Month XII. Year I. Day Threehundrend sixtyfive/six.

Today, to the day, you've spent one year exploring the world around you.

(a little aside, my beta fishy also turned one year. although of waaay less importance, fishy is the one animal (?) that I have been able to keep alive for more than a few months which I consider a triumph. don't get attached to pets I say, but this one is a slippery sort. However, the other day I DID drop him on the kitchen floor whilst changing his waterbowl and one of his eyes is swollen. I fear the worst)

Ahem. Again,
Today you turned one year. One. Year. Now I KNOW that you're a lifelong commitment but dang, one year. That's longer than I've kept anything going (see above fishy comment, soon to be "the late, fishy")

I've tried to document your progress on this website because I don't have one of those little baby books, heck, I don't even have a decent camera (soon to be remedied). So maybe this will be the only lasting by-the-moment-account of our formative years.

I'm saying our because really, I'm such a newbie at this you could almost smell the amateur in me. I know this because I often get stopped by strangers, first it's: "oh, what a cutie, let me guess...'x' old?
"ah ha, on the dot." says I.
"Oh that ones got a knowing look in his eyes, the rascal. Going to be a real heartbreaker."
"Haha, yes," says I again - diverting his outstretched hand on bosom-grabbing course.
"First?" (this one a little more empathetic, head cocked to one side)
"Indeedy." -Attempting to stuff him into my armpit while he claws at my nostrils, kicks my throat with his heels and smiles winningly at his quarry.
"Let me tell you something..." and this is where it either launches into a recipe for easy weaning/sleeping/time alone (all wishful thinking) or a detailed personal description of a trial faced during child rearing. All valid points but that's the neat thing about humans, unless you ARE that human or have been with that human since he was born, the best advice you can give is saying - "I understand. Don't sweat it."

Now that you're old enough to understand me...sort of, I'm trying to get less mad when I'm stuck in traffic, not express verbally when I burn myself on, well, anything and also let you know that I'm gonna love you for always, even if you get mad in traffic, cuss when you burn yourself, and when your love cup is a little empty and you start doing that annoying whining thing. I'm going to make excuses for you and hug you anyways. (I hope you one day grow to understand what a big big depart from the norm that would be for me.)
Because I know you're watching and I want you to grow up to be a decent, well-mannered sort of person.

I think we both surprised each other a bit with our resourcefulness. Because at the times I fall short and have a grumpy day, you're there with the goofiness and the grace to make me laugh anyways.
When I'm stupid, you just trust me to be less stupid next time for the both of us, no questions asked, no disapproving looks.
When I feel like a human stain, your beaming eyes as you try to impress me with your attempts at walking make me feel like something worth trying to impress.

So, Avi, if you're reading this 15 years from now and we're at odds because you're
-listening to ghetto rap
-dating a skeazy girl
-telling me I don't know what life's like
-frustrating the bleep out of me
-(please don't do these things)

I want you to know that I will try to have the grace to laugh on an off day, trust you to be less stupid the next time, and hope that I will always be someone who is worth impressing.

Happy Birthday Bunny.


This past month..

Went to the Red Bull Flugtag.

Then we played some volleyball.

Went to ACL.

Sated our thirst

and Tony fell asleep on our couch.

And there you have it all
or rather just
what I took pictures of.

Keeping the missus happy

So I'm walking back from the pool the other day, towel over head, staring at my feet trying to avoid the dog poop in the grass. I look up to see a washing machine at the bottom of our steps with a little note taped to it: "FOR LIZ".
This was a quite a nice surprise in itself, but was even more surprising was how excited I was for it. I guess this means I'm quite thoroughly domesticated as the sight of a brand new washer/dryer will now apparently break me out in profuse thank-yous, kisses and you're-the-bestest.

It's true, for the past year and a half we've been doing laundry at the local Dime-A-Load. --Which I'm going to heartily recommend to anyone who wants to take years off of their lifespan due to frustration-related mini spasms. Much as I liked hauling bags of dirty sundries to their fishbowl sized appliances and attempted to stuff a weeks worth of baby, work, and summer sweatwear into their well worn tubs. Cleaning out the gorilla hair packed into the dryer filters and the invitations to "laundry room drink parties" held by middle aged men still wearing their Alpha Kappa Phi t-shirts from their "glory days".

All this is nostalgia at it's finest but thankyou kindly, I'll pass and kindly thank you Seth for surprising me yet again for another swell surprise. So if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go break this bad boy in. (machine, not man)


The W W as the W W.

Light. I'm very disturbed that RJ passed away without finishing his lifes' work. Call me a pessimist but i just KNEW it would happen.


It could be true of my arms too

Today I was just chilling on the floor kind of leaning back a bit, you know, on my arms. When I happened to look down at my legs. And all of a sudden I'm like, "Whoa, my legs look kind of stumpy."
I don't know if it's the jeans or the way the light is hitting my socks but the legs definitely looked a bit stump-like. So yea, pretty much I'm sitting here looking at my stumpyish legs.
What's up?