17/365: Cider Mill Playdate

I’ve joined MOPs—that’s Moms of Preschoolers for those of you without the small and snuggly. Just part of my “ha ha! I will be an adult who connects with peers” (and yes, the reflexive “ha ha” is necessary as I think it nicely illustrates my normal level of comfort in social settings).

Anyway, we had our first playdate today. (It was great, thanks). Perfect weather, and it turns out the cider mill favored by moppers of Plymouth is the same one that is literally a matter of yards from the driveway of my childhood besties’ parents home. Who knew? The cider and donuts were great, but so was the vintage deja vu of zipping along Curtis Road, trying to catch a glimpse of the horses trotting around the oval track by the corner of N. Territorial. I remembering watching for that track every time we drove to church when I was four or five. Funny and lovely and heart-softening to drive by it now with my own baby sleeping in the back seat…

Although driving anywhere with Iris asleep is pretty dang lovely.

Just picked the last of the straw off her skinnies before laying her down for a nap. Good stuff, these September days.



16/365: Long and windy walks


Iris still hates car rides, so we don’t get out much during the week. But we do go for walks. Longs of long, sanity-boosting walks. It’s about the perfect time of year for them too: the leaves are all changing and the air is crisping up nicely.

I’ve started dabbling with Photoshop in the evenings when Carl is around to troubleshoot (both program and baby). And then I got sucked into Damages and was two episodes away from the season one finale last night, so naturally…

But I did TAKE this picture yesterday. And I MAY get around to color correcting it tonight, so if the whites don’t look as blown out and the colors look lovely then you’re seeing this afterward and you can disregard this whole paragraph. Maybe I will even delete this paragraph. We need all the vanity blogging possible these days, because I swear mostly all I do know is sit around the house in pajamas singing “ba-ba-ba-barbara a-annnnnnnnnnn” because “ba-ba” is the only consonant sound Iris can make, and therefore the extent of my day-time conversations.

I have been more put-together in my life.

Pretty sure.

15/365: In Which Things Are Fried

Watching Joel make falafel totally inspired me. Frying is easy, I said. Will make fish and chips, I said. Never mind that I know nothing about fish and have never tried to make french fries before.

We ended up at Wendy’s about an hour later.

Carl said the fish wasn’t bad, and the tartar sauce was actually GOOD. But the french fries were floppy and sad. And I don’t like fish. Somehow I forgot that key fact once again. I do, however, LOVE burgers, and Iris was a big fan of the highchair (her first restaurant highchair!), and Carl is a good sport. So all’s well that ends well, yes?


14/365: Tale of a Toothbrush

Ever since Iris was ridiculously young—like 10 or 12 weeks—she has been fascinated by our toothbrushes. In fact, it was one of the first times I noticed her really studying what we were doing with total concentration. I suppose she was used to us putting food in our mouths, but something we put in and swished around and TOOK OUT. That was novel.

When she learned how to grab, she would practice grabbing at the toothbrush as it went by. And then one day over this past weekend I came downstairs and found her playing with a toothbrush.

Her very own toothbrush. (Daddy is a softie).

One of the big kids now, and never mind that she doesn’t have any teeth. She is pleased.

She doesn’t always get it right.

But she is VERY pleased.

13/365: A Little Night Yum

I love to cook. But when you get to make food you love with people you love, well, I’m pretty sure that’s the home address of awesome.

A great finish to our weekend.

As an added bonus we learned that Iris is NOT allergic to peanuts. Oops. I am not very good at remembering what she is and is not supposed to have at what age. Lucky for me she seems like a particularly sturdy soul.


12/365: And this is what happens…

When you forget to take a photo for your 365 project and end up scrambling to look through the camera from the couch because you really just want to go to bed and all you have is a photo you snapped of your husband this morning when you looked at the thermostat and realized it was barely in the 60s because you don’t quite have the money saved for a furnace that was (surprise!) condemned when you were having central air installed over the summer.

It’s all good.


11/365: Toe Level

Still a bit early for color, but we did see a small assortment of yellows on our way to the park today. A quiet day for the most part, and no photos of Iris as she’s stuffy and crabby. (Me too).

Also: why is it so much easier to be cheerful when things are challenging? I much prefer survival mode, when I expect things to be difficult and am therefore not surprised by the unending, repetitive nature of mothering work. I didn’t feel particularly frustrated while Carl was gone this week. I expected it to be a lot of work, and I ended up having a lot of fun too.

But somehow I always forget that Saturday is exactly the same as Tuesday, and Iris will need to have her diaper changed just as many times on the weekend as she does every other day.

It’s the moment I unconsciously expect to catch a break that gets me every time.