Hey You Guys...

So basically what happened is that I uploaded some pictures that have (almost) all been posted on the BookyFace, but if you haven't seen them yet, they'll probably be exciting. Let's pretend I'll post something of substance soon. You never know, it could happen...

Taken the day after Thanksgiving at 9:30 in the morning. Totally passed out on the couch and slept for like 45 minutes. It was weird.

The day Iris decided to enjoy coffee for the first time. She is now obsessed. You can almost see the caffeine coursing through her system. Please don't ask me how she got the coffee...

Okay, so there are like four different shots from the "Iris wearing Mom's Wellies" series, but this was the most descriptive. Hello? The child put on giant, adult-sized rubber boots and then pranced around the living room. This is from MONTHS ago, but I felt it was still worthy of note.

This one serves no other purpose than to be compared to the one following. Heyyy, ya think we're related or something?

My name is Iris and I enjoy crumpets and clotted cream.

Old video I finally figured out how to retrieve from my phone...

Okay, so, please excuse the poor quality picture/sound/screaming. This video was taken back in July, I believe, on a day that Kelly and I were at a loss as to how to kill time with the girls, so we plopped them on Lola's mini trampoline to entertain ourselves.

Untitled from Megan Kelley on Vimeo.

Schrödinger's Teeth

In this thought experiment, there is a toddlermouth containing a finite number of existent teeth, a geiger counter, a hammer, a vial of acid, and a finite number of probable teeth (which is to say, it contains a finite number of existent teeth, likely screaming gums, negative eleventy sleep, possibly painful vocalization, and a finite number of probable teeth). Without viewing said mouth or irrefutable x-ray evidence of future probable teeth, one is unable to predict with certainty the likelihood that current or future probable teeth will irritate aforementioned hammer, nor will the toddlermouth open widely for anything other than a vitamin D milk delivery system of some sort; it will most certainly not avail itself to scrutiny.

One may presume, when presented with all available data, that the toddlermouth is either in a state of intense pain, or severe sassiness. While the scientific evidence remains inscrutable, the toddlermouth simultaneously exists in a superposition of the states "in-pain," and "attention-seeking." Only when the toddlermouth gains fluent speech is true observation attained, and the wave function collapses to reveal the identity of the fussypants' inception. The real difficulty is that it is also deterministic, or more precisely, that it combines a probabilistic interpretation with deterministic dynamics.*

Even if she could speak fluently, she'd likely blame her attitude on teething, new molars or no. Hell, I would, and I've had all my teeth for a while now. It's a handy excuse for unrestrained crankiness. I completely understand, and of course, observation is always subjective.

Points of Interest: Iris now calls me "Mommy." This was completely her idea, as Kyle and I have always referred to ourselves as "Mom," and "Dad," perhaps sometimes I threw out a "Mama," but never "Mommy," and certainly never "Daddy." The fact remains, I am now "Mommy." She also says "ducky, doggy, yessie, no-ie, shoesie, shirty, flowery, planty, foody, etc." Every word now gets the "y." Funny how steadfastly we avoided those parental titles, and not only did they happen anyway, but they make us totally melt upon execution. WHY, with the cuteness, Luella?

Short Story Time: Iris and I went for a walk after dinner tonight. She really enjoys simply walking; no stroller, no holding, just walking beside you and taking in the neighborhood. We circled a three block radius and headed towards home. As we approached our street, a dog barked kind of frighteningly in a neighbor's yard, and a car turned town the super-remote street on which we'd decided to amble. I tossed her on my shoulders and jogged home. The baby bounced and giggled, and I held her waist and unnecessarily jostled her, and it was seriously the best time ever. We were both laughing so hard we were snorting by the time we got home. She had a bath and we read some books, and she asked to go to bed. She kissed me goodnight and went to sleep. It was a good day.



*Shamelessly ripped off this entire sentence from wikipedia

Maybe she could be a back-up singer for Stevie Nicks or something...

Iris. Seriously.

Please stop making this face (and really, super duper please, for REAL, please please please please stop making the accompanying bleating/keening/dying sound):

You're taxing an already over-stressed system, which is to say, your parents are very nearly at critical mass with this sh*t. Critical mass being, of course, "wow I so totally don't care that you're making that face, so cut it out and quit whining at me."

