The Early Bird Catches a Crapload of Worms

The writing has been plugging along. Slowly. I'm just starting to find a rhythm and have been able to write at least an hour a day. Unfortunately, an hour of writing doesn't quite produce what it used to. I suspect that producing children actually dries up your writing supply and makes you overuse the word 'however' and think that maybe this whole doctorate thing is overrated.

However, today, I got up at 6:00, met a friend for coffee (to workshop her conference presentation and part of my chapter), wrote some at home, made a tofu scramble, baked an experimental batch of carrot cookies, washed the bed linens, made a leek and zucchini fritatta, cooked and froze batches of chickpeas, made a doctor's appointment for Eames, washed the diapers, gave Eames a shower, wrote a blog, watched 24 with Josh and The Bachelorette after he left, and listened to Josh read There's a Wocket in my Pocket to Eames as he leaned against my legs and smiled adoringly at his dad. All in all, it was a productive day, which I guess is what happens when you get up at the ass crack of dawn and Josh offers to wrangle Eames for the day.

What did those boys do you ask?:
Notice those books at the top of the picture? Those are mine. Because I was tucked into the very corner of the bed behind my pile of books and a computer screen desperately trying to think of something smart to say while those boys sprawled out across the sheetless bed dreaming of large-breasted women. While I was tempted to join them in their synchronized napping, I persisted and eventually found an intelligent word or two, which surprised Eames, to say the least:
As far as he's concerned, I'm the funny one in the family:
I needed a day like today. There are always more things to do and more words to write...But, with the semester fast approaching, it's nice to know I can get a few things done and not miss moments like this.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Sadly, I've always had very fine, very thin hair. My ponytails were often mocked (usually by my mother) for their slim profile (I use the rubberbands meant for bracelets to pull my hair back) and my hair never does much more than stick to my head and hang straight as straight can possibly be without a lot of intervention. The optimist in me has to note that full luxurious hair would make my already large head too big to adequately make it through doorways, but I've always wished to have just a little bend at the very least. The last time I tried to make my hair conform to my wishes, however, I ended up with a very expensive perm that lasted a few weeks then fell out to the very ends so it looked like I had pompoms stuck to the ends of my hair.

The good news is that pregnancy makes me love my hair--if only for a little while. It doesn't make it curl or even give it the slightest bend, but it does feel like I have about twice as much of it. So I've spent the last 10 months or so caressing my own head lovingly, enjoying every damn second of it. Until the last week or two. Now, when I hands through my hair, I come away with strands of it intertwined through my fingers. I'm once again constantly pulling dozens of hairs off my shirt, out of Eames's fingers and his mouth, brushing it off my face, and trying vainly to get that one that's stuck to my back and tickling the back of my arm.

And I'm not the only one. Eames was born with a full head of hair. It was even curly:
And much to our general amazement, it was also bright orange. I'll admit I was jealous of his curls, but I was also desperately hoping that--should he keep this notable hair--he'd more closely resemble Eric Stoltz than Carrot Top.

Now, however, Eames is 12 weeks old...and he has male pattern baldness:
That's right. Where once he had gloriously orange, flaming curls, he now has blond fuzz. And until those blond locks decide to make their appearance, he looks like a 83 year old man.

I'm just hoping he gets Josh's golden curls instead of my flat flaxen strands...

Tom Sawyer Paints a Fence Day

Our First Date...

I had planned on having a small get together to celebrate Independence Day/Tom Sawyer Paints a Fence Day/Our 2nd Anniversary, but, instead, Josh planned a punk show at Community Cycles that he, as the planner, needed to attend and I, as the mom of a 2 month old, could not (sensitive baby ears and all that). So, Josh went to the show while I stayed home and watched Law & Order reruns with Eames.

One Year...

Sometime around 10:00, when we were tucking ourselves into bed, Josh called. I could barely hear him through the background noise, but he asked me to listen. I pictured him holding out his phone and vaguely familiar music floated haltingly through the receiver, clearly too loud for our cheap phones. I told him it sounded familiar but I couldn't place it. It's Waves of Mutilation, he said. Awesome. Later that night, he told me he gave us a shout-out:

"Two years ago today, I watched a movie with a girl with that song in it. Today we have a 9 week old."

Two Years...

And that, in short, is our story. Part of me wished I had been there to hear it myself, that acknowledgment of our history, our life, our love...But, knowing he was thinking about us and about that first night we met when we bonded over a love of television and he agreed to watch Pump Up the Volume (which I own) with me because he too loves it, made me almost as happy as being there. And lying in bed playing with Eames while I listened to those garbled notes on my cell phone made me glad I wasn't. This is a good life.

And 9 Weeks.