Burp!

Tillie feeds herself whipped cream.

The rest of us subsist on more savory victuals.

The Thanksgiving Day Spread:

From the P.O.V. of a Brussels Sprout:

Feasting Matriarchs:

Sweepies

You know what is better than chocolate? Holding a sleeping baby in your arms--I swear!

Tilberforce: The Striped Adventurer

Twapped:

Slide Fun:

New Shoes:

Baby Pigs:

Sewer Safari:

Marrow

My friend is very likely going to need a bone marrow transplant. I hate it. I hate knowing it. I hate thinking about it. But, I also hate not thinking or talking about it. A bone marrow transplant sounds painful. It sounds dangerous. It sounds like something that an athletic, healthy eating, smart, and careful person should have been able to bet on never having to do.

Whenever I find myself feeling depressed about my ridiculously mundane problems, I am quickly sobered by the realization that there is a much greater problem--I cannot help someone that I love avoid a horrible and scary thing. I wish I could take a scalpel and cut out her cancer and then cut out my own cancer-free tissues and gently place them into her bones and kidneys and chest and, you know what, I keep forgetting all the places that she has cancer it's so many. I want them all to be gone. I want to kill them. This would be full-on pre-meditated murder of those disgusting, evil cancer cells.

Yet, I am completely helpless to help her. There are just so many flowers and cupcakes and "helpful" errands you can run for someone who really just needs new bone marrow. Today I did the far-second best thing that I could do, which is sign up for the national bone marrow registry. It is not as satisfying as I want it to be. It will not help anyone I know AT ALL. About all it does is let me fantasize that some day I'll be the person that a friend of someone who is very sick will be thankful for because I can do for her friend what she is not genetically capable of doing but wants badly to do, which is maybe cure her cancer.

Blast from the Past: Tills and her Auntie Camile this last 4th of July--oh my goodness I miss her fatness (Tillie's, not Camile's of course!)

Anipals

Noodling

Mommiocrity

When I was thinking about having children, I remember fearing that I would become boring. I couldn't figure out the mechanism, so I concluded that it must be a myth the idea that parents are not interesting people. Well, I finally figured it out. I'm a parent now and I just don't have time to do interesting things anymore. Tillie needs to be fed, bathed, cleaned up after, entertained, exercised, and kept out of danger. These chores can be quite fun and sweet, but they take up 3 to 8 hours each day, depending on if I have a babysitter to help out. I have only two hour blocks of time to get anything else done when she naps, and that is not enough time to accomplish anything of substance. With a child, I can't afford to make less money and spend time on nonpaying or low-paying work projects, which tend to be more exciting. I can't afford the time or cost of extravagant travel or hobbies. I'm so worn out mentally that I can barely get away from the television after the kid goes to bed. I have read exactly one book that was not about child-rearing or pregnancy in the last 2 years. The idea of having a second child really frightens me. Is it really true that the most creative thing that I've accomplished in the last couple of months is watching a whole season of Project Runway? Would I have done even that if I had a second set of wiggling fingernails to trim?

Juice Time

Such a crazy-wonderful week that I must catalog its highlights: I turned 33 and threw a dinner part for 10--pumpkin ravioli with zucchini-leak soup. I'm still eating the wonderful leftovers. Then I pulled an all-nighter, which was horrible, but afterward my client seemed appropriately guilty for having forced me to. Today while I was jogging with Tillie, some random lady shouted out "You go girl!" Apparently, I looked awesome (or perhaps like I needed some encouragement, but I like to think the former). And the cherry on top is that I am in love with our dreamboat elect. I spent the entire morning reading about him and his family on wikipedia. I have more brothers and sisters than he has, which so far seems to be his only shortcoming.

Bizzy Weekend