growing up

do you know how hard it is to vacuum the entire house with a dustbuster? 

maybe it's time for a vacuum.

uh, what now?

so as i said earlier, dane has mastered the skill of pulling himself up.  he's quite delighted with this. so delighted in fact that i think he has become obsessed. case in point:

 

i put him to bed, oh, an hour ago by now and he can not and simply will not let his body lie down. therefore he is standing and crying crying crying. he'd be rubbing his eyes to express how tired he is except that he CAN'T  because that would mean letting go.  so this is how it goes right now:

he cries. i walk into his room and put him back down with pacifier and dunny (dog/bunny; not sure which as it has both floppy bunny ears as well as bones stitched onto the body) so he's down for a second, literally-like "one -one thousand" and then he pops back up. cry cry cry. go into room. assure him that yes, indeed mommy's proud of you for pulling yourself up and finally using those legs and she's sorry she ever thought you might be some cripply tiny-tim of a boy saying "god bless us everyone" when we gather for christmas goose as we never do any year but it's sleepy time. REPEAT EIGHTEEN TIMES AND COUNTING.

 

it's like he's afraid he'll wake up tomorrow and have forgotten how. "was it all a dream? a glorious dream?" 

so what do i do parents? do i let him stand and cry cry cry and possibly fall asleep like some mr. ed? 

for whom is this?

as the title suggests i am grappling with the idea of actually committing to a blog in general.
on second thought, that title doesn't really suggest that at all. i just wanted to show you how i can NOT end a sentence with a preposition.
i think it would be great fun for posterity and possibly it would be amusing for my friends and family. i mean, provided i can bring the funny every once in a while.

there are serious questions here to ask meself. yes, i said that on purpose.

like, how personal is too personal? is talking about how i may or may not have clogged our toilet today and caused danny's brother brian to say (more than one time, possibly 8 times) "please please can you just call a plumber?? no don't get a snake, just oh please call a plumber????!"

see. maybe that's too personal. but you know what? i think i've made a decision.

THIS SHIT IS GONNA GET REAL YO.
why not. eff it. i think i have things to share from the perspective of a new mommy, a wife, a performer, and a generally goofy gal.

so, i have to figure out some things like how to cut and tape...wait, what? paste. paste i mean. and things like pealing pictures....wait, what? posting. posting pictures.

have some patience with me and i'll hope to give you at little diversion at times.
thank you friends.

oh yeah! the scrape-y part!

so i'm emailing some cute pics of the boy whilst he is happily using the paint cans to play drums when i hear a what can only be described as a "distressed" sound from him. he had crawled out the front door and isn't quite skilled at tackling steps yet. thank goodness there was only one but he did indeed scrape his mouth on the super scratchy yet very cute ikea door mat. luckily we had boo boo bunny.

big steps and little scrapes

i put dane down for an overdue afternoon nap and go on about my gardening and such. i think all is well until i hear a squeal of pure delight followed by chatterings and babblings peppered with that amazing squeal. i go into his room to find him standing. yes, standing. he has managed for the very first time to pull himself up and he is soooooo effing happy he can hardly stand it!

but the best part for me is what happens next. i smile and say "what. are. you. DOING??" and he laughs and laughs which makes ME laugh and laugh and we carry on like that for what seems like a really long time for an 8 month old.

life is so sweet.

heat wave

his room is 85 degrees. no wonder he has been crying for two hours these last two bedtimes. fucking heat wave. i am really patient with the crying. like, i kind of pride myself on the fact that it doesn't ruffle me but....

tonight i am ruffled like a bag of chips. and i really hate those kind of chips. 

danny is on the water and cannot hear my call. fuck.

 

wee hours

as i look at him lying there, i think, "no one could love him more than i." i know, i know, someone MIGHT THINK they do, but looking at him with his arms folded behind his perfectly round fuzzy noggin, lashes long and tiny rib cage inhaling exhaling, i think not.

what 7 month old sleeps with his arms folded? COME ON!