It's not that we don't care when you are sad, or upset, or just need a hug. We love you, and we want you to be happy. The problem that you face in this particular situation, my dear, is that we have stopped believing your sincerity. Remind me to talk to you about wolves and crying. This face does not mean that you are sad, or upset, or just need a hug. This face means, "I haven't demanded anything from you in recent seconds, and also you are not doting on me endlessly whilst simultaneously accomplishing all the other tasks that comprise your day. Now entertain me better, and make me some dinner." This face could also very well mean, "I'm bored. Are you paying attention to me? What day is it? I like noodles. The sun is out. I have hands." Makes us all a little testy, you see.

I really would like to get back to that place where sympathy is my first reaction to your expression here, but when EVERY. SINGLE. THING. causes you to make this face, I really cannot find it in my heart to be moved. I also cannot really bring myself to feel too bad when I blankly tell you to stop crying and go sit down, preferrably somewhere far, far away from me. The sound, as I've mentioned, is probably the worst. Make no mistake, it is constant. It is a low hum in the background of life around here. It escalates frequently and never ends. It goes from completely fake-sounding, mildly grating but low, to loud, sharp wails that punctuate some weird dance of backwards-walking and near intentional injury as a means to extend the misery. Dude, fake crying in front of a mirror is doing nothing to further your cause. Yeah, I caught that. Remember? I was holding you at the time.

Yo, other people who know stuff that I don't (clearly): Is this the terrible twos? I thought that was overt defiance and gleeful obstinance? This is just... uhg. This makes me want to take her to the hospital to demand a medical reason for the woe. This has driven me to take her temperature at least three times over the weekend, because no one is this sad over the fact that I walked out of the room without taking them with me. This makes me want to peel my face off. Or maybe just my ears. Yeah, that would suffice.

Seventeen Days...

Is how long it took for day care to infect Iris with some Eustachian Tube-munching virus, warranting a trip to the good ol' Hippie Doctor Folk. Not so hippie that they didn't slap us with some azithromycin after interestingly minimal inspection, but definitely hippie enough to ask us to hold off on administering said drug for a day or two "to make sure it's really bad first." So we (called Grandma Reinhard, made her tell us what to do, and) got the prescription filled and gave it to her a couple of hours later. Iris is in pretty good spirits, all things considered, and would like for you to know that she weighs 27.4 lbs.

Addendum

Actual conversation between Iris and I, approximately four minutes ago:

I: Bears! Bears bears bears bears bears bears bears bea....

M: Do you want to count the Care Bears on this page? Let's count them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,

I: AYT! AYT AYT! AYT! AAEEEEET!!!

M: *blinks* Did you just say "Eight?"

I: *nodding* Aaayt.

M: Okay, let's count the bears on the other pages too. *turns to next page, containing only one bear*

M: *pointing to single bear* One.

I: TWO!

M: *holding up three fingers now* Three?

I: Foooah!

M: Five...

I: Fiiiieee.... SICK!

M: Seven?

I: AAAYT AYT AYT AYT AYT. Nein. *stares in confusion at the little blue cloud of smoke as it puffs from her mother's ears*

Trust me, she didn't mean "nine." She was saying "no" in German because she was surprised to note that my brain had exploded at her shocking display of intelligence, and also because she's freaky like that.

Obligatory front porch photo of mildly willing participants!

Oh you guys. So precious in your back to school clothes, looking both eager and frightened with equal measure. Well, Kyle does anyway. Iris just looks like she has no idea we're about to drop her off in the den of iniquitous germ origins (AGAIN), which makes it a little sad for her. Let's all cherish this photo as the last time we saw her healthy for longer than six days straight. sigh.

Okay! We are being positive! and optimistic! This year will be GREAT! No prolonged ear infections; no evil hades children demanding Kyle's sanity on a platter! No! It's gonna be great.

Winner of the Way Rad Award Goes To....

Rebecca! For not only completing the edits on the entire photo session and posting them to her proofing site (I first wrote "poofing site" there, and I think I like it better. Heh. Poofing site...), but also for making this KICK*SS slideshow. I mean, really. Where does the awesomosity end?

Richie Tenenbaum Is Jealous

She will not take it off, and she will not lift it off of her eyebrows. She will slice through the still summer air with wicked serves and she will volley with fearsome justice. Behold, Iris the Hardcourt Hooligan.

