Yoga + Sugar = Happy

Leftover pad thai  has so far been the bright spot of another crazy-from-the-get-go workday.  Well that and the cookies--you know those little food-dyed butter cookies they make at Italian bakeries? There are some here, and I may have had one or two, and am fixating on the idea of one or two more. Oh yeah, that thing I said about trying to cut down on my sugar intake? Forget about that. That was, like, a phase dude. So over. I did have cake this weekend, but I want a do-over on that because it was just OK. This quest continues.

On the Go Me! tip I did manage to complete the yoga challenge, getting in 20 to 40 minutes of yoga every day for three weeks. OK I did miss a day, but it was only one. And Saturday I got to take a real studio class, which was such a treat. It was a 75 minute vinyasa flow, and I set my intention at the beginning of class to stay in the moment, to really savor and enjoy the session and not think about how much time was passing. It flew by! And the instructor did that thing I love during savasana when she comes around and pulls on your ankles while you're lying there all boneless. It's the dreamiest feeling.

So now that I've seen how it was hardly an inconvenience to fit yoga into my life on a regular basis, plus the improvement in form and flexibility that shows in such a short time when you keep at it, not to mention the all-around good feeling it gives me, I have the incentive to continue my practice. Maybe not every day, but the majority of days. I have plenty of DVDs and online and on-demand classes to choose from to keep me from getting bored, and I hope to throw a real class into the mix here and there. I am in no way a yoga purist, but the benefits I reap from it on my own terms are immeasurable. Even though I feel like this is something I do just for me, it comes around to being good for the whole family. Yes I do intend to introduce HR to yoga and get him in classes soon enough, but I'm really talking about the positive influence on my mental and physical health which impacts my overall role as a partner and mother.

Thinking back on my intention for Saturday's class, I feel like "stay in the moment" should be my intention for everything, every day. My mind tends to race ahead, particularly with baby progress. When he has a setback, I can only think, "when will this be over? When will he ever do X or stop doing X?" And I drive myself crazy, which can't be good for anybody. It's unproductive and creates anxiety. Also I'm sentimental, I get nostalgic for things before they're even over. Many a last day of vacation has been spoiled by me being in a funk that it'll be over the next day. All that time I could have been just enjoying, wasted. I really want to get over that. So here's where I can take a cue from my yoga practice. Stay in the moment: S.I.T.M. I should embroider that on something to remind me. I'm crap at embroidery, but that hardly seems the point, yah?

Well I've overstayed this moment today. I don't mean to be such a zealot, I'm just enthusiastic. I'll leave you with a super good song I'd nearly forgotten about.



I can't find the version where she duets with John Prine, but it's worth seeking out.

All I'm Sayin'

Sweet jesus my sweet baby is nine months old today! Tomorrow we go to get him measured and weighed and stuck with needles, the last time before he's a year old. I can't believe it, any of it. Pretty soon he'll be a toddler, and next thing I know we'll be locking up the booze and teaching him about how birth control isn't just the girl's responsibility (or the safe-sex equivalent if he's turns out not to be interested in girls). This is just to say, even when I get caught up in the every day obsession with his sleeping and eating and pooping, time is a son of a bitch and I need to just enjoy his biteable cheeks and willingness to be hugged while I can.

What to say about all this snow? Two things only: 1) I am so lucky to have off-street parking and a husband who gets down with a shovel like nobody's business and 2) a short trip to Florida has been planned for April during which we'll get to visit with my girl Nik and soak up some sunshine and experience flying with a little one (not so much looking forward to that part, but at least it's not too long a flight). Something to look forward to is a mighty powerful coping mechanism.

Oh, and thank you all for your feedback on my cake search! So many good ideas. I'm thinking about whipping myself up a Guinness chocolate cake if I get the time - it's the one cake I have made with repeated success and sooo good. And it's a good excuse to have some Guinness in the house. But I'm also thinking about wedding cake - white with supersweet white frosting. Where do you get such a thing if not for at a wedding? Red velvet is calling to me as well... hmm. Whatever I end up with, you'll hear about it.

