmistakable.
Restless from endless (pointless) days of Connecticut Mastery Test-taking and no recess, my oldest was uncharacteristically violent with his brother that week. He swung his heavy backpack, stuffed to the brim with God knows what (he likes flat rocks), and landed a blow square against his brother’s shoulder.
For the first time in more than a year, I pointed to The Corner. Click to continue »
The tetras died last week. Cleaning up in the wake of rotavirus at 2 am, I saw Mike (or was it Ike?) floating upside down in the bowl. The other followed about 12 hours later. Having survived the bigger, dumber cat breaking their bowl and the subsequent (yet momentary) flailing about on the kitchen floor, I thought they were hardy suckers. Not like that showy little golden tetra who mysteriously disappeared when I left all the fish in a mixing bow overnight. No, these were tough guys, capable of dodging the sharpest and fastest cat claws.
I got so lucky with the header picture.
Yes, I’ve posted this picture before. I took it at South Beach, trying to capture my boys in silhouette.
It’s now among my very favorite pictures, ever. Sure, Alison Shaw, you’ve got the pole position (and the second… and the third…) in my dining room. Truth be told, your prints are the first and only serious pieces of art we’ve owned.
But I’m claiming the blog header as my own.
I have so very much to say. But It’s going to have to keep for a bit while my brain attempts to make sense of the impossible. Back soon.
It happened.
I had to quickly run into school this morning when I dropped off the boys. The doodle girl set off the car alarm while I was talking to the principal and trying to act like a grownup, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.
My oldest stopped to say goodbye to me before we entered the building and then scurried ahead, disappearing through the double doors and down the hall without me.
Because he didn’t want his friends to see him kissing his mom.
I thought about being upset was devastated while I silently cheered on my boy, finding his way through the wilds of third grade.
Later, I consoled myself with this little piece of sweetness that came home in his folder earlier in the week. Family photos, the cover said. This was the last page:
more momful pride after the jump
Remember last summer when we thought spending a few weeks at the beach seemed perfectly reasonable? I do. Vaguely.
Taking hundreds of pictures during our Vineyard trip last August was a clutch move. Sure, the memories will sustain us for a while. More importantly, my laptop is throwing off a lot of heat as I fix the tilted horizons and try to eliminate zombie dog eyes… and I’m sure running a computer is far cheaper than turning the heat up above 58 degrees.
Viewing the world from the late November market’s underbelly, hitting the road for two weeks seems a little extravagant. But I wouldn’t want the money back. Blowing it on an overland parking permit, Back Door Donuts, Sharkey’s margaritas and fishing poles (the ones a certain dog who shall remain nameless ate somewhere between Providence and New London) sure was fun. Pull up a chair and warm your hands by the CPU with me as I stroll down memory lane.
I’m still enamored of the clams in the bucket. If I took one picture of these, I took 4 dozen. Greedy greedy greedy.
The Edgartown Lighthouse is beautiful inside and out. And, yeah, I remember those flip flops. I think Talullah ate them some time in early September.
More extravagant memories after the jump.
Although we only had 12 people here yesterday, i think I cooked enough for several dozen more. What a feast: brined turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, a cheese board, three pies.. and that’s just what I made, never mind what two of my sisters and my mom contributed. Thanks to a late night of pre-Thanksgiving cooking and a touch of insomnia for the past few nights, I am completely exhausted.
My youngest, who dressed up as a chef for Halloween, couldn’t have been happier helping me cook. He’s finally at an age where when he comes in the kitchen to help, he really does help! He couldn’t have been more disappointed when I sent him to bed Wednesday before I put the Yukon Golds through the potato ricer (my top Thanksgiving gadget of all time). He was in the kitchen before me, sorting dishes (and breaking wine glasses – whoops) and ready to get cooking.
What a kid. I think I’ve officially turned over Thanksgiving hosting duties to him, as of yesterday.
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