All Hail Rebecca, Queen of Photography and Awesomeness In General

• Step one: Go to here (http://www.rebeccaallenphotography.blogspot.com/)
• Step two: Leave a comment for Rebecca. Be sure to use words like 'amazing,' 'delicious,' and 'life-altering.'
• Step three: Hire Rebecca.
• Step four: Be jealous of me till you finally get her to photograph something for you.
  

I tried to snag these from Rebecca's blog and just post them here, but the size went all wonky and I did my best to reformat them. Did not work out so great, let me tell you. The quality here is really poor compared to what's posted up at Rebecca's place. Which is here. Go to there.


There are a bunch of photos in the main body of her most recent post, and here very shortly the entire gallery will be available on the client proofing site (that leetle grassy square that says "clients"). Various sizes of prints can be ordered from that page, so peruse to your heart's content.

Reunion Tour

Hola Friends,

Here are some photos I ripped off of Grandma & Grandpa Reinhard. I didn't post all of them, just most of the ones featuring Iris, and one without Iris but that I think makes Kyle and I look really dashing and relaxed. We're like, "hey, join us on the lanai. Kick back, have a cocktail, be good-looking and chill like us." It's what we do.

Anyhoodle, the reunion was fun but sweaty. So much so that we mostly opted out of bathing, as it was mostly useless. You know it's bad when you all smell like dark armpit and you can't find it in yourself to care. So here are the photos. I'll try to get them on Picasa later, for now, please to enjoy:

Portrait of the Baby as Esther Williams

Thank you all for suffering through my first attempt at a home movie of sorts. I thought it was going to be this awesome click/paste/cut/slap/done situation, but it ended up taking me the better part of six hours to get it compiled, formatted, and posted. And yes, it is embarrassing as all jehoshaphat to admit that to you. Oh well. Learned something about this lovely piece of macintosh machinery here. The upside is that I apparently nearly made a pregnant lady cry (said pregnant lady who took at least half of the photos that comprise that little number), if you consider that to be a good thing, anyway.

I'm here to tell you a quick story and to direct you to the new! awesomesauce! photos of Iris in her yellow swim suit from last weekend, which are completely dissimilar and opposite in every way to the photos of her in her green swim suit from the weekend previous. har. Anyway, second things first: go check out the Picasa albums to see the new set of pool pics. They're cute.

Okay, story time: Every morning at dawn o'clock, light begins to seep through curtains. The house starts shuffling and rolling, trying to hide from the shifty new light, and a little chubbylegged, curlyhaired, sassyfaced monster begins her song. "Woof? Dawh? Dawh? Dawh? CACK CACK CACKCACKCACK! woof? aaaaaahhhhhhhhh! AH!" Every day is the same. Every song begins with a "woof" and ends with an "AHHHHHH!"

Eventually the monster is dissatisfied with her lack of audience and commences a round of protestation so thorough that it cannot be ignored. Then, the gate to the evil steep stairs is closed, the monster is relocated to the big bed, and the assault begins. First it's wiggles. Then it's thrashing. Then it's full-on grabbing and kicking and pulling hair and gnashing (of tiny, singsong, monster) teeth. Once the slumbering beasts in the big bed have lost enough hair/sleep/sanity, the monster is returned to her white wooden sleigh with a book and a toy and a kiss.

The monster recommences singing, and the slumberbeasts pretend like there's still some night left in which to sleep. Dawn solidifies, and there's silence again. Curlyhairs plays with her toys or reads her book to herself, or contemplates Hemingway's position on modernism and houses on stilts. No one knows, but they welcome the quiet nonetheless.

The silence lasts for an indiscriminate number of minutes before the pleas for rescue begin. They are traditionally jumbled cries, but they are not always without actual words. Favorite requests include "ba!" (bottle), "Moah! Bie! Eeee!" (More! Bite! Eat!), which are always fulfilled with expediency, as hungry monsters are sad monsters, and no one wants that. Some days, there is no request for goods and services, only a call to action: "Da. DA! DADADADADADA, Mama. Mama?" So the beasts heed the familiar call of the monster; they accept defeat, flick switches and squeeze chubbylegs and descend evil steep stairs, and the day begins.

Today, the monster completed her silent dissertation on Lacanian Jouissance while the slumberbeasts slumbered, and when she was finished, she said,

"Lola?"

We weren't quite sure what to do. So we fed her some strawberries and pickles, gave her a bottle, and got ready for the day.

who'd have ever thought her

I.L.K. from Megan Kelley on Vimeo.

