Friday, July 20, 2012

Is this thing on?

Um, hi. I kind of disappeared.

Back now, though!

So, what’s new? Well, I had a baby. She’s awesome. You can check out her adorableness here and here.

Family Photos

Other than that, still working. Still baffled daily by the mister. Still knitting.

Hoping to return, at least sort of, to blogging here. I miss it.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Hello, little one.

Well it wasn’t exactly a return with a bang, more like a soft thud and a whimper, but I am back, and with news.

The mister and I are expecting a daughter. I’m 20 weeks along and everything is looking good. The puking has stopped (FINALLY), I’m starting to feel better, and I already love the little squirmy girl more than I thought I could.

Several days ago I was sitting on the couch and a felt a burbling in my gut. Thinking it was gas (pregnancy is SO GASSY), I turned to the mister and said, “I’m sorry, but that is going to be a wicked fart when it works its way out.” A few moments later I realized that it wasn’t gas, it was the baby. 

A week later we had the ultrasound and, oh, the child is definitely my husband’s as she refused to cooperate for a good portion of the ultrasound, leading the sonographer to push, poke, and jab at my belly to get the baby to just roll over already!

We’re over the moon!

Friday, July 1, 2011


I’ve been gone. I think its time to come back. I’m starting to think in short stories again, to mentally flag things as bloggable, to have more to say than 140-character tweets and posts on Facebook. The mental block of the past year - the one that stifled my words - seems to be gone.

And so I shall return, resurrect this old space, and begin again.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

The Simple Things

The mister's 31st birthday was yesterday.

We had planned on going kayaking, but with wind gusts of 50 mph and intermittent rain, we decided that was a stupid idea and instead spent the day on a model-airplane-store/bike-shop crawl. 

For his birthday I gave the mister a handknit sweater and P90X (his request; I am not dumb enough to get someone the devil's workout if it's not something they expressly requested). 

His response to both gifts and the delicious homemade dinner and cake I made was enthusiastic.

His response, however, upon going bed and discovering clean sheets, freshly laundered duvets and comforters, and a tidied bedroom, was a bellowed, "Oh, my God, I love you very much."

It's the simple things, I guess.

Monday, August 30, 2010

A box?

I am working the 3:30 to midnight shift at work. This means, among other things, that my sleeping habits are messed up, my coffee addiction is back in a wicked way, and the mister and I never see each other awake during the week, as our schedules are completely opposite.

Because we never see each other, we talk on the phone a lot.

Tonight's conversation included this gem, which I thought I'd share with you.

Both of us: blah blah blah, chat chat, nothing exciting.

Him: Wow, the kitchen garbage smells.

Me [wondering what could stink, as today was garbage day and the can was empty when I left for work]: So take it out.

Him: Nah. I stuck a box on top of it. It's good.

Me: Are you serious? A box? Take the trash out!

Him: But I don't want to.

Me: If I come home and the kitchen smells because you couldn't be bothered to deal with it and just left it for me, I'm going to be very pissed.

[for similar sentences, see nagging section 5(b): the toilet does not scrub itself, or argument 124: fairies do not chip the dried cheese off your nacho plate, my friend. *I* do.]

Him: But the box...

Me: Trash. Out.

Him: Fine. I'll tie up the bag, but I'm just going to put it on the stoop. You have to put it in the big can.

Me: Fine.

Him: Fine.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010



It had been disgustingly hot all day and we’d been standing in line in the sun or standing on ship decks in the sun.  The only shade was what was created by other people standing near us or the brief darkness as we slipped below decks on the HMS Bounty.

Aboard the HMS Bounty

But very cool, all that rigging and the sails and the guy dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow.


Upon returning to our campground I bicycled up to the bathroom, eager to shower off the sweat and grime of the day.  The showers require quarters.  8 of them, for three minutes of water.  I soak my washcloth in the sink and scrub the important parts.  Then I stick my head under the faucet and shampoo my hair in the sink.  Take that, stupid campground.


We head north to Gooseberry, set up our tent, crack a couple of beers, and char some hamburgers over the fire.  Ahhh, perfect. 

Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening! 

We sprint with our deck of cards and our annual camping Rummy 500 Tournament to the campground shelter where I proceed to beat the mister rather soundly.  This never happens. 

We later discover that our tent is waterproof to a point.  That point is 3 hours in to an all-night thunderstorm.  The tent springs a leak right over the mister’s head. I find this hilarious.  The mister does not.

Gooseberry Falls

We’ve spent a day hiking and walking and dipping our toes in the Gooseberry River.  We’ve had our beers and our charred hot dogs and played our nightly game of rummy, where I lost.  I knit on the sweater I brought, the only knitting I packed to make sure I would FINISH IT, as it was supposed to be a 30th birthday gift for the mister.  His 31st birthday is in a month.

We’re in bed in our tent and the mister is sound asleep.  So soundly that he doesn’t hear the clankity-bang of critters getting into our trash because we forgot to tie it up and put it in the pick-up.  I get up and scare away a pack of raccoons.

He sleeps with noise canceling ear plugs when we camp.  I’m not that brave.  I’m afraid that I won’t hear the creepy serial killer sneaking up on us.  Because serial killers totally hang out in state parks on the North Shore. 

Foggy Lake Superior Morning

It’s a foggy morning and we’re strolling along the shore, watching the fog eddy and flow over the rocky outcroppings.  The mister spots something in the distance.  One of the tall ships we’d toured earlier in the week, sliding out of the fog on the lake.  Eerie and awesome.  We sit for the better part of an hour, watching the ship.

Ghost Ship


We’re touring Split Rock Lighthouse and suddenly I look at the mister. 
“Hey,” I say.  “It’s our anniversary.”
“Happy anniversary,” he replies.
We forget again ten minutes later.



He goes mountain biking.  I do not.  I hate mountain biking and, frankly, am eager for a little respite from the run-go-do-see-hike-busy-busy-busy approach the mister has to vacations.  He’s not much for relaxing, that one, and I am.  So I stick my knitting and a granola bar in my pack and hike up the river for a mile or two until I find the perfect ledge over-looking the river, with a flat spot for sitting and a rock perfect for resting my back.  I settle in, pull my knitting out of the bag, and have a glorious hour of peace and calm. 

Perfect Knitting Spot


We sit in traffic on 35 southbound, sunburned and tired, our gear packed and stuffed in the bed of the pickup. 

He rolls his head towards me, “Good vacation?”
I grin and slip my fingers into his. “Great vacation.”


Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Babies in the Woods

This is the mister.  Yes, he's a redneck.

He and his friends went four-wheeling on Sunday afternoon. 

Look carefully at the above photo.  There's the Jeep (Shitbox V, for those of you keeping track).  There's a mudhole.  There's the mister, trucker cap and all.  And in the back seat of the Jeep...those pink things...good God, are those CAR SEATS?  Did you bring CHILDREN mudding with you? 

They did.

The mister and I are never having children.  I'd spend every moment they were out of my sight wondering what dangerous bad ideas he was coming up with and subjecting them to.  The stress would kill me.