They Really Like Me! (Or at least one does)

FINALLY! I have a review on Rate My Professors. I've checked many times before, hoping for and craving positive feedback from legions of anonymous students who were all inspired by my exciting yet informative and challenging class. For the longest time, there was complete silence.

Apparently, I forgot all about it when I wasn't teaching last semester. I mentioned to Keith earlier this week that I didn't have any ratings and he said I was wrong. I did have a rating, and I even got a chili pepper for hotness! What exciting news!

Unfortunately, when I checked out my rating, I was a tad bit disappointed. With a mere two sentences, my former student managed to make two different grammatical errors. Plus, the rating was posted last summer ... at which time I was only teaching an online class. I suppose I can hope that the reviewer was a former on-campus student, and the chili pepper is actually based on the student seeing me, not on one fuzzy picture in my Blackboard profile. And the grammar mistakes were .... meant ironically? Let's go with that.

Anyway, thanks for the positive review, anonymous!

We're Famous!

Image credit: Chuck Crowe / The Plain Dealer

Yesterday, after picking Eleanor up from preschool, we went to Daffodil Hill in Lake View Cemetery and brought a picnic lunch. While we wandered around to look at the daffodils, this older guy with a fancy camera seemed to be taking pictures of us. It was rather creepy, until he introduced himself as a photographer for The Plain Dealer, took down our names, and gave us a business card. He said the picture would in today's or tomorrow's paper; I was excited when I got a call from my uncle this morning saying that there was a large picture of us on the front page of the Metro section. It's also on the front page of The Plain Dealer's site (scroll down, on the left), and has its own post.

It's funny how things work out. We had actually tried to go to Daffodil Hill over the weekend, but between the two kids' naps, it didn't work out on Saturday or Sunday. I mentioned to Keith on the phone yesterday that I had finally managed to find Daffodil Hill in the cemetery, and he suggested taking Eleanor after school.

What you can't see in this photo (thank goodness!) is that, at school that day, she had a beach party to celebrate the end of their unit on the ocean. Under her winter coat, she's wearing:

• a bathing suit
• a halter top beach dress
  
• leggings
• cupcake socks that don't match her dress at all
• a black sweater that, like the socks, don't really match, but it was the only one I could convince her to wear
  

On her face were the remnants of their snack: dyed blue cream cheese on an English muffin, with a few Goldfish "swimming" on top. Her mouth and parts of her cheeks were blue.

I'm just glad that I managed to get a shower that morning, while Declan slept for 20 minutes before we went to pick Eleanor up. Most days, my hair is a frizzy mess, pulled back in a sloppy bun. What luck!

It's a Pity Compliment, But I'll Take It!

I've finally started running again, for the first time since last May when I was about 4 months pregnant.

It's always hard to get started again, after taking time off. It can be disheartening to think about the fact that I've run 2 half-marathons and countless 5ks and 10ks, but now I can barely get through 2 slow miles without walking. And of course, I have a significant amount of pregnancy and post-natal stress eating weight to lose; that doesn't help.

But the challenge is what I love and hate about running. Whether I'm trying to get faster or go further or get back into the routine, it's difficult. Sometimes I get frustrated, and wish it wasn't so hard. But most of the time, I like knowing that running won't let me down. I can always count on running to kick my butt.

This time around, I've been doing a lot of my running with Eleanor in the running stroller. Before the first time I took her out, we had a big talk about how Mommy isn't as fast as Daddy and sometimes Mommy needs to walk. So Eleanor needed to understand that I wasn't in very good shape, and not give me a hard time about it.

So far, she's been wonderful! She even cheers me on at the end. "Come on, Mommy! You can do it!" She's actually pretty good company, even though it's hard for me to carry on a conversation sometimes.

