we did it for the photo op

We almost didn't go to graduation. Reasons?

  • We technically graduated 4 months ago, before Christmas break, when there were no graduation ceremonies.
  • Cap and gown rental fees seem like a racket after you've already paid your four years' tuition.
  • My husband often scoffs at pomp and authority (and so also, possibly, at "Pomp and Circumstance"). He initially didn't look forward to the fancy hats, color-coded tassles, and terrible parking.

But one of my favorite pictures of myself as a little girl was taken on my dad's graduation day. I wanted a picture like that for our baby girl. Possibly for tradition's sake. Or possibly to have proof to show her when she's a teenager (and thinks she knows everything) that she has smart parents. Caps and gowns make us look like we know something.

Which is probably why I didn't take some of the other, non-smarty-pants pictures that I should have that afternoon:
  • The mess I made when I didn't put the lid on the bottle correctly so all the milk we brought spilled in the diaper bag
  • The spot where I would have gotten lost (on a campus I've known for years) if other people hadn't insisted I was going the wrong way
  • Or the moment we had to break into the car because I'd locked the keys inside
I opted for the photo that makes us look smart, that we'll put in a baby book—which might be an unfair representation of everything we did that day, but reason enough to go to graduation.

last night, when I sat down to feed the baby again...

Him: Didn't you just barely feed her?

Me: More or less. She ate two-and-a-half hours ago.

Him: Wow. That went fast.

I couldn't agree with him more. I feel like I've entered a zone where time is accelerated—no, not accelerated, just radically altered.

For instance, I know exactly how many days this baby has been alive (29), and exactly how many days until my brother comes home from a two-year mission in India (only 2 now!). But my mom has often had to tell me what day it is when she's come to see how I'm doing. And I failed to wish some important people happy birthday—not because I forgot their birthdays, but because I failed to really grasp that it was April until 3:30 this morning. Hello, folks—we're almost halfway through the month.

She looks so harmless. Who knew she was capable of bending time?

someone's nesting. and it isn't me.

She's a bird. I've named her Molly. And she wants to build a nest in my dryer vent.

We hear her scratching around in there some mornings and then she leaves, which means she isn't trapped. Molly's smart: our dryer vent is the perfect place to build a nest. It's two stories up, with a little hood over it on the outside that would protect baby birdies from rain or sun. It's completely enclosed—and, I imagine, very warm.

Unfortunately, it's also our dryer vent, which means we need to clear it out.

But I feel a delusional sort of sympathy for her. I did some nesting of my own not that long ago. And I probably would have attacked anyone who barged into my little nest and destroyed my hard work. Poor Molly.

Perhaps it's a fitting tribute to her that we decorated baby girl's room in birds.

Pooped On

I've been pooped on. This week. So has K, twice. Changing diapers can be dangerous.

Our little bundle of joy has earned the nickname "squirtle" or "torpedo-girl."
I call this her Calvin and Hobbes face.