Arlo, Farrah and I headed out for a stroll the other day and since we cover about 10 feet every 10 minutes, I motioned the young lady on the sidewalk to go around us. She gingerly carried a small box as she passed and said that she too had to move slowly else her cargo would be disturbed.
“Oh! What’s in there?” I had to know.
That, Dear Readers, if you’re like me and prefer your nature from the window, is a very, very new baby rabbit. Morgan found him abandoned in the middle of a sidewalk and decided to do a good deed. She was off to ask her mom if she could keep it, hoping her mom would take her to pet store for an eye dropper and some formula. What a kind soul.
That afternoon when bumping in to all our neighbors I excitedly showed this picture to everyone and here’s how it played out:
Older girls: Interest level: High. Lots of oohhh and ahhhs.
Young girls: Interest level: Medium.
Boys: Interest level: Glancing. At best.
Adult Woman Gardener: Scathing.
On a related note, I used the last match from my El Fuego box in the Half Bathroom. Can you think of a more perfect urn for a pet cremation? Totally stashing that thing for the next fish. I’m sure Morgan’s bunny will be just fine.
Have you heard? Did you know?
I hate to cook. There are about 28 other things I would choose to do with my time before cook. But, you know . . .
That brings me to pesto. We always have nuts, oil, garlic and parmesan on hand. We also always have fresh herbs purchased for ONE MEAL and the remainder slowly rotting in the fridge.
But not today, herbs. NOT TODAY.
In addition to our current fridge supply, our friends generously gave us a fresh batch of cilantro from their garden.
I have a food processor and dishwasher.
Farrah likes the whirrrrrr of the machines.
You can use the stems!
It just seems criminal to not make fresh pesto.
So I did.
And it was good. (Even if you are someone genetically predisposed to hate cilantro, you’ll still enjoy this pesto.) But more importantly, I made enough for several meals so I’m off the cook hook for a while. Blessed be.
What are you making this week?
Mostly Madison Mondays – a howdoyoudo from my new hometown of Madison, Wisconsin
We tried to go see the Monroe Balloon and Blues Festival Saturday but the weather quashed the launch. We ended up walking around the town square until dinner. A pleasant stroll in a pleasant small town.
Arlo loved the animal sculptures on the sidewalks
as well as the miniatures in the windows.
I loved the architectural drama thanks to the evening’s stormy skies.
All very lovely and photogenic, including this blue post-it against the red and yellow sign. With a keener eye (i.e. NOSY) I read the post-it, smiled and remember to check out the site, Operation Beautiful.
Geared towards 8-14 year old girls, “The mission of Operation Beautiful is to post anonymous notes in public places for other people to find. The point is that WE ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL. You are enough… just the way you are.”
Another reminder to speak well of yourself, and others.
My friend and neighbor Steph, mowing her lawn at 8:30pm
WITH HER DAUGHTERS’ BABY MONITOR IN HAND:
And The Best Thing I Read All Week, from my other friend named Steph, in commiseration over my recent Epic Diet Fail:
Arlo had Thomas and Jack connected (“SNIPPED!”) face-to-face this afternoon and I commented how it looked like they were talking to each other. Arlo noticed that Jack was smiling and then asked what Thomas’ face was doing. ”Also smiling!” I answered, “They must be talking about something that makes them happy.” A true Sensy since birth, Arlo is quick to notice expressions and emotions so I encourage discussion around that crap.
I read somewhere in the NATURAL ORDER OF TOYDOM that Legos follow Thomas the Tank Engine. I’ve got growing concerns around that shift however after reading how Legos Are Getting Angrier and That’s Not Funny, Study Says.
“A robot expert at New Zealand’s University of Canterbury who’s also a big fan of Lego figures has studied them and determined that in recent years the Danish company has been adding more angry faces to its mix.”
A robot expert?
Anyway, an interesting drive towards aggression at an early age, but what really got me were the readers’ comments, most of which were pro Angry Legos. In fact, the readers’ comments are more telling than the facts of the article:
“Yes, it must be a plot, because we all know that everyone is always happy all the time. No wonder a huge chunk of our population is neurotic. You can’t even get angry if you’re a Lego person.” – masterdebate (cue eyeroll)
What’s a Sensy to do in this Brave New Angry Lego World?
I thought for sure I would stop writing this blog when Farrah was born. I had done what I felt compelled to do: document my experience with infertility, my relationship with alcohol, and finally, my labors and births. (I still need to write about doing IVF while breastfeeding, a hot topic in the IF community.)
Here’s the thing though - I can’t stop writing. Or taking pictures.
This blogger says that’s a good thing: ”While it’s true that there is some oversharing in the parent blogging world, it’s quickly erased by the great service we are doing our family and our children. We are creating a record of our family’s life. We are telling the story of our children with each blog we write, each photo we take, each video we publish.”
While I agree with the work, I disagree with the intent. I AM NOT BLOGGING AS A SERVICE TO MY CHILDREN. If there’s one thing I know about art or any creative pursuit, it is that you must do it for yourself. My children might not give a rat’s ass about their childhood, as is their prerogative. When I’m ancient and alone in the home however, this blog will give me immense comfort. I might not remember the characters but I expect I’ll still enjoy a good story.
I think Heather Armstrong over at Dooce says it best:
“I had a long conversation with my mom on the phone yesterday, most of it about my kids because she’s been out-of-town for several days and hasn’t seen them. She said she can’t wait to check my website every day to see a new picture of either girl, especially Leta because it seems like she’s getting older and taller by the minute.
“We’re watching her grow up, picture by picture on your website,” she said.
Sometimes I have to stop and step back from the idea that this is what I do for a living and remind myself how lucky I am that I have kept this record of her life.”
I am lucky too. And supported. And most of all, inspired.
Until the next post, Dear BPS Readers.
I thought lip-print tattoos had been done to death (thanks Tommy Lee) but I think Farrah’s nursing blister should be immortalized.
The shape faintly appears at the center of her upper lip and then it slowly softens and fills with air. Baby’s breath. The heart becomes lighter and lighter until one day it peels away from her pucker and joins all the other things that shed upon this earth. My darling daughter and your beautiful blister. A tiny, tender tribute to our love.
Be still, my heart.