A week or so ago, Eleanor and I went for a 2-mile run after Keith got home from work. It was pretty hot and humid, especially for early March. By the end of the run, my hair was a frizzy mess, I was soaked in sweat, and my running clothes were emitting a powerful stench. My belly, which still looks about 4-months pregnant (only with Coke and peanut butter M&Ms this time), gently stretched the front of my hot pink running shirt. We went to the end of a driveway to cross to our side of the street. We waited for a man on a bike to go past us.

As we waited, I made eye contact and smiled in a friendly, neighborly way. He smiled back and nodded. Once he was nearly past us, he called out, "Hi, Gorgeous!"

I was so surprised, it took me a moment to even process what he said. Normally I'd assume that he was complimenting my wonderful child, but this time he was clearly looking at me. Me?!? Seriously? I wouldn't call it false modesty. When in shape, freshly showered and made up, I'm reasonably attractive. But at this moment, I was none of those things.

By the time we got home, I had figured out what was going on. This guy saw me, a pudgy and worn out mom, and immediately realized I needed a boost of self-confidence. So he saw fit to provide one. His smile didn't feel lascivious, but kindly. It was a pity compliment, but I'll take it!

Vacation Kids' Clothes

When packing for vacation, we bought several sets of matching shorts and t-shirts for Eleanor. Most of her clothes are hand-me-downs, purchased second-hand, or bought by doting grandparents. T-shirts and shorts must suffer significant wear and tear at the hands (and knees) of toddlers, because for the past two years, when I get out the latest crop of used clothing, there's a dearth of these items in the pile. Add that to the fact that most of the grandparent-given clothes are adorable dresses, and you can understand why we had almost no shorts/t-shirts on hand.

What I failed to appreciate during this shopping spree is Eleanor's total disdain for shorts. This girl adores dresses and absolutely refuses to wear shorts. I thought she might be swayed while on vacation—everyone dressed down on vacation, right?—but that was not the case. Even her bathing suit had to resemble a ballerina's tutu instead of simply a bathing suit.


Here's just a few pictures of the dresses she wore throughout the week. By the end of the week, it was very clear what her main souvenir must be: a brand new beach dress. She loves it.

Since returning from vacation, we have convinced her (with much cajoling) to wear shorts on a few occasions, when we were hiking and camping. It's the opposite of my adult life, when I need a really good reason to bother with wearing a dress.

Why does it matter to me so much that she be willing to wear shorts? I don't really know. Most of the time, I don't care. Last week she wore her entire ballet outfit (tutu, tights, and ballet slippers) to music class with my blessing. Coincidentally, that's also the outfit she wore to meet Grandma Helen and Grandpa Chuck at an Art Museum outing a few months ago. She wears her two fancy Easter dresses to go to the playground or to the store.


I can't speak for Keith, but I think I pushed for shorts so much while on vacation because I want Eleanor to be better than I am at going with the flow. I am awful at wanting/needing to stick to my original plans or else. Many of you may already have noticed this tendency. I embrace Eleanor's love of dresses, and I hope she holds onto this preference; she really does look adorable in all of them. But I also would like her to realize that shorts are not the enemy, and if her five favorite dresses are all dirty at the same time (which is more likely than someone who is not the parent of a toddler might think, due to the various viscous substances of our days such as spilled milk, pee, mud, paint, and more), I want her to be able to throw on a pair of shorts without it ruining her whole day. And then she can go back to the dresses tomorrow ... as long as doing a load of laundry was part of Mommy's plan for the day.

Vacation Maternity Clothes

I knew that, going on a week-long beach vacation at 5 months pregnant, I would have to break down and buy a maternity bathing suit. With Eleanor, I just avoided it. We don't do much swimming and I wasn't feeling more motivated to swim when I was super pregnant, so I just didn't.