Today's song selection goes out to my son (after all this time I still think it's weird to say I have a son), it's a live, extended version of one of the first lullabies I sang to him and am known to murmur it in his ear to this day. To my dear HR: Mama la-la loves you forever.

Joyberry Cake?

I'm trying to cut down the amount of sugar I thoughtlessly put in my body. I have no interest in cutting it out entirely, but I know I definitely get a lot more than I even consciously enjoy. Considering the tooth woes popping up in my recent past, it really can't hurt me to pay attention to my sweet intake. When I was pregnant I was super permissive in this regard. I'm thinking of how last February involved me watching a whole lotta Johnny Weir on TV while polishing off jumbo boxes of day-after-sale Valentine's chocolates and rubbing my big squirmy belly. It was glorious. But even as breastfeeding seems to take care of weight loss for poundage's sake, it doesn't take into account what I'm actually putting into my body and I should really be more mindful.

That said, I find myself wanting cake. Bad. Not a particular kind, just cake in general. Normally this would be a big premenstrual red flag, but  since I haven't had a period since July 2009, I'm chalking up to just one of those cravings, probably me being suggestible based on a picture in a magazine or something. (No I'm not pregnant again, bite your damn tongue! The combo of nursing and my current form of birth control have wiped out my monthly occurrence and I don't miss it one bit.)

Anyhow, so the deal I made for myself is that if I can hold off until the weekend, I have the green light to procure some cake that's realllllly worth it. I'm making that my weekend project: Cake Quest 2011. That and putting a stop to middle-of-the-night nursing (which should also be a piece of cake, right? HA). So what's the best cake? I'm accepting suggestions.

As for this, well I just love this.

No, Not THAT Katie Perry

Huzzah, I don't need any scary cryptic dental procedures! I know you were all super worried about that, so now you can put your mind to rest. Plus heat and power have been restored to my workplace, I'm eating a pretty decent Greek-style falafel wrap and I've finally made it to the rumored-to-be best season of Dexter, Season 4. In which I find that he has named his infant son the same as I named mine. I had no idea! The point of it all is to say that things are well, and I'm way behind schedule but I can't not acknowledge that this is a very important day.

What day is that you say? The day upon which my baby sister--a rock star who accomplishes the impossible feat of being a redhead without being a ginger--was brought into the world 31 years ago. Happy birthday Katie Rae! This one goes out to you and anyone foolish enough to challenge you to a dance-off.

If Only I Had Some Lasagna

Not to be all Garfield and crap but OOF this Monday landed like a ton of bricks for me and everyone I know. It's like the world's being run by gremlins, and not like in the beginning part when they're just fun and mischievous but later on when things get microwave-blowy-uppy. How many 1980s references can I cram into one entry? That is a rhetorical question.

Anyway, it was a darling, friend-filled, non-leaving-the-house weekend. We ate barbecue, we drank Manhattans made with St. Germain, we snuggled up with our monkey baby and all that jazz. The teething fairy came for a visit and though the eventual result will be adorable choppers, what we've got right now is cranky, needy little boy. Poor lamb. And I think it's negative 50 out there? Couldn't we all use a mental vacation (as well as a literal one)? Here's this then, it's the best I can do for now. Those hair stylings alone are almost as good as a trip to Aruba.



Technically my sister Katie should have been up in the dedication rotation, but there's a reason I'm leaving her for tomorrow and that's because it's her birthday. Also tomorrow: I find out whether or not I need to get my mouth-bones scraped... whatever that means. I don't really want to know unless I have to, so if you do, please keep it to yourself for now.

Say it With Rodney

For this early in a work-from-home day I've been mighty productive so I'm just taking a moment to get the jibba-jabbas out.

