Six

I saw a headline on Twitter that said: Maine man accused of shaking baby to plead guilty. Doesn't it sound like the guy shook the baby to try to force it to plead guilty to something?

Nice Looking Dog, Though

Just one of those days: three traffic lights to get out of the driveway, into which the snow plow evidently shoved a new selection of dirty ice ball slush last night. We were late, and Isaac is sick. My fingers hurt, from where I've cut them on tin cans and other places where they've just spontaneously cracked from sheer dried-outness. At the beach, one of Gus's friends hurt his feelings, leaving him slinking around looking like a stray, until he spotted a man stripping down to his underwear, making strange noises, and plunging into the frigid ocean water--and then Gus had to race down the beach to bark threateningly at the man, who he apparently thought was some kind of bizarre sea creature, making it difficult for the man to come back out of the water until I was able to grab Gus and apologize. The man, oddly, kept saying, "Nice looking dog, though." Maybe wheat makes my stomach hurt, and maybe not. So, you know, it's just one of those days.

Not the worst, absolutely not the worst. The sun shines, I'm making this for breakfast, my dog is sleeping, and so is my cat. My boy is making movies at the Shack today, so he doesn't even have to work his brain very hard, and I can tuck him into bed when he's home if he needs to be so tucked. I have plenty of Bandaids for my fingertips. I have lots of work to do, many words need me. Mark is coming home from New York tonight, too!

My $^&^%%*) driveway.

My right hand, bandaged. Not pictured: left hand, equally maimed.

Also, you know what? It's not even ten AM yet. So let me amend that to: just one of those mornings.

boo's freaky eye trick

that's my boy!


Eye! from mh on Vimeo.

hmm...

i'm rethinking my parenting philosophy after reading this story.

ding dong!

i'm here to tell you, officially, from personal experience, that a mammogram is not a topless singing telegram. which, if your brain is like mine, which it almost certainly isn't, you'd been imagining a mammogram to be. giggling to yourself whilst you imagined it.