That wasn't an option this time around. Even so, I put off buying one as long as I could. And then, of course, it was a disaster. Target carries maternity bathing suits, in theory, but in reality it was already almost mid-June and the stock was seriously depleted. There were a few where I liked the tankini top, but the bottoms just didn't exist. I don't understand. Where are all these women who bought bathing suit bottoms and not tops?!? And at the Target near my house, the maternity clothes are all mixed in with the plus sizes, which pisses me off. I'm gaining this weight for a specific reason, in a very specific part of my body. I'm pregnant, not fat! So I'd find a suit that I thought might work, but then it was plus-sized instead of maternity, and I'd put it back because I knew it wouldn't fit.

After that, I went to two other stores (Old Navy with a Maternity section—very hard to find— and Kohl's) neither of which sold maternity suits. It was Saturday afternoon, and we'd be leaving the following Friday. So I just bought a roomy tankini from Kohl's, a few sizes too big, and called it a day.

You notice that the posted picture is NOT of me in the maternity suit? It didn't work out that well. I had to put sunblock on my belly because the top kept riding up and exposing my belly button.

All of the other maternity clothes I got for the trip were cute. I especially like the flowy, navy blue-and-white striped sundress that is comfortable yet attractive. I've been wearing the rest of the clothes all the time since we got back. But the maternity bathing suit has been pushed into the back of a drawer, only to come out on very rare occasions.

My Not-Quite Pajamas

Since I started teaching part-time, my morning routine has been adapting to being up several hours before going to work. I can't stay in my pajamas to run errands or take a walk. But I'm also not going to get dressed for work and go play in Eleanor's clubhouse.

I've ended up with a very predictable outfit. I think of it as not quite pajamas, but pretty close. I pull on an old, baggy pair of jeans with the knees worn out. (Playing on the floor with Eleanor has meant the first time I've legitimately worn out my knees in a long time!) Then I put on a t-shirt and a hand-me-down gray, hooded sweatshirt. The outfit is completed with ratty old tennis shoes.

I wear this pretty much every workday. I mean, I only wear it for an hour or two, three days a week, so that still adds up to less than a full day's wear, right? The only problem is if I run into the same people on our walks or errands, and they start to notice. I don't think anyone has, though. Probably we pay much less attention to other's apparel than we do to our own.

Nosy Neighbors

A few weeks ago, Keith went to bed early, even though it was Saturday night, because he wasn't feeling good in an allergy/cold kind of way. I joined him in bed a little after 11 o'clock. I was having trouble falling asleep, tossing and turning, when I opened my eyes nearly a half-hour later to see bright, flashing lights streaking across our ceiling.

When I saw the lights, it clicked in the back of my mind that I had heard sirens a few minutes ago, but they weren't right outside our house. I immediately poked Keith and crept out of bed to peer between the window blind slats. I knew that Keith would want to be up, because he's usually more of a nosy neighbor than I am. When we hear raised voices outside, he turns down the radio/TV to find out if people are arguing or not. What can I say? He's just a naturally curious person.

Gomez also kept us company at the window, while Beckett was completely uninterested. He revelled in having the bed all to himself.

So there we were, me, Keith,and Gomez, peering out through the blinds. The attention was focused on a house directly across the street, but we couldn't figure out what was going on. There were three fire trucks and an ambulance, but we didn't see any smoke or flames. Maybe it was a false alarm?

Watching the commotion, it made me realize again how little we know about this neighbor. He's older, with a flowing white beard and hair pulled back in a ponytail. We know this, because we've seen him. We also know that he drinks, because we've seen him weaving down the street, and heard him in the middle of the night. Not all the time, but more than once. The rest of what we "know" is conjecture and hearsay: he was in the Vietnam War and has never been the same since. He lived in the house with his mother, who recently passed away. She had a huge sum of money, yet lived in a modest house on a quiet, modest street. The house had been falling into serious disrepair for some time, with a dilapidated roof and overgrown shrubberies. In the past year or so, however, its appearance has improved. The roof was replaced, the shrubberies cut back and maintained.

