Be Nice

Kiddos, listen to this; it's really important.

Be nice to yourself. Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone must make them. Forgive yourself for needing experience in order to gain wisdom.

Be nice to the people you love. Even if they seem to nag you, they really just want you to be your best self. They probably weren't even trying to pick at you. Even if they say the same things all the time, be nice to them.

Be nice to people you don't like. Even if they really super annoy the crap out of you. They are probably dealing with lots of their own issues that you don't know about, and they're really not trying to annoy you, they're just needy and don't know how to ask for help.

Be nice to the people that scare you. Don't let them get close to you. Don't let them know you. Stay as far away from them as possible. But be nice to them. They are dangerous, and they don't know the difference between right and wrong. They will use any excuse to be scary, so be nice to them, so they don't remember you.

If you are in danger; if someone is hurting your body; if someone is making you unsafe; or if they are making you feel like there is something wrong with you, when clearly there is not: stop being nice. Walk away. Tell them to stop. If they do not stop, make them stop to the best of your abilities. You have my full permission to physically harm anyone you must in order to protect yourself. No one is allowed to hurt you. If you are not in imminent danger, though....

...be nice all the time. Be nice to every person. Do not hurt anyone on purpose. Do not hurt other people to make yourself feel better. Do not dismiss other people to pretend that you're better.  Be nice. As much as you can, and as fully as you can, be nice. Remember this: people are not intrinsically good or bad; they are selfish. So am I, and so are you. Remember this about yourself, and try to look around your innate self-centered monkeybrain to understand the world around you. Try to recognize when others are listening too closely to their inner monkey, understand, and be nice.


Birthday Photo Booth, Because Why Not?

Kyle was at work. Just picture him cheezin' it up with the rest of us in each shot...

I swear he really was happy

Please enjoy some photo selections from Grammy K.'s stock - I was too busy running around like a crazy person to take any. These are all (of course), ripped off from Facebook, but I collected my faves of the 70+ available. 

Anachronistic Sofa

Dear Cormac,

I love you.

It's difficult to believe that you've already been here a whole year, and also of course, difficult to imagine life without you in it. Weren't you always here? Perhaps you were, but we just hadn't met yet. Well, it's nice to finally meet you. We've been waiting, and you did not disappoint.

Your sister is always asking me why the water swirls down the drain of the bathtub the way it does. I usually mumble something like, "physics...happen, and hemispheres have something to do with direction, I think... and fluid dynamics... are a thing..." So basically I don't know the answer. But you know, it's like, an eddy, or a little whirlpool or something. Neither one of us has any idea what I'm talking about.

You, on the other hand, do not ask me these types of questions (because duh - you don't so much speak in sentences yet), you just get really, really angry when I remove you from the tub before you've had time to splash in the few inches of remaining water, then whip your body around so you can stick your hand in that little whirlpool and disrupt the spinning.

You don't really like to talk about things. Not like Iris does now (obviously because you're not almost four years old), but not even like she did, when she was your age. Iris didn't necessarily question centrifugal force, you understand, but she still wanted to smack the bath water and demand a word for it.

You want to DO things. You are a RUNNER. I have tried several times to hold you and talk to you about your nose and your eyebrows and other exciting facial features, but as soon as I start talking and NOT providing instant opportunities for action, you look away. If it's a word that describes something that moves, you're all over it. I really do think that's the key for you. Mom, Dad, Dog, Ball, Up, Down, More: all = action words (if you consider that Mom and Dad are only classified as moving entities who fetch stuff for you).

In fact, you are such a do-er, and Iris is such a... pontificator (???), that your proclivity for grabbing and destroying all the things, ever, really freaks her out. I mean, I'm not stoked that you believe the floor vent by the back door must be removed from the duct every time you see it, but Iris is horrified that you think so. Hey, I'm not saying you should provoke her into nervous tics, just that I'm probably going to laugh about it for the time it takes me to get to you and stop you from destroying whatever it is that you're loving too hard at that moment.

Dad and I strive to hold you up, but not coddle you. We hope that you'll be savvy, but not wary. Don't be naive, but please don't be jaded. You already shine with so much kindness and wonder. Try not to let your feelings get too hurt. People will try to protect you and accidentally hurt you by doing so. Be brave, but don't dismiss your emotions because you think that experiencing them is the opposite of bravery. Listen, your parents can be paranoid over-protective crazies at times, but please don't let that deter you from discovery. You are the best of us, and we could not be more proud of you.

Happy Birthday, Cormac Michael.


Pre-Cut Jitters

Listen, kid. Just because I'm feeling PMS-ey, and it turns out we just noticed the heater isn't like, working and everything, and it happens to be the night before the anniversary of the second time someone cut a (very large) small person out of my belly, we are not in the habit of performing re-enactments around here.

Yet somehow, I was just able to say to your father, "It's almost exactly like one year ago today: I'm bloated as hell, the baby is kicking around like crazy at 10pm, I can't do what I want, and we're kind of stressed in general."

I love you. I love you. Go the f**k to sleep.



Cormac is teething again, hard, so he's miserable, clingy, drooly, miserable, snotty, drooly, snotty, and clingy. Not necessarily in that order. He also sort of walks, and he crawls at zombie-fast speed. So being in his presence means dealing with his unidentifiable woes (WHY are you moaning and tugging at your ear? Oh. Your jaw is radiating pain. Re: the moaning - carry on).

We're also preventing him from trying to kill himself by opening cabinets containing medium-sized appliances, shutting himself in the bathroom, closing the magnetic-lock baby gate on his hand/foot/face, climbing the couch, taunting the mentally challenged dog, eating electrical cords (but only when they're plugged in), choking on bites of food larger than dust motes, and bodily inserting himself between the balusters of the basement staircase railing. He's a scientist.

Iris started dance class three weeks ago, and I've yet to take a single photo of the thing. I have literally spent every dance-class-Saturday saving Cormac's life (for all of the reasons listed above), and not photographing anything.

Dance class is tomorrow morning. Wish me luck.



So... hi. I apparently am still here. Maybe you are too?

I think facebook has taken the place of this blog. Everyone I know is on it, and I can now officially share all photos and clever anecdotes in easy to digest quips, leaving no one out. I blame Cormac's baby shower (which was the impetus for Grammy to finally succumb to the great FB in the sky). She was the last meaningful holdout, and now I fear I have nothing to say here. Not sure yet, but I do know that I will not skip Cormac's one-year post.

So maybe this is the second-to-last post ever, but I've pretended to quit before, and that didn't exactly work, so I guess the answer is: we shall see. Yes, we shall.