Posts Tagged 'photos'

West Side Market

Today I finally upgraded my Flickr account, and my stars suddenly I can’t stop uploading photos. Ever since we got a DSLR for Christmas, I’ve really been wanting to learn how to take better pictures; now, thanks to Flickr, the entire internet will get to be a part of my learning process. Yay, right?

Three weeks ago Aaron and I took a day trip to Cleveland and went to West Side Market; we didn’t buy anything, just wandered around so I could act like a giant tourist with my camera. I wanted to share a slideshow here, but I’m still learning the limitations of WordPress; so here are a couple photos and a link to the flickr set. Go see!


What Happens in Tennessee

I’ve been on vacation this week, visiting my folks in Tennessee. I love visiting my folks – I always come home with a southern accent, and using words like “folks.” I have terrific pictures I can’t wait to post – from our trip to Rock City, from a hike in the mountains, from Peter’s first birthday cake – but first I want you to meet my kid sister, Ashley, and my baby brother, John:


This is Ashley, my gorgeous sister. She’s a graphic designer from Atlanta and she’s looking for a job – anyone want to hire her? She’s terrific!

And here’s my baby brother, John, who just finished his junior year of high school this week:


John is 11 years younger than me. I used to change this kid’s diapers. I haven’t quite gotten him to change any of my kids’ diapers yet, although it seems like it would be only fair.

By the way, have you heard of a neti pot? You use it to pour saline into your nose. It flushes through your sinus and comes out the other nostril. For kicks, we tried out my dad’s neti pot. And, y’know, took pictures.

There’s not that much to do for fun around here. Well, okay, there is. But this seemed like a good idea at the time.


Have you ever poured anything through your nostrils? It’s kind of a trip.


I love a man who isn’t afraid to pour saline through his nasal passages.

And actually, the neti pot thing was rather nice, once you got over the part about pouring saltwater through your nose. In fact, my allergies, which had been bothering me ever since we crossed the Mason-Dixon line (things are actually growing down here, not like back home on the tundra), were much better once I flushed all the pollen out of my sinuses.

Just look how happy John is with his squeaky-clean nasal passages!


We’ll be traveling for the next few days, but next week I hope to post some of the highlights of our trip, almost none of which will involve nostrils of any sort. It’s been a great week, y’all.

Stay-at-home mom

The robin eggs on the front porch hatched Thursday, and this afternoon I went out with the camera to see if I could get any pictures of the hatchlings. Momma Bird stayed on her nest, keeping a wary eye on me.


Staying home and sitting on the chicks is how Momma Bird spends her days. Watching her made me think of a Shel Silverstein poem that used to make me giggle: Mrs. McTwitter the baby-sitter / I think she’s a little bit crazy / She thinks a baby-sitter’s supposed / To sit upon the baby.

This is one of two Shel Silverstein poems I memorized in fourth grade – the other of which doesn’t have anything to do with anything, but I like it anyway: My beard grows to my toes. / I never wears no clothes. / I wraps my hair / around my bare / and down the road I goes.

After a while, Papa Bird came home with some wriggly things for the babies.

“Honey, I’m home!”


That’s Papa Bird – he brings home the bacon. The leggy, wriggly bacon.


Right about then, Papa Bird decided I was getting a little too close with my camera, and he flew off. Not Momma Bird, though. She stood her ground. She was gonna keep glaring at me until I backed off.


Papa Bird perched in a nearby tree where he could hop up and down and chirp at me, threateningly.


Beween you and me, he wasn’t very intimidating. But don’t tell him that.

Momma Bird, though – she wasn’t going anywhere. She was just going to keep glaring for as long as it took to make me go away.


“Don’t come one step closer, human, or I’ll glare at you so hard you’ll burst into flame. I mean it. Not one…more…step.”


My eyebrows were starting to singe, so I backed off and went inside. No momma should have to spend her Mother’s Day staring down a giant with a Canon.

Maybe for Mother’s Day I’ll get a telephoto lens, so I can get some bird family photos without giving Papa Bird a heart attack.

Or I’d settle for dinner on the grill and a bouquet of construction-paper flowers.


Yeah, it’s been several weeks since I’ve posted. I have several new posts in the pipeline, and maybe someday I’ll get them written and published instead of just incubating in my head; but in the meantime, here’s a picture of the robin’s nest on my front porch:



How’s this for crazy: Peter is 40 weeks old today. Given that I was 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant when he was born, he has actually been outside my body longer than he was in it. Crazy.

If I’d somehow managed to get pregnant the day Peter was born, I’d be in labor right now. Also slitting my wrists, but that’s beside the point.

All day I’ve been thinking things like, Forty weeks ago right this minute I was sitting in my hospital bed, waiting for the pitocin drip to cause contractions that were more than mildly uncomfortable. And I sure am glad that this time forty weeks ago I let that nurse talk me into getting that epidural before they broke my water. Closely followed by, I sure am glad that epidural worked. I could kiss modern medical technology on the mouth.

Also, Forty-one weeks ago, I was using the word “cervix” a lot, even in mixed company.

Forty weeks ago, as of 1:30 this afternoon, I was being handed a wriggling purple bundle.


Here’s what that wriggling purple bundle looked like once he’d been cleaned up and swaddled within an inch of his life:


It’s so hard to believe it’s been forty weeks since my wee baby was that wee. In the intervening forty weeks, my baby has learned to roll, sit, crawl, stand. He can open the kitchen cabinet and take out all the pots and pans. He can eat whole peas and excrete them intact.

He can smile, laugh, play, kiss, cuddle. He is heartwrenchingly cute.


People love to tell new parents to enjoy their children while they’re young, because they grow up so quickly. It’s a cliche that makes me roll my eyes, but I found myself saying it to a friend the other day: They grow up so fast. You blink and they’re huge. Then I apologized, and punched myself in the teeth for good measure.

But oh, how it’s true. I mean, look at him:


He’s not my little baby anymore! Well, okay, he’s still my baby. But he’s not my tiny purple newborn anymore!

Parenting is so strange, so full of times that your heart is clenching in sadness and happiness all at once. And it goes so fast.



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