This is what I was thinking about as we watched a firefighter lead our neighbor down the driveway to the back of the ambulance. He was walking on his own, holding onto one of the firefighter's arms. He sat in the back of the ambulance, which didn't move, so I hoped that meant he wasn't in too bad of shape.

We turned our attention back to the house. At this point, groups of firefighters had been surveying the house from all different sides. Finally they put up ladders to the second floor and started breaking windows. For the first time, we saw smoke come pouring out of the windows, and a few flames.

After that, the excitement of it was over pretty quickly. They threw some burning items (I saw a table, I know that for sure!) out of a window into the backyard, and the smoke disapated. I thought I could smell it on the air, but that may have just been my imagination. We went back to bed, although not to sleep; the sound of sawing and hammering filled the air as they boarded up the broken windows.

And now, nearly two weeks later, the house looks the same. It surprised me, the day after the fire, how little had changed. The windows were boarded up, and a smoky window blind lay half on the porch roof, half draped down the side of the house. But otherwise, it still looked the same. New roof, well-trimmed landscape.

One recent change is the dumpster that is now parked in the driveway. I've seen insurance company cars and workers' vans come and go, but the outside remains the same. What are they going to do with the house? Will he move back in? Are any of his belongings salvageable?

What is the point of this long, rambling post? I think this incident signified, for me, how the exterior can sometimes be such a poor indicator of what's happening inside. From the outside, the house still looks completely liveable. But who knows what it looks like inside?

Not Wrinkle Free

Related to yesterday's birthday post, I went to the drugstore earlier this week to get face moisturizer.

I'm a naturally pale person. I'm so pale that, after getting the best tan of my life on our honeymoon in Mexico, a few months later the dermatologist told me, "Wow! Your skin looks great for being in the Caribbean so recently!" Which is dermatologist speak for, "You don't look tan at all!"

Eventually, I just accepted my natural state, and wear sunscreen at all times. At least on my face and neck. If I'm not going to get tan anyway, I can at least try to prevent sun damage, right?

So yeah, new face moisturizer with sunscreen. That's all I wanted. But it took me at least 10 minutes to pick out something, because EVERYTHING was anti-aging.

When I was younger, I remember there being a million skin products for teen-aged, acne-prone skin. That seemed like the majority of the skincare section. But now that's a tiny corner of the vast shelves holding anti-aging serums, wrinkle-erasing creams, and skin-plumping moisturizers. They all have long, complicated, scientific-sounding names.They list many ingredients that are supposed to make you look 20-something again, overnight!

I don't want to look like I'm 20-something. I'm fine with being 32. I know that the wrinkles are creeping in around my eyes, but I don't think laugh lines are something that need to be erased.

All I want is moisturizer with sunscreen that doesn't feel too heavy. I don't want the last 10 years chemically removed from my visage. Is that so weird?

Fabulous Footwear

Once again, I'm vowing to myself that I will make myself buy a few "accent" pieces for my wardrobe that are vibrant, attention-grabbing, and say something about my personality.

The other day, I was walking to class and my eye was immediately drawn to the woman in front of me. She was so chic and fashionable, from her short, sleek haircut to her amazing boots: knee-high, shiny boots that were an energizing, flamboyant orange. I wanted her entire outfit.

Okay, not that exact outfit because that orange would just make me look even more pale (if possible). But it did remind me that everything in my closet is a very safe, neutral shade. My pants are all black, gray, and brown. My sweaters are maroon, green, or blue. For some reason, I've bought wayyy too many maroon pieces lately. Like maybe I'm in the store thinking, "What color don't I have? I'll try maroon!" And then I get home and realize that I've done that EVERY TIME I've gone shopping for the past year.

For the most part, I'm good with basic, coordinating pieces. I don't like to spend a lot of money on clothes, so I want interchangeable clothes that will work with many different items and last a long time without going horribly out of style.

But I need to add in a few more vivacious pieces, too. Mixed in with all the gray, brown, black, blah, a scarf here or some boots there that proclaim to the world, "You might think I'm staid and predictable. But you can't be entirely sure ...."

