To my Butter on your first birthday,

Last night I told your Dad that I wanted to set my alarm for 1:16am so I could go in and kiss you Happy Birthday at the exact time you came into this world. I didn't do it because I figured I'd end up waking you up and no one likes to miss out on birthday sleep.

Then the weirdest thing happened: you woke me up at 1:15. You were crying in your crib and I went to get you and bring you back to bed with us. You fell asleep as soon as I picked you up. I probably could have put you back in the crib for a few hours, but instead I woke Papa up and he kissed your forehead and wished you a very happy birthday.

The last year has been like that, kid - every moment has been a little odd, a new adventure, or leaves us completely floundering in a sea of parenthood.

We love you more than you can possibly know.

Safety First.

This is the baby gate we have been living with for two and a half months. We call it the Ghetto Baby Gate. It is, in fact, the bathroom door held open by a Rubbermaid filled with books and blankets and spare sheets.

It worked fine - he never went tumbling down the stairs. However, he managed to wreak havoc on our bathroom by opening the shower door (usually with one of us in there), unfurling entire rolls of toilet paper, and splashing about in the toilet bowl.

Now we have a beautifully installed real baby gate.

I'm thrilled to bits. We actually live here now.

Walker, Texas Baby.

He is officially a walker now. Until today he took some steps, he could pivot while standing, but the falling would ensue.

Today he walks* -with purpose and with glee. Today he crouched to pick up a toy and stood back up. Today he stood up without any help from a parent or a piece of furniture.

The weirdest thing happened: I was reading a book on the couch and I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I swear to Pete is was like that scene in Signs when you see the alien for the first time and it's walking past an alley and you only glimpse it for a few seconds but that is enough to freak you the hell out.

Know what I mean?



*I probably could have gotten video, but the demon child sucked on the end of the USB cable that uploads pics to my computer. Nothing works now. I'm researching a new camera and he will not be allowed within 100 yards of it. I shall buy a telephoto lens.

Not a baby.

A lot of parents say they miss the infant stage. The innocence, the baby smell, the general smallness. The immobility.

I remember the infant stage. They can have it.

I don't miss the infant stage because it made me uncomfortable to have someone depend on me so completely. I can't be everything to this small person, are you kidding?

So now, when he spends 45 minutes on the sun porch talking to himself and the cats and watching the buses pass, I can relax. He's going to be okay - at least until he bonks his head and wants Mom to kiss it.

He's not little anymore. I can see the four, five, ten-year-old boy he will be. All legs and blond hair and a smile that will break a thousand hearts.

The Leather Anniversary.

Three years ago today I married my best friend in a beautiful garden. There was an upright bass and an acoustic guitar and a whole mess of people around who were deliriously happy for us.

It was a nearly perfect day, but the best part was going home to our apartment after the whole damn thing was over. We were married, and life continued on pretty much as it had for the five years prior.

Since then we've had a baby, bought a house and gotten a joint bank account.
Still, we're basically the same kids who fell in love in Duluth.


I guess all I can say is: I would do anything for you, Love. But I won't do that.

Slow News Day

I dyed my kid's hair with Kool-aid today. It was supposed to be red on one side and blue on the other (with the white blonde 'hawk in between) but I got impatient and annoyed that my fingers were getting stained, and then I was worried he would look like Massive Head Wound Harry, so I put him in the tub before the "dye" really took.

Now he's kind of tinted pink and baby blue. Maybe I'll give him a patriotic tattoo as well.

Perhaps I will try again for Bastille day.



What else? Oh, he is so close to walking. He can even go a good three or four feet before he starts overthinking things and collapses to the ground.


Oh, and my computer and my camera aren't on speaking terms right now. No idea why. Until they work things out there will be no pictures.


And I deleted both my Myspace and Twitter accounts. I only ever used MySpace to stalk people, and I only signed up for Twitter so I could follow my friend's account of her labor and delivery. Cate is now several months old and I haven't used it since. Time for me to let go. I'm just not cool enough to be so connected. I'm contemplating weeding out my Facebook friends, but that seems kind of ruthless.