It's a Complicated Spiritual Exercise

'Twas an exciting afternoon here at the Kelley abode. We pumped up the giraffe pool (me) and filled it with water (kyle). We donned our saucy spotted suits (iris) and prepped for the sun (half-gallon of SPF a million and The Dreaded Hat of Scalp Protection).

We had a bunch of fun at the inaugural pool event. Iris walked up to the pool, and shouted at the pool, and shook her little spotted booty at the pool, but was not so keen on entering the pool. She got a really big kick out of throwing grass into it. So that's nice. She did eventually concede to standing in it, but the closest she got to sitting was a modified squat and grimace. I swear the temp was like bath water, so I think it was really just concern for squashing the giraffe or something. Anyway, she got really into splashing it and then running around the yard, then coming back to splash some more. In fact she and Kyle both got so into it that I feared to interrupt. Things got a little serious there with some sort of devotional to Poseidon or something, so I just let them be and did my best to document the revelry. See below.

I think they're doing the wave.

p.s. rest of album on picassa.

Just Call Me Dancin' Kim

Yeah, yeah. It's been like three years since I posted anything. Sorry. I've been sleeping.

You HEARD THAT? SLEEPING, PEOPLE. Iris goes to bed at her usual early-o'clock (like, 6:30/7:00?); it's crazy. She usually only wakes up once or twice throughout the night, for just a few seconds at a time. She's easily convinced to go back to sleep when we hand her a bottle of water and stumble back to bed. She's usually awake for the day by 5:00 am, but 5:00 is no 3:00, and for that, I am eternally grateful. So...yeah. She's still not technically sleeping through the night, but she's so close, and I truly don't believe she ever really will sleep through as a general principle, so I'm calling it. VICTORY, MAH CHICKENS! VICTORY!

I've been so caught up in all the sleeping that I forgot to do anything other than luxuriate in all of the slumber. Then, just today, I remembered: my Victory Dance. Slap a side pony on me and call me Kim, because that right there? That's me now. Every day. Somebody high five me.

Cherries & Burkeface

Hola Friends - Just a quick pop-in to share with you the ridiculously cute outfit I put on the kid today. Snapped this picture with my phone & e-mailed it to the Grandmas this morning because I cannot get OVER how much I love this dress on her. Also, though you can't really see it clearly here, Iris has a little plastic red barrette in her hair, holding back the comb-over. So nice to see her face now.

Though I know this won't mean much to like, half of you out there, other half, please take note: Is this not the most Burke-y face you've ever seen on her?

Ed. to add: Cleaned up the photo a bit & reposted. couldn't handle the quality before.

gasp.

Iris slept through the night.

The Answer is 42

"How many roads must a man walk down? "

Okay, that was unnecessary, but funny to me, so please go with it. Vogon poetry couldn't tear me from this now. Heh.

So I know that I delivered your six monthiversary letter right on time, complete with photos bursting with preciousness, but you'll have to understand sooner or later that I don't need a birthday to embarrass you with my smoochy love, and I'm certainly crap at photo taking.

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Hey! Iris!

I love you.

I wanted to post some epically heart-warming thing on your birthday, but, well - you remember your birthday, right? The jigging quarterbacks? The subsequent amoxicillin? Yeah, that sucked, especially for you.

I just want you to know that your Dad and I couldn't be more delighted with you. It's not possible to be more so. On the night of your birthday party, in fact, we solicited Jennifer and James to explain to us whether or not the delight ever ends, what with their children being like seven and twenty seven (what? James Thomas is a grown-up now, right? Har). As we suspected, it doesn't, of course. It does that morphy changy thing that ends in us googling over every single thing you ever do forever. Promise not to disown us for thinking your first hangover is funny, and I'll promise not to disown you for getting your first hangover.

Inevitable future dumb decisions aside, I will tell you this: you are so smart. You can say something like twenty words. When we're getting ready for bed, we walk to the bathroom and you say, "bruh! bruh! bruh!" When you see Lando you say, "Dawh!" When you see me, you grab the middle of my face and say, "Noha!" It means 'nose;' I don't judge. When you see Dad, you grab his beard and say, "HAIR!" That's one that you got right away. Awesome job, kiddo. You can sign for 'more' and I know you can walk, but you're too afraid to let go yet. It's okay. Letting go is scary.