I did go out on a limb a few years ago and buy some hot pink kitten heels when a nearby shoe store was going out of business. I thought they were wild and crazy and I would only wear them once. I only convinced myself to do it because they were 50% off. But I wear them quite a bit (or I will, when I'm finally convinced it's Spring for good), and it's made me buy more pink, rather than maroon, so I have an excuse to wear the shoes.

Next time I go clothes shopping, my goals will be: no maroon, and make people wonder about what I have hidden up my super-fashionable sleeve.

A Crayon Badge of Honor

Relating to my last post about wearing Eleanor's hair bands: Don't you think we, as parents, should get some slack in our personal appearance? Maybe there's some kind of pin or ring that we all have so that, when we're out in the "real world," our messy hair, mismatched socks, and frumpy, lumpy sweaters all fall into context.

Of course, this wouldn't really help. There is only one standard for personal appearance, and it's set by Hollywood. So I don't come anywhere near it, even on my best days. It's not a sliding scale, that gives you slack for the fact that you only got 2 hours of sleep last night, because of a crying baby. It does not grade on a curve, based on the fact that all 3 of your children simultaneously had different sports activities/clubs at 3 different locations for the past week.

The standard, unfortunately, is set. There is no changing it, or getting a free pass. The only question is: what is my response? Do I keep striving to get as close to perfection as I can? Or do I pack it, and consider an outfit that is 1) washed, 2) not jeans, and 3) matching to be good enough? In case you can't tell, I'm leaning towards the latter option.

Very Professional

As I was driving across town this morning, I turned my head slightly, and my hair fell in my face. That's when I realized that I didn't bring anything with me to put my hair back, if needed.

How could I let this happen? I thought. I'm a Mother!

Then I realized that I probably do have several of Eleanor's hairbands stashes in various diaper bag pockets. She refuses to ever wear them, but I like to keep them handy in case she EVER changes her mind. In a pinch, I could wear one of those. In particular, she has a few fuzzy pink and blue ones shot through with silvery bits that are a good size for my hair. I know because I ended up wearing one around the house the other day.

And that's when I realized that it's inevitable. One day I WILL leave the house wearing one of Eleanor's hairbands. One that is totally inappropriate for a moderately professional, occasionally fashionable woman in her thirties to wear. And it will be the day that I'm getting observed in the classroom, or I run into an old high school classmate.

Party Hair

Last Saturday was a day of birthday festivities for us. Saturday morning we went to the other side of town for my nephew Gavin's first birthday party. Then, in the afternoon, we headed back home to go to a 2-year birthday party for a girl up the street.

I can't believe that Eleanor and Gavin are both one! They both looked so old at Gavin's birthday party. For a week or so, I've been wondering whether Eleanor's hair was long enough to put it up, and we finally decided to try so she could have fancy "party hair." As you can see in the picture (courtesy of Erin, since we haven't uploaded our camera yet), it was pretty fancy, indeed.

I didn't get to put her hair up until we got to Erin and Josh's, so I came armed with all different types of baby hair accessories, not knowing which would work best. Eleanor screamed bloody murder the entire time I was trying to do it, and throwing her head around—which of course only prolonged her torture. But you try reasoning with her! She didn't listen to me.

My mom, of course, found it hilarious. I'm pretty sure she was having flashbacks to trying to do my hair. She kept giggling, and was disappointed when I finished and Eleanor stopped freaking out before she got a picture of it. Everyone that came later and said, "Oh, her hair is so cute!", Mom made sure to tell them about the drama. I think she's looking forward to watching Eleanor assert her independence over the next few years, and me trying to keep my cool in the face of toddler temper tantrums.

And of course, after all that, I had to take it down halfway through the party (the first party!) because one of the two pigtails had slid partway down her head and her party hair was looking very sad, indeed. I tucked the two mini-hairbands in my pocket. The rest of the baby hair accessory collection that we had just purchased was in the diaper bag, along with the comb.

