Made in Richmond

(Please excuse Ross’s big, fat finger. It is big, fat, and in the way.)

When you have a few minutes to kill please, please, OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, head over to Catalog Living.

It’s a simple and genius concept: Molly Erdman (a Los Angeles-based actor, writer, and comedian) provides “A look into the exciting lives of the people who live in your catalogs.” Those people happened to be named Elaine and Gary. Because of course they are.

Here’s my favorite one so far:

I’d invite you in, but Gary and I got in a bit of a fight after he had one too many bottled waters. He stormed out of the room so fast he only partially pushed in his chair! And I was right in the middle of my yellow book…

(Thanks to Cameron for linking this little gem on the Twitters.)

Most Fridays, after JR and I have spent the day together and Ross has been working at the office, we meet up at Garnett’s, a local restaurant with amazing sandwiches and (what I’m told) is a good beer selection. Ross has a drink, I have a soda, and sometimes we get snacks. It’s a nice way to close out the week and sets a good tone for the weekend.

After hanging out for about an hour with each other and whoever else is there (and there are always people there and they are also delightful and fun), we walk back to the car so we can head home, feed JR dinner, and put him to bed.

That walk back is always nice. It’s one of the few times that JR reaches up to hold both of our hands. And for a few minutes, we’re not in a hurry, we’re just being together, just being us three.

(Thanks to Justin for sharing this photo with us.)

(I know the posts have been kid-heavy but… ok I have no excuse. I have a kid, he’s cute, there you go.)

My lovely friend Maura emailed me today. Here’s what she said:

I stumbled upon these shots today…it’s possible you’ve never seen them. They were taken on Nov 22, the day JR and I met for the first time in our lives.

You may remember about a year ago when I lost my mind over some pictures Ross had been hoarding from JR’s birth. So you can imagine my excitement when this email popped up in my inbox. He’s a whopping 5 days old in these, and we had been home from the hospital for about 48 hours. Enjoy!

Sorry for the absence. I’ve been busy working, parenting, and watching ridiculous amounts of Arrested Development, The Bachelorette, and The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Consequently, I have very little to say about anything.

So instead, I leave you with this:

I call it “The Temperamental Artist.”

JR,

Hey, you! With the constantly moving and talking and being a person! What’s the deal?

I think it’s appropriate that this letter go up so close to Father’s Day because over the last couple days, I’ve noticed a definite shift in your feelings about your dad. You ask for him much more often (sometimes shout for him like you did last night, an evening that will be forever labeled in my mind as “The Night of Much Toddler Woe and Angst,” but let’s not talk about it anymore) and no longer lose your mind when I leave you with him. It seems you might even be headed towards a phase where you prefer him over me, something that breaks my heart a little but something your dad has been waiting for — 19 months is a long time to play second fiddle.

You and Dad also spent your first night alone together while I went on a retreat for church. Believe it or not, this was the first time Dad had to do post-nap fun, dinner, bedtime, morning, breakfast, morning playtime, and lunch all on his own. When I got home you were clean(ish), fed, and happy, so it looks like it was a success. Dad even said he really enjoyed running errands with you. This is a huge deal because he HATES running errands.

Day care continues to go well. You keep coming home with new skills that we haven’t taught you, so I’m assuming they did. The cutest ones are walking backwards and spinning in circles. Both often have catastrophic results, but they are funny in the moment.

Speaking of day care, you had your first time out this month…DUN DUN DUN. It wasn’t anything major — you realized you can actually get up *off* of your cot when you wake up. So you kept doing it. Over and over again. And waking up the other kids. So to The Thinking Chair you went. In an effort to support what they’re doing, we’ve introduced this concept at home as well. You don’t end up there often, but when you do, you are MAD. But you stay put and rarely end up there for the same thing again, at least not right away. You even say “sowwy” which is so adorable, I can’t even talk about it.

Despite the displays of willfulness, you love helping. Having you throw away your diaper and put your clothes in the hamper have become part of our routine and you love, love, love it. You’ll even wipe off your own face and hands when we ask you to.

Your gross motor skills are improving by leaps and bounds. You’re not running yet, but you can power walk like none other, and you’re able to get up and down the stairs pretty easily. We still stay close to keep you from tumbling, but your climbing skills combined with the Grandma-taught “scooch” technique fortunately limit the times we have to lug your hoss of a self up and down the stairs.

You’ve also become much more affectionate this month. You give real hugs now and love to offer kisses to anyone and anything — the wall, the dogs, shoes, chairs. In fact, last week I glanced in the mirror and saw you slyly giving kisses to your Buzz Lightyear cup. Hey, love is love, who am I to judge?

Like your teacher told us the other day, you are just such a happy and fun little man, so sweet and easy to please. The occasional challenges just remind us how blessed we’ve been because we can’t help but think, “Well if this is as bad as we’ve got it, we can’t complain.”

And we really can’t. How could we when we get to see this sweet face every morning?

Love,
Mama

A few weeks ago, Ross and I were woken by the sound of a monkey screeching outside of our bedroom window.

Ok, it wasn’t *really* a monkey, but it sure as hell sounded like one.

Neither one of us said anything as it was happening, and we drifted off to sleep. The next morning we were both somewhat convinced that we had each imagined it, but eventually we started talking about it and confirmed that we both heard this monkey-like creature causing quite a raucous the night before.

We expected it to come back that night. It didn’t.

It didn’t come back the next night either.

Or the next, or the next. We were convinced the Monkey Bird was a one-time thing.

Until last night.

At around midnight, when we were both in bed reading, trying to calm down from the drama that is The Real Housewives of New Jersey (Danielle, psht, what a wacko), we heard the Monkey Bird again. But this time, the Monkey Bird had a friend. There were TWO MONKEY BIRDS, jumping back and forth between the trees surrounding our bedroom (which happens to be positioned in the upper, stage right corner of our house).

That’s right. We were surrounded.

So, I did what any normal person does. First I tweeted, “THE MONKEY BIRD IS BACK!” Then I Googled “bird sounds like monkey virginia” on my handy-dandy iPhone.

Mystery solved, thanks to YouTube.

It seems our trees have become the occasional habitat of two boisterous (and I’m guessing amorous from all the noise that was going on last night) barred owls. Have a listen and you’ll understand why we were freaking the eff out:

Interesting fact: The mnemonic device for remembering the call (because I guess that’s important?) is “Who cooks for you, who cooks for you all?” Listen again and you will totally hear it.

Nature! You are terrifying/awesome.

Happy anniversary, babe. I love you.

After ignoring The Sore Throat Of Death, Woe, and Fire for four days, I finally went to the doctor today. This is what I always do: wait until I’m basically at death’s door before scheduling an appointment (which, thanks to insurance, costs very little). What can I say? I’m busy. And stubborn.

After looking me over, diagnosing me with (yet another) sinus infection that went medieval on my ass, my doctor started asking about whether I’ve been taking care of myself, specifically whether I’m getting enough sleep and drinking enough water. I do neither of these things, and he knows this — we talk about it every time I come in, and every time he gently reminds me that I really need to make those a priority. Today, he tried a different approach:

“You are not a vampire OR a camel! You need to sleep and you need to drink water! It will cut the numbers of times you have to come in by half!”

As I was laughing at him, he wrote me a prescription for a Z-pack which, according to him is basically pointless now because it looks like the infection has pretty much run its course.

“Just hold on to that and use it for the next one. We both know it’s just a matter of time and this will save you the co-pay.”