It's come to my attention that this is my 100th entry. I suppose I should be including some monumental content today, something to commemmorate all the whateverness I've been pouring in here, a slice of pie for the author at least. But here I am, consciously squandering a milestone. It's freeing, actually, to not feel like I have to attach any importance to it. 100 entries? So what? So let's dance!



And brother of mine, since music is a cornerstone in our relationship, to designate one perfect song for you would be like Mike Brady picking a favorite child (clearly not Jan, but of the other five). So here's one I like by a band I like and I'm pretty sure you like it too.

Namaste and Junk

Yoga, people. If anything's been missing from my life, that was it. I'm on the 11th day in a row of this challenge, and I'm still loving it, just giving myself over to whatever the day's practice brings. Last night it was harder than usual to get my little monkey down for the night and by the time I got to my session it was nearly 8:30 and I was tired and we hadn't had dinner and I very nearly skipped it, but it turned out that going to the mat was exactly the best thing I could have done for myself. And HR had one of his best night's sleep since, well, ever, so that was nice too. He's been going through a lot of changes that really mess with the way he gets his rest, but I think we're dealing with it OK.

I've been thinking about what it means to raise a baby in the city. In most ways I think it's awesome. We don't have a yard, but we are close to a lot of parks. We can walk to everything, and do. The little boo can go weeks without ever being in a car (which is probably why he has such an aversion to car travel, but that is improving with age) and in time he'll get to know the ins and outs of museums and other city-centric things we take for granted but aren't immediately accessible to rural or suburban dwellers. But sometimes you just have to get out of the city to do things like last Saturday, when we ventured to the outer reaches of Ev-rit to hit up the yuppie trifecta of Costco and Target and Home Depot in order to procure baby proofing supplies. And since you gotta eat, we had our first Texas Roadhouse experience which was actually quite pleasant. Not because the food was especially great or the ambiance was so lovely, but these chains have a huge advantage over more indie establishments and it's that they are so dang kid-friendly. It's so huge and loud in there that you never feel like you're bothering people when your little one gets squirmy, and there are many animal parts on the wall and ceiling fans to so one parent can keep him entertained while the other one shovels down her lunch. Plus: 22 oz. beers. Nobody should ever go to Babies R Us again without downing one of those bad boys, it greatly enhances the experience. Well maybe not children and expectant mamas, but everyone else.

I'm working from home tomorrow and may or may not write, but probably not. So happy weekend if I don't get back on here until Monday. This musical selection is dedicated to my sister Danielle. I don't remember much about her, since she died when I was five and she was two, but I remember that "You Are My Sunshine" was her favorite song. It's been covered by everyone in creation, but, like so many songs, I feel like Willie Nelson has the definitive version.



Whenever I refer to my sister, please know that it's not in a sad way, but in celebration of her. She's been gone for 30 years and I barely remember her as an actual person, but she'll never not be a part of my life.

Leave the TV and the Radio Behind

Stand back, it's a good old fashioned mama bear entry. I'm just asking for it all to be turned on its head, but it'll happen anyway, so why not take stock of the major happenings while they're happening?

Here's the thing about now: baby boy is burning up the floor, hauling his little body around at crazy speeds, pulling up to all fours and sitting himself upright. The pulling-up-to-standing milestone is imminent. He eats like a champ, smacking his little gums and opening wide like a birdie and he loves everything we give him. He can't get enough of animal sounds, and this is great because I can usually distract him when he needs distracting but Mama's running out of animals she can imitate, so it gets old pretty fast. He sits in my lap and listens to stories, helps me turn the pages, talks to the pictures.

We're settled into a pretty reliable bedtime and naptime routine (he's actually been leaning towards a mega morning nap and a lesser afternoon one as of this week, it'll be interesting to see where this goes), and while we're not all the way there yet, I think the "drowsy but awake" part of putting him to bed is finally starting to click.