When we got home, the two renegade hairbands ended up on the kitchen counter, and Gomez tried to steal them and play with them. We have now entered the era of not only trying to keep track of toys underfoot, but also minuscule hair bands and clips. Of course, after that temper tantrum, I won't be doing her hair again until it's a special event. But we do have a wedding to go to this weekend in Kentucky .... so if you live just South of Cincinnati and hear screams reverberating on the hair Saturday morning, no cause for alarm! Just a couple adorable pigtails.

Is It Really That Hard?: Haircuts

Why is it so hard to find a good place for a haircut? I really don't think my standards are so very exacting. I want a decent haircut; that is, one that is a) noticeably shorter than when I arrived, and b) looks better than when I arrived.

I also don't want to pay an exorbitant amount for it. In the Midwest, for a haircut that only takes maybe a half-hour, I would consider a fair price to be around $30-40. Making a dollar per minute sounds pretty good to me.

And yet. We've lived here for 3 years now, and I still am having a hard time finding a place to get my hair cut at a good price. At first I got it cut on the West side, near my parents'. But that was quite a trek, and the person who I liked there moved somewhere else .... so I figured I should find somewhere closer to me.

There's actually 2 salons within walking distance of my house. But both of them charge $50 or more for just the haircut alone, not counting the obligatory 20% tip. I think that's F-ing ridiculous.

But, on the other hand, I also refuse to go to someplace like Best Cuts where I could wait for an hour or more, and I have no idea who is going to be cutting my hair. I've had enough hair traumas in my life that I'm not going to expose myself to that much risk.

Another new hair place opened up a few months ago, and my friend Emily tried it and liked it so I thought I'd go there, too. Until I found out that this brand new place ALSO charges $50 for a haircut. But you just opened!!! That doesn't seem right.

FINALLY, I found a place about 5 minutes away called Fast Eddy's Chop Shop. They had a motorcycle theme, which isn't my favorite but I really didn't care all that much. Lots of chrome and black and orange, with loud music and a very open styling floor. Not a lot of the frills that come with a "salon." They didn't offer me herbal tea or sparkling water when I arrived, and that was fine by me. The stylist cut my hair, did a good job, and all for less than $40. I was sold!

That was back in the winter, and I've been meaning to go back for awhile but hadn't gotten around to it. But with Eleanor's birthday fast approaching and the prospect of many pictures that will be saved for posterity, I figured it was really time.

But I've been trying to call them off and on for a week, and never managed to get through. Finally, today, I get a recording that says they are temporarily closed, sorry for the inconvenience, and I can leave my name and number if I want to be notified of their grand reopening soon.

So I gave up. I called one of the over-priced salons near my house and made an appointment for next Tuesday. I can't fight the system any more! But I'd better have damn good hair in all of Eleanor's birthday photos, and I'll be sure to tell the stylist that when she hands me my steaming mug of chai.

Treasure Hunt

Looking for necklaces is starting to turn into a treasure hunt. Eleanor is a little magpie, very interested in bright, shiny objects. She loves to rip my glasses right off my face when I'm not paying close enough attention. Adorable!

Luckily, I don't have pierced ears, so that's not a concern. But I do like to wear necklaces, and that's an issue. I've pretty much given up wearing them on a regular basis around the house, but I like to wear them to work. Remind myself what it was like to get up in the morning and choose a complete outfit, from shoes to accessories, take time to do my hair, eat breakfast .... but now all in the space of 10 minutes. Because these days Eleanor has a sixth sense that alerts her when I'm out of bed. I sneak out and down the hall to wash my face, brush my teeth .... and she starts crying for attention.

But I digress. I wore a necklace last Sunday, when we went to my parents' side of town for Easter. I also wore one on Tuesday when I was at work all day. Today I wore the silver one with a delicate turquoise shell hanging from it. As soon as I got home and held Eleanor, she started playing with it, entranced.