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. Don't try to deny it; I've seen you pet the cats nicely when you think we're not looking. 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, Iris Luella.

Hey Innernets

I think we got some birthday pics - honestly I haven't looked at the camera yet. ALSO - I plan to get some professional (olan millllsssss!) one-year shots done, but Iris has a big ol' rash all over her nose/chin area from being sick recently, and apparently she head butted something pointy yesterday at school and speared her lip. We're waiting for all that business to heal a bit more before I schedule the appointment.

HOWEVER. This is not why I am posting today. Today, I am asking for advice.

Iris goes to sleep between 6:oopm - 7:30pm. Usually on the earlier side of that range. There is nothing to be done about that. If you try to keep her awake, she falls asleep sitting up, and collapses on the spot. This will be the kid who falls asleep in her dinner someday, I am sure of it.

So, she wakes up once around 10pm - 12am, which is when we usually bring her from her crib to sleep in our bed. Sometimes she can be tricked back to sleep in her crib at that point (since she's been sick it's been increasingly difficult to get her back to sleep at this time, but I have faith that things will return to normal soon). Basically though, a non-sick Iris can be cajoled back to sleep with back pats and quiet voices in the 10pm - 12am time range.

At 3:00am. Iris wakes up like, hard. Every day. She is loud and boisterous and usually completely flooding out of her diaper. She wants a bottle, and she wants to SHOUT. She dances on our faces, and pulls on the curtains, and waits till we fall asleep again so that she can pour her bottle out on her stuffed monkey. Sometimes, after an hour or two of shaking down the house, she will fall back to sleep when one of us tucks her into our sides and demands that she quiet down and close her eyes. It doesn't usually work, but sometimes the timing Gods smile upon us and she sleeps for another hour or two. Again, this is very rare. Most of the time, if she is going to sleep more, it will happen about five minutes before the alarm goes off. Magical.

Does anyone have any advice at all as to what we should to about the 3:00am wakehard? You can tell me to make her cry it out, but I am telling you that there is not a corner of the house remote enough to get us away from the sound, so that's really not an option (see? Not a push over; not a softie; just really like my sleep enough to not have it interrupted by sounds of dying baby). Besides, if this problem isn't solved by the time I get more vacation time, Iris is in for some serious baby boot camp sleep training. This request for advice is my attempt to solve the problem amicably, before I bust out the big ear plugs and send Kyle away for a few days. You know, so I can break her tiny little spirit with no witnesses. (insert maniacal laughter here.)

Happy Birthday

You've been extra good this year, so we thought we'd give you the flu for your birthday. Be sure to share it with your family too, no one ought to be without. Plus, it fosters mother/daughter bonding when you both feel like a professional football team danced a complicated jig on your back.

We do have tylenol, so all hope is not lost. And of course, we have this nifty photo booth application to keep ourselves busy, so that's at least fun for the kiddo. She spent lots of time waving to herself this morning. Now she's waving at the table lamp/trying to get her foot in my ear. It's awesome.

Neither one of us has a fever at the moment, but Iris has almost completely lost her voice and has a nice raspy cough to go with it. If she feels at all like I do, then it is most assuredly really crappy, and I have no intention of taking her to school in such a state, even if she is fever free for now.

We haven't gotten out of bed yet, but we're thinking really hard about it. There is probably breakfast and tea and such somewhere beyond this room. I wish the dogs had opposable thumbs... how I would love to train them to make me some tea. It would be well worth it, especially on days like this. Iris has been chugging water like it's going out of style and recently discovered her love of pizza, so maybe we can use that to our advantage and circumvent the fasting that happened in the last round of illness. Right. The baby needs breakfast. Totally getting out of bed now. Pizza is a completely acceptable breakfast food. Don't judge.

The Freakness

I would have called it "The Sickness," but I didn't want to worry anyone. Iris had some bug. It mainly consisted of a 102.5 fever on and off for like four days. No barfy, no hacky, just high fever and sadness. We alternated the OTC meds the best we could and wiped her down with damp cloths. She licked them. She maintained her usual good spirits till the final leg of The Freakness, when there was no fever, yet much crying. She'd eschewed food as a general principle and fell back entirely on formula & breast milk. So much for weaning, eh?

