Max's first haircut

Before...

After!
With daddy...

Fun with toilet paper...

Investing in kids

Besides because it is the right thing to do, here is yet more logic behind why we should all care about investing in the health and education of America's children, regardless of who they were born to, where they live, what color their skin, how much money their parents have, or by what name they call God.

http://www.marketplace.org/shows/2007/05/24/PM200705245.html

Desperate housewives

Steph and I are going out for some no-husbands, no-kids time. At 11 a.m., our tune was upbeat and wild ("Oh yeah, we're soooo going to party! Yeah! Dancing! Drinks! Mayhem!). Now, at 5 p.m., after a full day of kid chasing and husband managing, the tune is more mellow ("Maybe a margarita and some cheese sticks?").

El noche

Some of the most tender moments I share with my son are in the middle of the night.

Usually (and thankfully), Max is a great sleeper and makes it through the night on his own. Occassionally, he will wake up but soothe himself back to sleep after several minutes. Rarely, as was the case last night, he will wake up and need parental intervention to go back to sleep. Whatever was going on in his little head, all he wanted was to be held and rocked for a while to make it all better. I obliged and, though it was 2 a.m., those were the most serene and affirming 20 minutes of our day.

One of the most blessed and inspiring lessons I have learned from motherhood is the joy and satisfaction that comes of bringing peace and comfort to another human being.

Jobzzzzzz

The matriarch of the Clare-Panton Family blog recently posted about the job from which she learned the most during her working life. Reading the post and thinking about my own life, the vivid tableaux that illuminated my mind were all the jobs that were totally ridiculous, not the ones I gained the most from professionally or intellectually. She suggested I post my thoughts about these lowly positions on my own blog instead of hers, thankyouverymuch. No riff-raff allowed on her blog, apparently. :-)

Like my very first job, at A&W Rootbeer in Louisville (sadly, it closed last year) when I was 14 years old, swaddled in skin-tight forest green doubleknit polyester. Within a month, I had flooded the dining room and nearly burned the place down...and I didn't get fired. I still have the faux driving cap thingy that was part of the uniform.

Or the waitressing gig at The Egg & I in Greeley during college, at which my shift began at 5 a.m., ended at 2 p.m. and I earned $2.13/hr. As I was a horrible waitress (who can remember eggs over-medium at 5 a.m.?), I didn't get many tips. In fact, I knew I wasn't cut out for waitresshood when people asking for things -- like a clean fork -- really pissed me off. This is the place where, one day, one of the cooks accidentally cut the finger off his rubber glove while making omelets and didn't notice for quite a while. By that time, there was no telling where that rubber finger had ended up. About an hour later, the police came by the restaurant because an old lady called them to report finding a "condom" in her eggs.

These are the jobs that stand out for me.

I'd love to read about your funniest jobzzz, so please post away!

Happy Mother's Day!

Open-mouth guppy kisses on my face. Dirt between his little toes. Sticky fingers. Wrassling him into a clean diaper and a change of clothes. Waving bye-bye. Together, watching the leafy shadows dance on the grass under the tree. Chubby baby boy legs. His "I'm so tired" sigh, even as he chases a ball down the hallway. Stroking and patting my face while nursing. Maammaaammaaa, daadaaadaaa. Love.

OPM

Other People's Music. "I know this is whyyyy, this is whyyyy, this is whyyyy...I know this is whyyy...." This is the rap song I'm enjoying while writing this in my second floor office with the window only cracked open. Not part of my music collection, rather it is courtesy of the teenager two houses down and across the street who is in his house with a window open. That is how loud it is. It's the same teenager who asked Santa for one of those really loud mufflers (seems like just taking the regular muffler off would achieve the same affect?) for his low-rider Honda Civic...and Santa -- who obviously didn't refer to his good kid/bad kid list -- got him one. He's been terrorizing the neighborhood with it ever since.

My only solace is knowing he'll be wearing hearing aids by the time he's 40.

Do I sound like an old lady? Oh well...next I will be yelling at neighborhood children for walking on my lawn. LOL!!