His enthusiasm about nursing is waning, he's really only into it at nighttime and though I do plan to wean somewhere around his first birthday, I'm already getting sentimental about it because it's our close time. Months ago, after a bout of thrush and a baby who was only ever really happy when he was attached to my breast, I never thought I'd be the kind of person who felt this way. But with patience and persistence it became so easy, and such a comfortable and sweet part of our bond.

HR is a nosy dude, so interested in every sound, every visual. We try not to expose him to too much TV because he's totally enthralled, but he gets a little Sesame Street and, ok, Family Guy here and there and I don't feel bad about that. I'm so happy to report that he's still a social baby. He loves people, especially other babies.

Everything is everything and I'm so lucky. Don't think there's a minute of the day that I'm not aware of that, not even the 2 a.m. wake-up minutes.

*Musical Interlude*

So I had a great wedding, I loved my wedding. And I did love the song we chose to do our first dance with our parents (Mike and I did our Dad/Mom dance at the same time to save time for more group dancing). We picked Bob Dylan's "Forever Young", which is a family thing for me in addition to being a great song. But in my revisionist memory, this was my real first dance with my father. Because it is our song. If I ever had to do it again (I'm never doing it again, but for the sake of this entry), Dad and I would have stepped out with everyone's favorite new wave troll, Joe Jackson. For PP:

The Only Starfish in the Sea

Oh long weekend, you were magnificent and now you are gone. Requiem for my time off.

We're in a pattern of goodness right now. HR still wakes at night, but the quality of sleep for all of us has greatly improved. And he wants to turn into a big boy like, now. I know there's still a lot of baby left in him, but I'm already sentimental as we round the corner to nine months.

So much to address, but today is coming down on me like a double Monday with knobs so best to leave it for a quieter time.

I'm dedicating my choices to family members this week, starting with my mother. When I hear this song, it's always in her voice. And I mean that in the best way possible.

Dug Out

Snow Day '11 definitely lived up to the hype, weather-wise. And personally, it was fantastically lovely. There were burgers and Guinness with friends 'round the way (pub owners don't get snow days, but it was made up for in business), stretches of quiet calm, lots of playing and snuggling. And laundry, loads and loads of laundry. Mike did all the shoveling, but it's gotten so much better for him since new neighbors moved in who actually pull their weight. Overall, good times.

Today when I left for work HR cried and reached for me - that's the first time he ever did that. It put a little crack in my heart, but I know he was fine within a minute. Childrens, I tell you. It's nice I'll be at home for the next three days, but here's hoping that it doesn't make leaving on Monday that much worse.

So day 4 of the yoga challenge, and I'm loving it. It helps that the sessions are short, the longest so far being 40 minutes, so I don't really have an excuse not to just do it. And as any procrastinator worth her salt knows, just doing it--whatever "it" is--is 3/4 of the battle. Of course my muscles are like, "what?" because they haven't been used in this way in a long time. But it feels right. My goal is, by the end of these three weeks, to have re-instilled a practice into my life, if not on a daily basis then at least a few times a week. I think it's entirely do-able, and entirely up to me.

Just now my "it" is work and I've got seven short hours to get a b-load of it done so I'm going to get after it. First though, a high-energy tune to kick my butt into gear. How great is this song?

Countdown to Second Breakfast

Snow day up in here! Snow days used to mean sleeping in and watching movie after movie or reading a whole book or getting up to some ridiculous, esoteric project*. Not so much making snowmen and sledding. I mean, yeah, there was some of that, but I was more of an indoor sort as a child. I liked my free time to dabble in Hobbit-ry.

Days off due to weather obviously have a downside, mainly that there's the weather itself to contend with, but having grown up in rural Maine winter isn't all that scary to me. I kind of enjoy it until about late February. And today, though it's downright nasty out there, I'm making up for my lack of sleep-in time (unless you count 7 a.m. as sleeping in, and I sometimes do) by sipping on coffee with a shot of Bailey's and mucking around on the computer while the baby naps. We're thinking about venturing out to the pub for lunch later on, but no matter what we end up getting up to, I'm feeling really lucky to be safe and warm and with my two favorite dude-types. And hoping you're all experiencing the equivalent.

