9.28.2012

Slimer

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.


9.01.2012

Bueller?

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.