December 17, 2015
Pretty Pictures 12.17.15
Taken over the past week…
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December 16, 2015
These are not the teeth you’re looking for
Zoe had a big day today.
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December 8, 2015
90
We celebrated M’s grandmother’s (Zoe’s great-grandmother’s) 90th birthday tonight. I sat across a big table made up of a bunch of smaller tables from her and watched as her family here in St. Louis surrounded her both physically and emotionally with love, and saw how her family scattered across the country celebrated on Facebook. The woman is beloved.
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December 8, 2015
Pretty Pictures 12.8.15
I’ve been seeing more and more to photograph again, on top of writing. Hitting on all creative cylinders, you might say.
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December 7, 2015
Hello, Harry
At 21 weeks, when we found out we were having a baby girl, M and I had very different reactions. They so aptly describe our personalities.
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December 5, 2015
I’m Betty freakin’ Crocker
I made biscotti today. I made so much biscotti today that I never want to see biscotti again. Until tomorrow morning when I’ll make up some excuse to eat it for breakfast.
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December 4, 2015
The only answer is LOVE
This has been a rough week. M left for London on Tuesday, and I started missing him before he even left for the airport. Zoe had a minor kerfluffle with a boy at school that I had to straighten out that day, too. The dining hall was supposed to serve patty melts on Thursday, but our chef forgot to order Texas toast and so he substituted hamburgers. (Yes, I know: first world problems. I get it. But when a girl is counting on her patty melt, dangit…)
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December 2, 2015
Going to the dogs
It has become apparent over the past few weeks that the dogs in my life have banded together to coordinate a targeted campaign against me. Their goal? A puppy in our home. Their tactics? Being as cute as possible. It’s not me they should be targeting. It’s the big guy who lives in our home and who hates all dogs, even the cute little puppies. I don’t know. It’s like he’s got some sort of genetic defect or something. What I’m trying to say is: give it up, dogs. There’s no way we’re getting a dog in this house. Unless we get rid of the husband/father in this house and that’s not happening. He earns too much money. You can keep being cute, dogs, but it’s pointless. It won’t work.
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December 1, 2015
Resurfacing
I have been gone from here, but oh, how I’ve been writing!*
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