*When I was a teenager, my two best girlfriends and I would find a way to get to each other in the nastiest of weather and we got pretty creative with our snow day activities. I'm thinking of one time in particular when we made a huge batch of pancake batter and used it to make pancake letters that spelled out a series of things that were hil-AR-ious to the three of us. I don't believe we actually ate the pancakes, but we got a day's worth of fun out of them. One of these girlfriends, I can assure you, is not having a snow day today in her Florida home. But whatever. Nik, this one's for you:

Finally!

So. Holidays are a very... fraught thing. You know what I mean. When you say "holidays" you get an immediate reaction from people. It's "yay" and joy and joyness, or "ugh fuck no." Nobody's lukewarm about holidays. I'm decidedly warm, if you couldn't tell. I got the best of the best growing up, in addition to my parents being ridiculous and over-the-top with the Santa Claus stuff, I guess you could say that my family is very into their traditions. Looking back, I guess there's never really been one set of traditions. There were so many changes over the years in the way we did things and with whom. But because the backdrop was love and togetherness and junk, I look back on it all with fondness. There are always frustrations and petty family irritations lurking in there, stuff I'm sure I don't know the half of due to being a kid, but even the things that made it to my awareness sort of go away when I look back. So now that I have gotten the ball rolling on the next generation for my side of the family (said ball having popped his first tooth yesterday - what a champ!) I really wonder what he'll take away from the holidays. I don't know what'll stick, we're in a time of flux, and everything's an experiment. I guess maybe that's a description of parenting in general? The point is, I'm going to do my damndest to make sure HR looks back on his holiday experience with a happy face. And here's the first one, in pictures, for posterity.

Remember way back in December when Chanukah happened? We observed it every night, lighting the menorah (he loved looking at the fire) and giving him a small present for each day. OK, fine, some of the presents were things he already had, but it's not like he can tell.

Then we had the Chanukah celebration with Dada's side of the family and HR got to meet his new cousin. (I thought we had a picture with all four of the cousins, but I can't find one. Must fix this!) There was much spoil-age of both the bigs and littles, and latkes were enjoyed.

Christmas began with a visit to the homestead, the place where I grew up. I'll never live there again, but it'll always be home to me. We stayed for nearly a week - the longest I've stayed there since I was in college. And it was lovely, so relaxed. We saw so many dear people and felt well taken care of in the way you only can at home.

Christmas Eve we gathered at my Gram's for the traditional meat pie dinner after she got home from church. This is one of my favorite parts, because it's about relaxing and sharing a simple meal. On Christmas night my sister and brother and their affianced arrived and we had the Santa Claus tree and opened our stockings.

The day after, we had Christmas with some of my maternal cousins at Gram's apartment, and HR got his first "white box" which is one of our weirder (but most widely embraced) family traditions that I'm not even going to go into.

A couple of days later we visited my paternal grandmother and her longtime companion. It was so nice because I don't usually get the chance to make a trip there on my visits home.

In between there was a ton of eating and relaxing and all-day pajama wearing. That's my kind of holiday.

Then, there was New Year's, which was a two-day reunion of our supper club. Out of the four original couples, two have moved out of state in the past year, and all of us had babies. So it was a very different New Year, but a delicious one indeed.

Finally, we wrapped it up this past weekend at my place with my other maternal cousins who we didn't get to see on the holiday proper. This celebration has been dubbed "Bag-O-Ham-mas." This one I'll explain. Like a good Jewish boy, one of Mike's favorite things about Christmastime in Maine is the ceremonial breaking into the Christmas dinner leftovers when we're hanging out at night playing games, especially the ziploc bag o' ham. It's become one of the most unbreakable traditions since he came along. So when we got together to do our secret santa thing and spoil the babies (mine and my cousin's), the centerpiece was a bag o' ham. I don't personally enjoy ham, but I enjoy my family. Even when the sheer number of people crammed into my house cause the explosive gas alarm to go off.

