Alright, so

Today marks the start of a spring and summer filled with fun things. The signs of it are everywhere, the hazy heat of mid morning/afternoon, the trip to the beach I've been packing for all morning, the cute little shorts the boy is terrorizing the house in, my bright red sun dress, and the giant horrible wolf spiders present in or around our house today. My skin is crawling and I can't bear the thought of confronting one on my own, without the manliness that is Joel around to be the defeater.

It also means that in only a short number of weeks my boy will be a year old. This time last year I was losing the ability to sit, stand, walk or sleep with any type of comfort or dignity. The burden on my loins is now a babbling, crawling, yelling, smiley little bruiser causing mayhem and breakin' hearts. It's the epitome of 'nuts'.

Meanwhile, the time to think about going back to work for a few hours a week is here. I'll probably end up back at the restaurant for Friday and/or Saturday nights, which won't be bad because I'll be making tips and bossing little high school girls around. Also, a family friend needs help on fridays during the day to pick his garden in preparation for the Farmer's Market every weekend all summer. The pay is probably minimal, or it could only be in the form of free veggies (which is cool with me), but I'm actually anxious to make it happen because I like the thought of being outside, getting dirty and sunburned, working hard and sweating it up for a few hours a week if I can.

Anyways, the hours of this day are slipping away so we are going to have some lunch and get going. I leave you with...

Blank page

Don't look at me like that. Stop mocking me! Oh, the pure whiteness of you, blank page, and your counterparts everywhere...long have you provoked me, challenged me, drove me nuts. Poking me in the gut with the length of your teasing arm, I abhor (no! obsess!) you. It's so bad that entering an establishment wrought with stationary, such as the enemy that is Staples, causes sweaty palms, giddy, guilty delight within the palpitating chest of your admirer. I leave with more blank pages bound in all their narrow-lined, decorative glory, only a new box of pens will do. What will inhabit your rows, oh blank page? Probably nothing, for the intimidation you deliver leaves me breathless, nary a word ever makes it to your stunning display of white. And here, you sit on a computer screen, an accomplice to the original but not at all less of a challenge. You, blank blog page, little editing box with your options and tools. How often have I typed the chatter of thine mind only to erase (with no flaky smudge marks or harsh scratching out) without a trace? So little makes it past inspection to the daunting "save" button. What ever will come of the words forgotten? Alas, blank pages everywhere will never cease to choke me up and shut me down. A writer once, a scared little fool for always.

evidently,

My baby is growing into a little boy...


roughly 1 month old


9.5 months old

This is entirely without my permission and you are GROUNDED, mister!