So the Fish Said...

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear.

- Walt Whitman

Meet the Fish

I want to get a pet duck and keep it in the bathtub.
I am addicted to chap stick and altoids.
I am freakishly flexible.


World's Most Beautiful Child

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World's Most Handsome Child

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Other Important Things

Clive Owen

Clive Owen
Pretend Celebrity Boyfriend


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so the fish said...
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Yes, but how are you?

When Mia spent her first nine months sleeping only and exclusively on top of me and then did not sleep through the night so much as once until she was 21 months old, I felt certain that no mother in history had suffered so greatly with sleep issues as I.

In retrospect, this was certainly untrue, but I was deeply sleep deprived.

When Owen gave up napping entirely before he turned two and then took 38 months to learn to (mostly, sort of, sometimes better than others) sleep through the night, I just resigned myself to my desperate fate. But my long tango with lousy sleepers seems to be nearing completion, at least until the next round. Mia sleeps like a log, and Owen sometimes goes 10 entire hours without intervention.

That sound you hear is me collapsing in exhaustion. (Although to be fair, Owen has been very Daddy-centric the last nine months, so Chris has borne the brunt of the late-night awakenings since then, but the first five years were all me.)

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So, everybody sleeps, more or less. And everybody also uses an actual toilet for all of their toileting needs, more or less. Next step, "How to Wipe Your Own Butt," and then I can retire to the couch to eat bon-bons.

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Those of you who have been here a while ought to brace yourselves - especially those who pop in occasionally to remind me we have known each other since before I had ever been pregnant.

In a matter of weeks, I will have a six year old first grader.

As you were.

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I just had most of my backyard quite literally plowed under. You know you are an abject gardening failure when bare dirt looks a million times better than your gardening attempts. We are going to see if we can get some grass going, instead - we usually do ok with grass.

Speaking of - has anybody tried that thing where you put layers of wet newspaper down under your mulch to stop the weeds? I thought it was a stupid internet myth, but the internet is pretty insistent about it, and I hate to use chemicals where the kids play but I also hate to pull weeds (see above, where my yard required plowing), so anybody? Works? Bullshit?

(It has been so long since I posted to this here blog that it took me four tries to upload that lousy cell phone picture. Must be a sign that it is time to either get back to posting or shut it down.)

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I've been doing a fair amount of freelancing, off and on. The kind of thing where I do nothing for two weeks and then lock myself in the basement to work for an entire weekend. And man, I love being home with these kids and a major goal of my triumphant return to employment a couple of years from now will be that I still get a lot of time to be mommy, but I also sort of can't wait to have a job. You know, one with a paycheck and no cleaning up vomit.

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Finally, I am trying to learn how to dress myself. I am 36 after all, it seems time. You can help me with step one here, if you are so inclined. (Please be inclined, I am a clueless slob.)

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Enough with me, how are you? I feel like we never talk anymore.