See, nobody exploded. Let's do it again next year, guys!

All right! So! There's so much I haven't even written about, but I'm officially holidayed out. In sum, HR loved his first round of wintery celebrations. He got so many amazingly wonderful toys and clothes, we are incredibly grateful, but most importantly he got L.O.V.E.D. up by everyone, and that's what he enjoyed most. That's what I hope he'll remember.

Now for a random song I like to cut the treacle.

I Will Try to Make My Way to the Ordinary World

Another great, family-filled weekend is over. How do these things happen? The holiday season is now firmly, irrevocably behind me. And I'm totally OK with that, I'm ready for things to calm down. But it's so nice to have a home overflowing with people you just adore, all clamoring to lavish attention and love on the babies. It's a good for everyone, and a great start to growing up.

I left HR with my parents two nights in a row. It was after he had already been put to bed, but they did have to deal with some wake-ups and it was such a nice thing for me to go out and be among the humans after dark, knowing he was safely looked after. I paid for it in sleep (I so rarely see midnight, let alone one a.m. from that side of the night anymore) and in follow-up anxiety dreams, but it was a fair price to be a grown up sipping a Sazerac and conversing without a wiggle worm drooling on my shoulder.

Tomorrow: illustrated tales of ham bags, white boxes, Apples to Apples, explosive gas alarms and much, much more...

Today though: my yoga challenge begins. I'd say it's just exactly the right time.

This is for my dear, dear friend K at a very tough time. Love you and I'm thinking of you.

Patches Make the Goodbye Harder, Still

Hey y'all, today on Paula Deen it's a bunch of paragraphs about unrelated things! And butter and may-nayse!

- So. Everyone has a weakness, and mine is old dudes. And old lady-dudes. The elderly, basically. It doesn't take a genius to know it stems directly from growing up freakishly close to my grandparents. Anyway. This morning I was stopped at a light and this adorable old dude was trying to navigate the curb to get up to the sidewalk and it was seriously stressing me out. I was *thisclose* to putting my car into park and creating a traffic situation so I could give him a steadying arm, but he grabbed onto a signpost and hauled himself up and I cheered out loud.

-I'm not gonna lie: I loved Hot Tub Time Machine. I suspected I would, but I wasn't sure exactly how it would endear me. Rob Corddry made the whole thing, frankly. But it's also nice to see John Cusack doing something fun and stupid. This is his best role since The Ice Harvest, I think. If you have something against seeing bodily excretions, maybe skip it. It's not really a spoiler to tell you that they all make an appearance. Yep, all of 'em. But if you can handle gross-out humor, you will be rewarded.

-I'm still binging on Dexter - Michael C. Hall is AMAZING in this role. And then I found out that he played the Emcee in Cabaret, which is basically my yardstick for how awesome a performer can be. Though I think I already figured out the identity of the Ice Truck Killer (don't tell me one way or the other) and I'm in for a world of nightmares because of this twisted-ass stuff, I can't stop watching. Guess we'll be hanging on to Showtime after all.

-There has been a positive trend in HR's sleeping habits this week, but I won't elaborate because want of a good night's rest has turned me superstitious. Though have I gushed enough about my boy lately? I don't think I have. He's started making this curious little growly face accompanied with a snorting sound that is so adorable you could puke, and he's chattering all the time. Yeah, he says "Dada" ten times more than he says "Mama," but as long as he keeps reaching out for me he can say any old thing he wants.

-It seems like Christmas and the whole shebang was a hundred years ago now and I'm getting less inclined to recap it, but I feel like HR's first go-round deserves an entry at least. I actually have one more "Christmas" to look forward to with family members this coming weekend, so after that I'll do my illustrated wrap up of the past few weeks so I can quit talking about it already.

I'll leave you with this little gem for today:


Is it just because I'm a older lady now, or was Cat Stevens not a fox of his time?