After a few minutes, when I was afraid she'd break (which has also happened to at least one necklace) I took it off and hung it on a kitchen cupboard door handle to keep it out of the way. There was already one hanging there. I think maybe it was the one I wore on Easter Sunday and must have taken off? I'm not sure. But my Mom was out for a visit today, so I'm guessing that's what happened.

That also reminded me that Tuesday's necklace ended up tossed into a large handbag in the dining room to avoid destruction at the hands of the baby. That bag is now on the floor of my closet. Which I can remember today, and probably will tomorrow .... but what about when I forget to retrieve the necklace in a timely manner. By next Thursday, will I remember that it's in the bag? Chances are slim.

But I suppose someday I'll go to use the bag, and find the necklace hiding in the bottom of it. And I'll be so excited to find it ... it will be like a new piece of jewelry all over again. I guess that's one way to keep down your personal spending; just keep losing and rediscovering your old jewelry/clothes/books over and over again!

A Personal Care Trifecta

Since Eleanor was born, certain things have fallen to the wayside. In the first few weeks, everything except feeding Eleanor, sleeping, and occasionally scarfing down some food was too much work. By the holidays, I was actually starting to respond to email on a regular basis and getting dressed and out of the house at least once a week.

However, there were three big things that I needed to accomplish:

1. Get a dental check-up and cleaning
2. Get an eye exam and new contacts
3. Get my hair cut.

In mid-January, once we actually found a nanny for Eleanor, these dreams actually became a reality. First was the eye doctor appointment, then the dentist. Finally, a few weeks ago, I got my hair trimmed for the first time in longer than I care to admit.

It was a good feeling, to finally have achieved these lofty goals. Now I can go out in public with clean teeth, trimmed hair, and able to see more than 2 feet in front of my face. Who knows what I can achieve next?!?

Setting Some Goals

Alright, I think I need to make a few of my goals public, to hold myself accountable. So here goes:

• I want to run a 10k in the beginning of May.
• I want to lose 20-30 pounds by July.

There! I've admitted it. Since I didn't write any New Year's Resolutions, this will have to do instead. We'll see how it goes .....

Keepin' It Together

Do you know what I realized today? It's been a very long time since I've worn a belt. Really that was one of the first things to go, about this time last year, when I became pregnant. I could keep wearing my usual clothes for quite some time, but they didn't exactly need any help keeping them up.

Today I got "dressed up" for Eleanor's 4-month well doctor's visit. I wore the size jeans that I wore pre-baby, which was pretty exciting. And I even put on a belt!

The Daily "Routine"

What does it say about me and my daily routine since Eleanor was born that, when I get dressed, the dog gets all excited? Like, if I'm putting actual clothes on, instead of pajama pants and an oversized robe, it's a Big Day! Things might happen!

If I get shoes out of the closet, he goes into overdrive.

And it just keeps growing

Just when you think the belly can't get any bigger ... surprise!





Keep in mind, the cropping is a bit different in the most recent photo. And it was taken with our new camera that Keith, dutiful citizen that he is, spent our "Economic Stimulus Check" on. We both knew we wanted a camera that took better indoor pictures than our old one, and he did all the research to decide we had to have a Canon XSI. So that explains the better detail, different colors, etc.

But anyway, this isn't about the camera. It's about the belly. Isn't it impressive?

Weekend of the Project: #5 The Belly

And of course, the main project! The 9-month project for whom all these other projects are taking place. Here's the belly picture from May.

Shockingly, my belly button is still hanging in there. I thought it was a goner weeks ago. And yet, it's still around! It may not be so much of an "innie" but it' s not quite an "outie" yet, so I'm happy with that. For month 8, that's not too shabby!

Some days I wake up in the morning and feel like The Belly has grown during the night. I have a hard time imagining what the next picture will be like. It might be on panoramic setting.