I think the lack of food + extra fortified fluids led to the gassiness issue of 2010 that we're facing now. Plus, sick or no, her little astute mind noticed that we've been coddling her for the last week or so, which means we're always capable of said behavior. Not an issue when one is sick and miserable, but when the sickness abates and suddenly extra special treatment reverts back to business as usual, well... Iris took issue with the situation.

She was tired. It was 7:30. I said, "Let's go to bed. Say night night to Dad!" We had our family hug and everyone kissed Iris' face, and we all said "I Love You! Night, night," just like we do every night. Then I took Iris upstairs, hugged her a little more for good measure, and laid her down in her bed like I always do at bed time. She immediately started flailing. She thrashed and kicked and yelled and made every sound she could think of to convince me that this, right here, was the worst idea ever.

She has always hated sleep. Right. We know this. But today marked the first instance of an Honest-To-God-Temper-Tantrum. I did everything I could to prevent her from hurting herself. Even picking her up again only angered her more, because she was so anti-touch in that moment.

I flipped her onto her stomach and patted her back once, and immediately she was silent. I patted her back for another few minutes, and she was completely out. Shut down in under five minutes.

It is now 11:20. She hasn't budged since. Can we claim progress now? Can we call this sleep? I don't really even want to do the happy dance like I won or something. I just want her to sleep, and not wake up sad. I think we're close.

Official Birthday Invite: Do It.

To: You Guys
From: The Whiz
Where: Our house. Don't know how to get there? Means we probably don't know you, but e-mail me just in case and we'll make sure you're a stranger before I completely blow you off. :)

When: Saturday, February 27th, 2:00 p.m. - 6:00 p.m. (just so you know, Iris will be near to crashing by the end of that time, so you might want to peace out of there before the big ugly sleepy crying begins. We won't kick you out necessarily, but it isn't going to be pretty. You were warned.)

I sent out a Facebook invitation, but I know you aren't all on FB, and I thought I'd go ahead and throw something up here too just in case I missed anyone. This isn't really going to be a huge shindig (at least I don't think it is - do let me know if you plan to attend though. I hear these things sometimes require a keg, and I wouldn't want to disappoint). I'm joking! (mostly!) Anyway, I'll probably make some snacks and a cake. As always, your thoughtfulness is appreciated in anything you choose to do, but please know that presents are not necessary at ALL, and also I will really totally cry myself to sleep forever if one more singing monstrosity of plastic baby crap shows up at my house.

(I have had a song stuck in my head that's been there for WEEKS. Allow me to regale you with a small sampling of the lyrics: "Me and my friend, (at this point, all music stops, followed by a lengthy pause, after which a stiff voice says "Iris," aaaaand, resume music) "like to do everything together! We jump up and down! Jump! Jump! Jump! We wag our tails! Wiggle! Waggle! Waggle!" That fine specimen comes from a small purple thing that happens to know Iris' name, favorite animal, favorite food and favorite color. I think the purple thing is a spy, but I'm not sure. Do not discuss sensitive issues near the purple thing. Do not get the purple thing wet, and for the love of God, do not look directly at the purple thing. Save yourselves.)

Moral of the story: Come to the party. It will be awesome. Bring yourselves and your children and your party pants. Avoid the purple thing.

Thanks guys! See you at the party!

P.S. Iris' shirt says "When I grow up, I want to be an evil genius." Thank you, Uncle Craig.

Unbunch Thyself

Alright everbody, get your panties out of that twisty little bunch that seems to be forming due to lack of baby photos. I'm working on it. Or will be, once I'm not actually AT work. And you know, am also near the baby. And the camera has batteries. Okay, that's a lot of variables that have to line up, eh? Listen, I hear the whinging of the masses; on it.

I would like to state for the record that Kyle picks up Iris from school every day, spending all sorts of cheery quality time with her before she inevitably falls asleep a couple of minutes before I arrive. And he knows how to operate the camera. And he really likes it when you call his phone, repeatedly demanding that he photograph the baby for you. No really! The man loves to be nagged. Seriously. Give it a go. LOVES it.

(aside to Kyle: BWAHhahahahahahaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!)

See? I told you I'd come back SOMETIMES.

I just probably won't ever tell you anything useful or anything, and what I do tell you will only come in random short bursts. I give. Anyway, here's a little story for ya.