He's Rolling, He's a Rolling Stone

Most people, when learning that they somehow lost weight instead of gained it over the holidays, would take it as a sign to keep up the good work. I take it as a sign to create another cookie-eating opportunity in my day.  Different strokes people, it's not just a show from the eighties. On the serious tip, even though I'm way too much of an ornery cuss to do New Year's resolutions, after all the lovely excess of the past couple of months my body is naturally demanding better food and more exercise. Mike and I have resumed our usual healthy, veggie-heavy dinners, which feels good. And this is so not like me, but I signed up to do a 21 day yoga challenge online. I really need something to jump start my practice, and it seems like just the thing. It starts next Tuesday - I'll let you know how it goes. When the baby was born I set a goal to run a 7-mile road race this coming August, and if I want to stick to that, I had better figure out a way to start training at some point. It's just a matter of finding a way to work it into our already nutzoid schedule. We'll find a way, or we won't. The thing is, my baby won't be a baby forever and while that means things will get easier in some ways, like I can go for a run in the morning instead of nursing, I'm not ready to think about the not-baby part. As it is my bean is tearing up the floor with lightning speed. Yep, he's a crawler now. And besides the fact that we need to get on the baby proofing STAT, it signals a joyous growth milestone, as well as another way in which he's leaving his infancy behind. Oh, darling.

Another thing I need to recommit to for the million time is writing. I made a promise to Mike, and more importantly, to myself, to finish my novel already and do something with it. Being on the fourth draft with no ending, it's time to just finish the thing already. And goddamn, Snooki published a novel. There's no justice in the world, etc., but I need to use my bitterness to fuel my inspiration. So there you have it, my non-resolutions for 2011

I was sad to hear of Gerry Rafferty's passing yesterday. So in his honor, the sweet, sax-y sound of the seventies.

Alabama Arkansas...

Getting that first day back to work overwith is key. I still have lots to do, but I'm feeling pretty chill about the whole enterprise of making a living. I do miss my men cubs. I miss staying in pajamas all day and not having to use the breastpump and all kinds of other great things about being a person of leisure, but one day back into the routine and it all seems quite rosy-posy. This is a good little life.

For those who know Mike, how many of you can picture something like this happening somewhere down the line?



Of course, my kid has about a 30% chance of being able to carry a tune, Mike doesn't play guitar, and we don't have a video recorder, but there's a lot of day to fill when you're a stay-at-home parent, so I imagine them resorting to some pretty creative measures.

And since I obviously miss linking songs, I'm probably going to just keep doing that. Today, just because it's designed to make you feel good:



Mika's not for everyone, but he's for me and I'm so glad he's out there in the world.

Coming soon: Baby's-First-Christmas-Palooza.

Tu Me Manques Terriblement

There is SO much to write about the past ten days. It went by so fast, and the passage of time continues to blow my mind. But I'm sitting here at the foot of Work Mountain and there's no telling how long it'll take to conquer this bad girl. For once, though, I am in a terrifically un-depressed state upon returning to post-holiday life because 1) I spent last night doing visualization exercises about how bad my desk would look, and after imagining the worst case scenario, it turned out not to be so bad; 2) I found the cure for post-good-time blues, and it's called "Showtime has every episode of every season of Dexter On Demand" and 3) I'm secretly a compulsive organizer, and making order out of chaos pleases me - today is all about that. Oh, and lest we forget, coffee, that verily unsung hero.

It's unexpectedly calm here, the perfect conditions for the work ahead, and I'm ready to get this year going. When I get around to making base camp, I'll do a fair bit of reflection. I have to say that even if it were an utter shitshow today, taking off the past week and change was totally worth it.

Today is the three-year anniversary of my beloved grandfather's passing. He always came first with me, with all of his kids and grandchildren, and there are no regrets about the time we could have spent together. He was there for us, and we were there for him. And the years have helped to dull the grief, but we'll never, ever stop missing him.

This one's for you, Pup.