At Christmas, as most of you know, we went to visit the Reinhards for the week. We spent all day in our jammie jams, we drank too much coffee, we watched lots and lots and lots of TV, we mostly did nothing. It was farking heavenly. That right there is my absolute favorite thing to do, EVAR. Mom and I went shopping one day, and I was all, "you mean I have to put PANTS on???" The humanity. I totally hate going places. This might explain my unusual disdain for shopping, but I think that has less to do with the pants application/going somewhere thing, and more to do with all the strangers standing too close and trying to get me to make decisions/spend money. So it's much less painful to go shopping with Mom A) because of course that drastically cuts down on the amount of money I'm spending (thanks Ma!) and B) because if any of those pushy strangers starts setting off my weird social anxiety stuff, I have my MOM there with me, and helllooo? She does not mess around. Woman has a stinkeye that will melt your face off.

Okay, this shopping story was soooo not the point of this post, but I do have a couple of pairs of lovely work shoes now, so there's that. Ahem.

Claire was given a new memory card for her Blackberry as a Christmas present from her lovely boyfriend. Seeing as we all have Blackberries now, and I was without a memory card, Claire deleted most of the pictures from her older, smaller memory card, and passed it along to me. I (just today!) went through the pictures she left on the thing, since I took a picture of Iris this morning with my phone when my real camera had the nerve to die on me. I swear, you replace a battery then let the camera sit on a shelf for a couple of months, and all of a sudden it's running out of juice the minute you get the baby in a cute ensemble. So as I was uploading the picture from this morning, I looked through and found a couple more that were pretty precious in their own right. They're supper fuzzy, definitely not print-quality, but I thought you might enjoy nonetheless.

From Iris' Baptism Weekend - you can almost see how much less hair she has then (in July)

This morning, right before we left for school. I've been waiting to put Iris in that sweater since my baby shower, and I only had to roll the sleeves a little bit. There might be a picture around somewhere of big ol' pregnant me holding this sweater up to my belly.

It's Iris & Auntie Katie Pants! It would appear that I have a thing with dressing the kid in green stripes. I won't apologize - she looks darn good.

Okay, when I first saw this on my phone it was all super teensy, and my first reaction was, "WHO is that person holding my child, and WHY do my sisters continue to think it's okay to hand the baby to strangers just because she's cute?!?!?" All sorts of righteous indignation followed, only to be capped with a mighty dose of contrition when I embiggened the photo and realized that said stranger is my cousin Kate. Hi Kate! *waves* You're just lovely. No really. Love you! Hearts.

Aaaaand finally, Auntie Clairence and Iris wearing their matching PJ's. Does not get much cuter than that, folks.

I've got nothing.

You know that awkward scenario that happens somewhere like, let's say, the grocery store? You are just trying to pick up some essentials so that dinner doesn't have to be cold sandwiches again, and you haven't been home since you stumbled out the door before dawn, and you're dragging the cranky kid with you, and all you want is to just please get out of the store as quickly as possible, or at least before said kid boisterously announces her crankiness to the rest of the shoppers, when you run into a friend/acquaintance/anyone who has ever met you and who really wants to hear just everything that you've been up to in the past however long it's been since you last saw them. Every time I encounter that moment, I am reduced to a sort of stunned stare while I try to come up with something of note to share. I just never know what to say. I'm way boring. My standard response is typically, "well, I'm sort of a hermit these days." The End.

We don't really do anything. We have this life that includes going to work, then staying home when we aren't there. We read a lot. Kyle or I will occasionally go out for a bit, but not very frequently. Iris is still pretty much just Iris. Maybe a little taller, a little louder & more mobile, but she's still the kid who fights sleep and wants to grab your face. She's stopped growing at her old break-neck speed, and seems to have settled at approximately the size of an 18 month old. She's almost a year now. She has four and a half teeth. She really likes mashed potatoes, and she really likes The Cure. Awesome, and also, wait for it... awesome.

Suffice it to say, we are happy. Really and truly cozy and happy and boring as tree bark. I want to keep posting here frequently and filling your days with all sorts of clever witticisms, but like I said, I've got nothing, and my cleverness was dubious anyway. So please, with all my apologies, consider this space tentatively silenced. I'll come back for the big stuff, and I do feel that I'll revive the blog to its former glory eventually, but for now I'll probably be pretty scarce around these parts (because I was so verbose the last few months anyway, right?), but please check in every now and then for picture updates as I'll probably make a little note here each time I update Picasa. Goodnight, Friends.